Happily Imperfect. Stacey Solomon

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СКАЧАТЬ it was a boy from year eleven (when I was still in year seven). I found that disgusting because, back then, I thought he was way too old for me. Practically ancient! Also, the girls in his year took his liking for me as treachery, and blanked me, which wasn’t pleasant, especially as I never encouraged him.

      All in all, I was pretty insecure. I knew I would never be the pretty one in class, so I felt I had to earn people’s friendship by acting out and generally being as loud, naughty and funny as I could.

      I had to make myself likeable – it was a survival mechanism, but it taught me so much. My dad had always been very sociable. If we went to Butlins on holiday, he’d always be the parent who made friends with everyone, who led games with the kids, or got up for the talent contest. I really admired how well he got on with everyone, and how much effort he put into meeting people and honing his social skills. When I was a child he would say to me, ‘Go on, go out and make friends,’ or ‘Be confident. Go and join in.’ He had the knack of bringing people together. I always wanted to be that person, and being the ugly one at school laid the foundation for it.

      So, I told jokes, messed about and did stupid things to build my friendship group because there was nothing I could do to change my appearance. I felt I had to work way harder than the attractive girls to fit in and be accepted, and that people had to have a good reason to want to be friends with me. Rightly or wrongly, that had a huge impact on the development of my character.

      I rapidly became the class clown and loved my friends, who came from across the spectrum of the year group, including the popular ones, the pretty ones and the clever ones. I was just friends with everyone. I made sure I was the one you could have a laugh with and was great fun to be around.

      Louise was my hero. She was popular, pretty and naughty, so, to me, she was endlessly mysterious and fascinating. All the boys loved her, and I looked up to her. My mate Joelly was just like me, really silly and childish in her tastes and behaviour. We both found really uncool things funny, and shared a secret liking for a babyish cartoon called The Land Before Time. Neither of us would have admitted at school to liking it – it would’ve been social suicide – but together we’d laugh over our favourite bits.

      I was so rubbish at lying that I always got caught out. When I went off to school, I’d take my skiving clothes in a plastic bag. Mum always left by 7 a.m. for work so I didn’t have to worry too much about being caught then. But I’d get home, still dressed in my joggers, hoodie and trainers, to find Mum staring at me, asking why on earth I wasn’t wearing my school uniform. D’oh.

      Basically, I was questioning the system at the same time as not feeling aesthetically ‘good enough’. I was working hard on every other part of me to compensate, and at times I definitely took it too far, but underneath it lay the strong belief, passed on to me by my amazing parents, that personality outweighs physical appearance. The thing I care most about, regardless of how I look, is who I am as a friend and a mummy, and I try to be as decent a person as I can possibly be.

      The seed of self-esteem must have been planted in me by my parents because as I got older, and grew into my body, I grasped that my worth was as a complete human being, and didn’t rely on looks or achievements. I became more confident as people liked me for who I was, and the more sure of myself I became, the more boys started fancying me. I realized there was so much more to me than looks. I was growing up.

      My parents had always told me that beauty is subjective, that everyone found different things attractive: there was no fixed idea of beauty. They instilled in me a belief that beauty is a state of mind: if I felt attractive, I would be attractive. In a weird way, this started coming true. The more at ease I was with how I looked, the more people were attracted to me. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

      It took me a long time to ‘find’ myself, and by that I mean accept and love myself. It didn’t happen overnight. School was a bad time for me, and probably for most people. You don’t know who you are. Your looks and your body are changing. There’s a lot to go through when you’re young and vulnerable. When I accepted those changes, I started letting go of any anxieties I had about who I was and what I looked like.

      Zachary’s arrival had a massive impact on me. Everything I’d ever worried about suddenly seemed superficial because I had brought life into the world and I was entirely responsible for him. Even though the birth was difficult, I entered into a Shallow Hal period of happiness with my body – I was totally oblivious to the shape, weight and look of it. Instead, I marvelled at how my boobs could feed a tiny human, how I’d created little fingers and toes, and a beating heart, a person in his own right. My body was brave and amazing. Look what I can do! I felt like saying to anyone who’d listen. Look! I can make fingernails and kidneys and hair!

      I was convinced I’d snapped back into shape after his birth and carried on regardless, wearing tiny bikinis on holiday and squeezing into skinny jeans. Looking at photographs of myself in those days makes me laugh. I clearly hadn’t snapped back at all. I carried extra baby weight for quite a while but I really didn’t know, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have cared a jot. I’d made a little boy. I was utterly impressed by myself.

      After that, I refused to see my ‘flaws’ – the things I’m told by the media and advertisers that I should hate about my body. I realized I had to let go of what society was telling me. I was a perfect version of myself, and I felt beautiful. At last, I accepted that I could choose to feel those things, and that there was no perfect formula for attractiveness. We’re all beautiful, regardless of what we’re told we should look like. We can determine how attractive we feel. I get to decide whether I’m pretty or not and I refuse to give that power to anyone else.

      I feel just as beautiful without my hair extensions, false eyelashes or fake tan. I feel amazing when I’ve got no make-up on and my hair is pulled back into a messy bun. Who is going to tell me otherwise?

      I do all the make-up stuff, the glossy hair and fake lashes because it’s fun. I love dressing up. I love being able to change my appearance according to my mood, and I have a laugh with it. I never feel I need to do all that just to be acceptable. Anyone following me on Instagram or Twitter knows I’m just as happy to post pictures of myself without make-up as I am when I’m glammed up.

      Being with Joe has also made a huge difference. He thinks I’m stunning, full stop. He loves me and thinks I’m the prettiest girl in the world, and that helps me feel I am because it’s how he sees me. There are many mornings when he wakes up and he has my false eyelashes stuck to his neck or back, and sees me with mascara streaked down my face and greasy hair. He doesn’t care. He loves me just as I am.

      I’m not saying we need to have a partner to validate our sense of being beautiful, but it elevates my confidence for sure. I have had times in relationships where I’ve felt insecure, and others have projected their insecurities onto me. I freed myself from those situations and soon understood that someone else’s view of me didn’t have to be mine. Joe is amazing at being the total opposite of that. I used to hide my insecurities by being loud and funny. I’m still pretty loud, and I love having a laugh, and making people smile, but I do it because that’s me. I have nothing to hide any more – and that feels amazing.

      I’m in control of how important, beautiful and intelligent I feel, and I stay vigilant: I notice when negative thoughts come into my mind, and talk positively to myself in response. We all have them, those creeping, gloomy ‘I’m not good enough’ thoughts. When they come in I bat them away. They still turn up every day, though far less than when I was younger.

      If you’ve ever felt like an ugly duckling, like I did, then I’d advise you to take your head out of your phone for a second and look around you. I’m always surprised by the difference between real and online life. It’s comforting to lift my СКАЧАТЬ