Finding Magic In My Skin

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

How weird is skin?
This weird casing that keeps all our stuff together.
It's so magic.
There's this stuff on our body that protects us from falling out all over the place. Mental!
It's absolutely wonderful. What a miracle we've been bestowed!
So why do we spend so much time prodding it with such disdain? Pulling bits back, pinning this here and trying to shrink things between fingers there.
I know it's more the stuff inside of it, the numerous blocks of butter and lard we've watched TV shows stack on a table to show us what we're prodding and hating and crying over.
I don't know about you, but I don't think there's much magic behind butter, or lard, but there's still magic in knowing that we are this solid tangible thing kept together by skin.
I rarely see that magic, I don't feel it very often nor do I tend to think I deserve to.
That other girls and their skin and butter (or apparent lack of) deserve to celebrate that magic more than me. 
A fool that I am, a fool that we all are for joining together on this opinion.
Learned fools and tricked fools, we were smart and in love until bigger greater fools told us there was a more perfect vision.
We saw this idea and bent it into our own until we lost love and lost knowledge and became miserable.
I remember being eight years old and letting the idea that 'some people are much more thin and pretty than me, it's not fair. That's why I don't fit in.' whirr around my brain for hours every time I caught a glimpse of myself. 
I had this thought all throughout the summer and know that at a party next week I'll probably feel the same. I hate that I even know that language. It's not constructive, it's not conducive to anything other than feeling depressed in the only magical thing I've been given as a certain- my body!

A boy some weeks or months ago (the fact that I can't remember when is indicative now of the irrelevance) told me my body drove him insane. Tiny sparks flew around my conscious thoughts and I felt beautiful. I left the next day and forgot how to feel that way again, it didn't matter how often I looked at myself, I couldn't feel what he had told me. 
I saw this as an opportunity to prove to myself I could make myself feel that adoration or approval. That my own body could drive me crazy with magic.
So I blocked the thought. Every time I ran my fingers over my thighs I'd snap them back, for every negative thought I'd replace it with one that screamed how able I am.
For every hour I'd usually spend googling new diets or juices, I used to read a book. 
In the space of two weeks I got through six books and felt marvellous.
I had a lady, Dunja, who is not only the most exquisite photographer but also the first person to ever make me look at myself and feel good, take some photos of me in my skin in my bestfriends house.
So even if I looked at them a week later or in twenty years time, one day through different eyes I could realise how magic it was.
From being the most self conscious body hating fiend, to sharing these photographs with you - is a breakthrough and one I wholly recommend you allow yourself to experience for yourself.
It's not about finding thin or finding curves, it's about finding happiness and that's rooted long before and far deeper than either of those things.
That's magic.

All underwear: Freya Lingerie 
Kimono: Vintage
Shirt: Greg's, probably TopMan.

Charly Cox © All rights reserved · Theme by Blog Milk · Blogger