on mondays i'm not going to mind what i wear - she said with gleeful abandon
A few weeks ago, I took the wrong t-shirt to gym. I only realised when all the fatty bits popped out, spilling over like white bread dough. I sat on the exercise bike and laughed with my fellow gym ladies about the perils of wearing tight t-shirts. We came to the conclusion that although we wished we didn’t - we actual did care what people thought of us when we walk out into the world.
This bothered me for awhile, but I think I know what we meant that day. We had arrived at an age or an understanding when we could be honest with ourselves. Part of that honesty was admitting in front of others, that yes we did care what people thought, that we didn’t want people to think we looked weird or funny. I’m not sure I could have been that honest as a young girl. I don’t think I could have admitted that I cared what others thought. So, perhaps in that honesty there was a certain amount of freedom, a certain fitting into my skin a little better, I was able to be comfortable with this aspect of myself, to publicly acknowledge the inside insecurities, to let them all hang out. Yes, it felt good to be honest – sometimes I do care what people think!