Love, actually

I’ve been thinking a lot about a comment made by Stephbospoon on my last but one post.  It’s not the first time I’ve been told that I need to love myself a little more: indeed it is such a common refrain from P that it makes me grit my teeth in frustration.  And I can’t remember if it was him or someone else who likened it to the guidance provided in planes which tells you to put your own oxygen mask on before helping others – ie, that until you love yourself, you cannot love another.  If it wasn’t P (and admittedly it sounds a little flowery for him) then this is certainly his belief.
 
I disagree.
 
Frankly I find it MUCH easier to love my friends and P than myself.  It’s true, I know I’m not supposed to admit it but I don’t much like myself.  It’s not that I think I am without redeeming features – I know that I am a staunchly loyal friend and wife and that I have enormous (if rather old-fashioned (and I am unrepentant about this)) integrity.  I have character traits I don’t like of course - which I won’t be getting into as I don’t want to alienate you!  But really, it’s my appearance which at best makes me unloveable to myself and at worst, makes me feel actual self-hatred. 
 
I could list all the things I absolutely hate about myself – and in fact have struggled in the past to come up with something I like about my appearance – but that sort of self-flagellation would be a step too far on a day when I’m feeling quite down anyway.  But all of this (unpublished!) list would be bearable if I weren’t fat.  I know it’s not cool, it’s not an attitude that’s anything other than despicable but I hate being fat.  I rarely meet my own eye in the mirror anymore because I just don’t want to see.  When I do see, I feel shame and horror and repulsion.
 
It’s not very admirable is it?  I should be able to say that I’m a nice person (I am!) and that I do the best I can with what I have (having too much!) but I can’t feel it.  I know I’m supposed to.  It doesn’t make it any easier.