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I’m a Size 8 ‘Real Woman’

I was once described as “glamorous”; then I had kids didn’t have time for sport, ate all the tempura prawns and learnt that tights up to my tits makes for the perfect sidelines base layer. In other words, I went from caring what people thought of my appearance to making sure I was happy for me and with myself; tempura prawns, comfortable body temperature and my sprogs make me happy, so ‘up yours’ “glamorous”.

Real women debate by mum blogger Jess Warner The Only girl in the house

One thing I’ve never been described as is a “real woman”; why is this the reserve of my more voluptuous counterparts? Why does being a perpetual (natural and still lumpy in places) size 8 – sometimes smaller – make me any less real?

I’m wary that I’m treading into dangerous, possibly controversial, body shape territory – and this certainly isn’t a “woe is me with my (occasionally under healthy) standard BMI”. But my awareness of my “skinny” body shape started early; I was always described as “lanky” or a “rake” – no one holds back on the comments when you’re slim, as they consider it acceptable to pass judgement. Drinking too many fizzy drinks (yes I’m a coke addict!) led to poor tooth enamel, but as a teen my dentist assumed I’d been purging after meals due to my size. I entered rehab with body dysmorphia, but they immediately assumed I had an eating disorder due to my size (I lost a lot of weight due to depression and stress after Bruno) and sat me on the ED table for monitoring (they soon learnt I ate like a ravenous rhino).

So, much as I’m happy to flick the bird to the “glamorous” title, I’m not willing to give up on “real woman” just yet. Body positivity is all inclusive, so if it’s ok, this body would like to join in too?!?

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