Well…as it turns out I didn’t have many pictures of me actually eating things so you’ll have to take my word for it. I did. Many things.
When I travel I like to feel the place. The “watch and run” as I call it, I hate that. Getting out snapping pictures, looking at stuff and on to the next place. Urgh. Some of our trip was like that. But we also had days where we just strolled around and felt the atmosphere and well…ate things 😉
Ah yes. On the top of the tallest tower I, or rather my dress decided to flash San Gimignano. At least the other tourists. And Boyfriend was busy taking pictures and laughing. But then I was laughing too. Someone seeing my knickers isn’t going to get them in a twist.
I don’t like the sight of my back. I’m not saying this to make you contradict me. “But that’s silly, you look lovely”. I believe that in sharing our insecurities we can actually be better at accepting ourselves. That we are not alone in doubting ourselves. And if you look at me and think my perception of myself is wrong, perhaps that will start a spark that makes you look differently at yourself in the mirror. I do this exercise all the time. I look at someone with the same size or bigger upper arms, wider hips or wobblier thighs than I have and remind myself that I do not find this repulsive in others. I see beautiful women – confident and happy in their short shorts and tank tops. Why do I judge myself more harshly than I judge others? But I do. And the battle is constant. Because I want to be thinner. I want to less wobbly. But I also really really like food.
I used to be happy. Content. My biggest wish was bigger boobs but other than that I found my body just fine. It was there, it was useful, it was rarely sick. It was a good body. Then my mother said this: Oh you’re getting a wider around the bottom huh?
What she meant was: “You’re becoming a woman”
What I heard was: “You’re getting fat”
Society struck. Because just because I grew up in the country side doesn’t mean I was completely immune to the images I had been presented with for 14 years. I didn’t eat for 5 years. I swallowed diet pills. I drank water and exercised ferociously. I was rewarded with positive comments about being slim and toned. I was punished by dizziness and self loathing. I was never diagnosed. I began eating again. Mostly because I got a depression and the anti-depressants made me want to eat and sleep and nothing else. I went to my doctor and said: I’m afraid I might kill myself. I showed her my wrists with the old scars and the fresh cuts. One day I’ll be drunk enough to have the courage, I said. She said I should get this medication. She sent me home. I missed school a lot. Now because I slept, before because I was drunk or crying so status quo was the same. I gained a lot of weight. That didn’t make me feel better and I quit the anti-depressants. The doctor didn’t care. I wasn’t surprised.
I got better. But the weight remained. The obsession about food remains. Not eating feels like a victory. Eating feels like a victory. Food will still make me cry or sink into apathy or rage. If the food isn’t as I planned, if someone else makes it I will use it as an excuse not to eat it. It feels good not to eat it. But my stomach disagrees and I will end up eating. That feels good too. My body and my mind have never been friends but most of the time they get along. Most of the time I’m happy now. Most of the time I eat and I’m happy with it. But there’s always a mean little Jiminy Cricket telling my I shouldn’t eat that bite. That I shouldn’t have that gelato. He’s always there. In Italy I usually beat him. But I still don’t like the pictures. My arms. My back. That’s why I post them. Because I know I’m wrong. I just don’t know it.
Anyway, I wasn’t going to get all touchy-feely with you. But taboos should be broken. We are so many with all sorts of issues we shouldn’t have.
So let’s talk about it. Let’s stop being ashamed of breaking. Of doubting. We shouldn’t dislike ourselves but we also shouldn’t disliking ourselves for disliking ourselves. We shouldn’t feel alone. We find strength in eachother. I believe that.
This is the wineyard we visited. It was less a mile from our house.
I bought olive oil from these trees. Okay, maybe not exactly these but from this yard.
My eternal companions on this trip were my fan and water. And phone. I did take a lot of half decent iPhone pictures but compared to these from Boyfriends camera…well let’s just say I have no particular decide to share them >.< 😉 They will look all grainy in comparison.
Seriously. That sky. I was rather disappointed with Firenze. There were so many tourists! I know I’m one too but I have been a lot of places that were no where near this crowded. But you know to each her own. I know many who love Firenze, it just wasn’t my favourite.
Siena was lovely!
All the tourists were seeing refuge from the heat in the shadow of the tower.
And Montalcino was beautiful as well!
Old convent. The monks’ attire was rather unfortunate though. Pointy white hoods. I know they probably did it first. Still. The Swatika was also Indian first. I still wouldn’t use it now.
And of course lots of wine. It’s hard to compile a week into a few pictures but I think you can get a feel of my trip 🙂 I really recommend Italy. Always and forever. But I should probably start going new places. Next up is Christmas in Paris.
All pictures by Mikkel Maier Henriksen