There’s No Such Thing As Perfect 

    It’s been a while since I posted anything because I feel like I need something fantastic to write about everytime. I am just a normal girl with a full time job, bills to pay and chores to finish. But today I am writing about something that I seem to be thinking a lot about. 


    While driving down the interstate early Saturday morning I got so upset. Not over traffic or the weather, or even the fact that I wanted to still be in bed. I got mad over the billboard signs. In less than a 3 mile span I saw signs for laser hair removal, breast augmentation, face lifts, liposuction and more! I was so frustrated to think that any little girl growing up right now will have the mindset that beauty only comes with a tiny waist and a face with no freckles or wrinkles. Not only that, but little boys growing up thinking that the perfect woman resembles a Disney Princess. 

    I then started to think about my own little children that I hope to bring into this world someday. How am I supposed to raise my girls with confidence in a world where you’re constantly told you need something fixed? How do I make sure they know that they aren’t fat just because there isn’t a 3 inch gap between their thighs? What do I tell my little boys to make sure that they know that there is no such thing as perfect, and the outside doesn’t matter near as much as the inside?

    When I get on social media I am bombarded with posts about buying the perfect lipstick, drinking the best weight loss shake, buying the cutest clothes that happen to be the most expensive and taking the best supplement to make my hair grow. It’s everywhere, so what am I going to do to make sure my kids don’t struggle like I did? 

    These are the questions I kept asking myself as I drove down the road with no make up, hair from the night before and long john leggings. Now two years ago I NEVER would’ve done that. I would have woken up a little earlier to comb my hair and fix my make up, just so that I would look okay before throwing on a helmet to spend time in the mountains with my husband. I would have packed a brush and some bobby pins to try and fix the helmet hair at the end of the day. But I don’t anymore, because I am unapologetically myself, and that’s all that matters. Understand that in no way am I trying to say that all women should stop caring what they look like, and stop trying altogether. I myself enjoy doing my make up and curling my hair for date night. I am simply saying that we need to stress less about what’s on the outside, and worry about what’s on the inside as cliche as it sounds. 

    If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that everyone has insecurities. Literally everyone. I’ve always wanted to weigh less, but I have a bigger frame. I wouldn’t be surprised if my skeleton itself weighs 130 pounds. I had skinny friends that always wanted to be bigger, and I never understood that. They would make comments in the locker room about wanting boobs like mine, all while I was annoyed that I had to strap them down just to workout semi-comfortably. I am always so floored to find out that the girls that are my idea of perfect, are unhappy about their nose, their hips, their hair color, or even their shoe size. It just goes to prove that we all want what we don’t have, which is sad. 

    It’s taken me 24 years to get to a place where I love myself. It just so happens that I’m heavier now than I’ve ever been but I’m confident. Yes, it took some serious work to get to that point. I did not wake up one morning and decide I was going to be confident and happy. I didn’t all of the sudden appreciate my thick thighs and love handles. It took years.  It took marrying a man that loves me for me, and finally realizing that I can still love who I am, while at the same time wanting to make some changes and get healthy. I’ve been trying to be grateful for the things my body CAN do, rather than focusing on the jeans I CAN’T fit into. 

    I think that’s the key to helping our little ones. You have to learn to love yourself first, because if you don’t, how can you possibly teach someone else to? 

Sincerely, Kaylee 

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