This summer I went to a wellness retreat in the English countrysideone of those places where people come to detox and reset. One sunny afternoon, as I was out soaking up the sun, I noticed a stunning young woman, very much the model type, stretched out on the lounger next to me.
We got chatting and found ourselves talking about why wed come along. She said, I need to lose 14 ounces. I burst out laughing, thinking she was joking, but she wasnt smiling. Ive been fat for a whole year now, she said matter-of-factly. My boyfriend told me hell leave if I dont lose the weight Look, you see? She pinched the tiniest bit of skin on her stomach and looked mortified. Im embarrassed to even sit down…
I couldnt stop thinking about her for days afterwards. In my head, I started calling her Lizzy 14 Ounces. Honestly, the way her boyfriend carried on, youd think anyone like me could just be thrown off a cliff in some perfect, skinny Sparta, because only the slim are allowed to belong.
A few days later, I found myself at a big dinner party, held at a smart restaurant. There was this well-put-together woman, the sort you spot a mile offimmaculate legs in shimmering tights, one shoe dangling off her toes, sipping San Pellegrino from a wine glass, catching every mans eye in the room.
Then her husband arrived. He stomped over and, after shaking the hands of all the men at the table, he turned to her and hissed sharply, Cover up! Stop parading your thighs! She sat bolt upright, blushed furiously, asked the waiter for a blanketeven though we were practically on top of the fireplacewrapped herself up, and barely said another word all evening, shrinking into herself like a sparrow caught in the rain.
Out of curiosity, I once tried reading the biographies of famous novelists and poets, hoping to uncover their secrets to greatness. But the further I got, the tougher it was to wrap my head around these brilliant minds who were also just very flawed humans. The straw that broke the camels back was Leo Tolstoy. I adore Anna Karenina, but I honestly couldnt stomach some details of his life. He was obsessed with death, liked watching it up close and after their fifth child (a little girl named Mary), his wife, Sophia, was so ill and exhausted that the doctors begged her not to have any more children, but Tolstoys only response was, Then what do I need her for? In the end, poor Sophia had 13 children…
I scroll through Instagram these days and its a parade of perfect Barbie girls, all fitness routines, tanning beds, scrubs, and spa visits. They sculpt their bodies with paintbrush precision, powered by an entire beauty industry designed to help them out. Theyre professional beauties, and I get that its a tough job in itself, not to mention expensive. But I do worry weve got it all muddled up. Women want so much to be beautiful so they can be loved. They want to be picked out of the crowd by a man. Theyre told: this is attractivebe thin, wax your brows, plump those lips, peachy bumand they nod and rush to fit the mould. Meanwhile, men are left staring at rows of identical dolls, unsure how to choose between them.
There was this one afternoon when my husband and I were at the garden centre. He was looking for something for the allotment, and I was just wandering up and down the aisles for fun. I found myself among the garden ornamentssolar lanterns, windmills, watering cans, bunnies and foxes. Near the garden gnomes, those cheery chaps in big red hats, were two blokes trying to choose the best looking one. One squinted, turning gnomes sideways and upside down, and the other burst out laughing, saying, Come on, mate, just pick one already yesterday you were this picky about the prostitutes! I nearly doubled over with laughter right there and then.
Girls, honestly, Lizzy 14 Ounces, Sally Cover-Your-Thighs, Sophia 13 Children How have we ended up believing were not good enough, not worth loving or respecting? How on earth did we start believing that being treated like a dodgy garden gnome in a toadstool hat is what love should feel like? Who convinced us that looking perfect is the key to a happy relationship?
Ive seen enough to know that looks have nothing to do with love. My friend met her husband on a hospital ward, in a baggy dressing gown, pale as milk, with a massive urine bag poking out from under her nightie. He completely fell for her right there on the spot!
Look at Frida Kahlohave you seen her famous eyebrow? Men fought over her love, and she wasnt exactly a conventional beauty.
Years ago I had a nightmare wisdom tooth extraction, which left my face swollen like a pillow, my mouth torn up, and me spitting blood and feeling utterly grim. My husband tenderly helped me drink yoghurt because that was all I could manage. With a creamy milk moustache, I glimpsed myself in a mirror, muttered Oh God, and burst into tears. And do you know what he said? Youre the most beautiful woman in the world, you hear me? The most! Even now! Will you marry me? Later, when I recovered, he took me to a restaurant with a real ring, bent down on one knee, the waiters applauded, there were balloons and flowers and the whole I do But what sticks with me the most is the first time he askedwhen I looked far from perfect. Because true beauty isnt about what you see; love isnt about flawlessness.
Its our quirks that make us real and lovable. Thats what draws people inthe little things that make us unique. Even the idea of perfection is a myth. Or at least, everyones version of it is different.
Recently, I decided to get bracesmy teeth are honestly a bit crooked. My husband just said, I adore your smile as it is. If you want to do it for yourself, I support you. But if it were up to me, youd stay just the way you are.
After my first son was born, I weighed seventeen and a half stone, and my husband showered me with so many compliments, it left me with zero motivation to lose weight. I ended up slimming down only when *I* really wanted to. We were looking back at old photos the other day, with me stretched out on the sofa, our tiny son in my arms. I asked him, Why didnt you say anything about my weight? I was huge! He shrugged, You were my delicious little bun. Lose weight if and when you want, but I loved you either way.
Once, a few summers back, I had a terrible psoriasis flare-up, and the patches were all over the place. We went on holiday and I flat out refused to wear a swimsuit on the beach. My husband simply asked, Whats wrong? I realisednot only did he genuinely not care about my flare-up, but he still thought I was gorgeous. He noticed *me*, not the skin.
And listen, Im not here to make my husband sound like some kind of saintits about relationships. If your man expects you to fit his own beauty standards, thats not about loveits about control.
Youre wonderful, darling, an apple ripe for the picking! If he only sees the odd wormhole or mark, it means he doesnt want the applehe wants the power trip.
Sure, every man instinctively wants to feel in charge. But he needs to earn his authoritynot with fear, but with the admiration and respect youre happy to give. You shouldnt just be obedient because youre afraid to lose him, but because you *choose* to follow someone who makes you feel safe and cherished. Someone who is confident, steady, reliable and gentlewholl grab your hand and take on the world with you. Thats your job, picking the right person to trust. But remember, being worthy of guiding you is something he has to earnAnd if you ever do find someone looking you up and down, measuring you like a prize marrow at the county fair, remember: youre nobodys vegetable. Walk away. Surround yourself with the people who laugh at your jokes, admire your lopsided smile, and kiss the bumps and bruises as if theyre medals.
The world is overflowing with impossible standards and pitiless judges, but real love, the kind that carries you for years, is blind to the extra ounces and indifferent to scars. Its built on shared glances at three in the morning, silly little inside jokes, stubborn loyalty, and the gentle bravery of showing upmessy, imperfect, undaunted.
So, Lizzy 14 Ounces, Sally Cover-Your-Thighs, and every lovely, anxious woman who has ever pinched at her waistline or wrapped herself in a blanket of shame: toss out the rulebook. Unfold yourself; let your laughter be loud, your appetite hearty, your pleasures simple and sincere. There is more beauty in one unguarded moment of real happiness than in a hundred perfectly posed selfies.
And the next time you catch your reflection, dont look for the flaw. Smilenot for anyone else, but for the girl in the mirror who deserves kindness and devotion. Because you are already enough, exactly as you are. Shine a little. Spoil yourself with compassion. And know that the people who truly matter will always see younot as a garden gnome or a pristine dollbut as the whole wild, wonderful orchard.
