As the New Year approaches, we're going to be flooded with messages aimed at making us feel bad about ourselves. I live down the street from a plastic surgeon's office with a flashing electronic billboard advertising a, "Mommy Makeover" as I sit trapped at the traffic light. "Your swimsuit is ready...are you?" I don't need mind games just because I happened to hit the light at 90th and Dodge. My body's fine, and if my swimsuit isn't, I can buy a new one.
If I want to take exercise, I will. If I wish to reduce, then I shall. If I (god forbid) want a "Mommy Makeover" (I don't) then that will be a decision I arrive at without any taunting from flashing billboards, television talk shows, or what passes for newspapers these days. It is the very worst sort of peer-pressure, except that it comes from those who profit from our insecurities, rather than our peers. My peers aren't assholes. If yours are, get new friends. I don't care what my friends look like, if their cupboards are disorganised, or what dietary plan they follow. I've never been terribly competitive, or ambitious.
We're here for such a short time. The thought of getting up each day feeling somehow less than up to the job because your hair is frizzy, or you've gained a stone, or your ears stick out, or your house is messy, or you really can't stomach kale juice no matter how hard you try...Sigh. Is it worth it?
If you feel bad, it ought to be your own doing, not something inflicted upon you for profit.
Just try to keep things in perspective as the resolutions nonsense gets into full swing. You've made it this far doing your own thing, so you're probably doing something right.
Don't like it? Don't fucking look. My suit, and my body are ready to go swimming. Happy New Year.