Cleaning: a love-hate relationship

It is Sunday (when I wrote this it was Sunday). Of course, I would want to go to brunches and walk around the city the whole day before my week starts at my lovely job but Sunday is also known as cleaning day for me.

I do everything to procrastinate; think organizing your hygienic pads according to size.

I despise cleaning but I hate a dirty house more, so I suck it up.

I wonder when I will be able to afford some help once in a while.

Look I am realistic, I don’t need support every week and sure the basics such as vacuuming, mopping, and dusting I got that but cleaning every single corner – oh lord!

It would be lovely to have every month an amazing person, for the big cleaning – you know the one your mother does, the one which gets you high on bleach… but, nope.  My income and current lifestyle does not allow me to have help in cleaning.

Whilst dreaming away I put on my yellow cleaning gloves and start.

While mopping the bathroom I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My big thighs and my round heart shaped wide butt annoy me. What a surprise (!) Even in my XXL pajamas you can see my contour. How though? Okay, I do not necessarily eat healthy everyday and I have an office job (at least 8 hours of sitting during a day) but I still go work out three times a week! That must mean something.

I accepted the fact that I will never be one of those skinny girls because genetically that is not possible. My body type is not made of that magic. It is more made of a curvy fat holding magic. The ones you see in Italian renaissance paintings, minus the boobs.  I slowly learn to make peace with that ofcourse until I see mirror reflections of myself like now.

The hate and disgust I feel is indescribable. Many times I punched my own thighs and cursed at them when I was stuck in an overly heated dressing room with bad lighting, trying to fit into a jean and staring at myself in the mirror. I often cried in there while sweating, took me always some time to get my shit together and get out of that tiny room – apologies to all the ladies that had to wait a little longer because of me in that line, I was having a mini meltdown.

On that note, to add to my meltdown reasons, of course, family members who ask ‘did you gain weight?’ before saying ‘hello!’ or ‘how are you?’ are the cherries on top. I go back home once or twice a year and some of them seriously ask this first. Every time it leaves me speechless. I don’t know what is sadder, the fact that they don’t care at all about my life beyond my looks or the fact that this gets to me every single time. I even think some of them do it on purpose. Shout out to those motherfuckers – great job! My distorted self-image is reinforced.  Hating them thighs more than ever!

I just don’t get it!

Why is it so difficult to accept who I am?

Why is it so difficult to shut those unnecessary voices?

Why can’t I just focus on the things that are stable and going okay in my life?

I am 25!

I am healthy!

I have a family supporting me through thick and thin!

I have amazing friends in my life!

But still I cannot answer those questions.

I watched so many motivational Ashley Graham and Iskra Lawrence speeches they empower me for 10 minutes than it is same old same old…

I guess it is a love-hate relationship; I despise these chunky parts of my body but I hate weakness more, so I suck it up…

I wipe my tears away.

I know somehow I am going to be fine, after all that therapy.

Fake it till you make it? Bring it on.

Ugh I am tired.   

Two hours and a sweaty shirt later, I look around and it is again all fresh and shiny. Never felt sexier.