This is the first part to the series of articles I will be doing in regard to accepting myself just as I am - A follow on from the first article Accepting Me Just As I Am.
Once Upon A Time I loved my hands. They were not too small, not too big, my fingers were slender, my skin was smooth, and every now and then I'd get my nails done with acrylics and they would look just gorgeous. Apart from a couple of freckles on my right hand I liked them. People even complimented me.
Motherhood came along and I piled on a whopping 30 kilos. My hands became a little more plump, but I was still young and they looked nice regardless. That was until I noticed them in a photo, and thought they looked gigantic. I was mortified. My once lovely, feminine fingers had become quite unattractive I thought.
I managed to lose a fair bit of weight at one stage (20 kilos), and during this time my partner bought me a ring, which I could just fit. It didn't slide on easy, but I managed. Then I piled on the weight again, and the ring became stuck. I couldn't take it off for 2-3 years. The stone fell out one day and went missing, and I was stuck with an empty shell of a ring, which would scrape and catch on things, including my daughter's skin. It was terrible. Finally realising that the only way to get it off was to either lose weight or have it cut off I attempted to shed the kilos, but failed. So, I had it snapped off. I hated my hands.
One day recently I noticed that my hands were not only plump and far from what they once were, but they were also looking older. No longer was my skin as smooth, and more freckles or sun spots had popped up. And I hadn't had my nails done in a long time. I saw no point, as I wanted them hidden, not to have attention drawn to them. I hated my ugly hands, and felt sad.
There is also another thing I have noticed recently though. My daughter has my hands. This made me smile. And one day I was spending time with my mum, and decided to have a look at her hands. What do you know...I have her hands. This made me even happier. My daughter is only 8 years old, and her little hands are so lovely, delicate and soft to touch. This not only reminds me of what my hands once were, but that a part of me lives on in her, and I find this comforting. My mums hands are old and wrinkled (you can tell that she has worked hard and given much of herself, reminding me of what a beautiful person she is and how lucky I am). They also remind me that she is a part of me, and I find this comforting too.
So, now when I look at my hands I no longer see all of their imperfections and feel bad, I accept them as they are and understand that life has a process. I see my mum and my little girl. I'm proud of them. I love my hands.