My Pursuit to Perfection- It Ain't Haute

I'm going to be writing this post like I would talk in a therapy session- disjointedly and heartfelt(fully?). Please stop reading now if you don't want to... more pretty posts are to come

I've suffered with incredibly low self esteem and self worth since I hit puberty. In grade 7 I was "The One With Boobs" that boys would only talk to in a hope to see my training bra through my uniform (true story- my friend told me after she overheard the boys talking about it).

Then when I was walking down the street one day a young male yelled "FAT AND UGLY" out of the car window... that little careless phrase has stayed with me for 10 years. I went home and cried and cried and cried.

One night I was eating pizza and my mum said "Are you sure you should have another piece?" That resulted in an all out meltdown. I've not been able to eat pizza (and keep it down) since.

Then I was accepted into a prestigious dance school to study Musical Theatre.

2 months into the course I became bulimic.

I had to be perfect (sounds eerily like Black Swan doesn't it?). I had to make my teachers think I was wonderful, perfect for the stage, perfect to play all the major roles. I danced 8 hours a day then worked at the hospital until 10pm then drove home and exercised for another hour. I didn't eat dinner, I just ate lollies.

Every meal was a drama. I had to be monitored by my family so I didn't go to the loo after meals. My mum would beg me to stop but I couldn't. Alberto would hold me down to stop me from leaving the table. I had to be a size 10 to be at the front of the stage. Why couldn't they understand!?

I had to make my parents proud of how talented I was. I had to show the world that I was the next Ginger Rodgers. Needless to say I was killing myself.

To the point where I ended up in hospital.

Lying in my hospital bed I realised "I'm not happy. My family is not happy. Alberto is not happy. What am I doing?! Why am I killing myself and getting no where?! What's the point in all the sleep deprivation, the mood swings, the senstive teeth, bloated belly and bad breath? Screw this. I'm done"

A couple of weeks later I packed my bags and went to live in Rockhampton with Alberto for a year. I needed to get out of my environment and grow up. I was being so immature it embarrasses me to think about it.

And boy did I grow up. It's amazing how much mature you get when you need to work your ass off to pay the bills. Everything else fades to the background.

You know what the funny thing is? I was perfect just as I was. My Musical Theatre teacher said "When you first started you had to ultimate Musical Theatre body... now you're just a clone." Ouch. Alberto hated my flat chest and athletic thighs (lolz), my family hated me for being a bitch.

So what I'm saying is... you can never BE perfect, you ARE perfect just as you are.

Think of the most happiest memory you have... are you thinking about how you looked or the actual MOMENT and what or who MADE YOU HAPPY.

Exactly.

Let go. Be happy. Who cares if you have cellulite? Or you're not a size 6? Who cares what some douche in a car yells out at you? People who do that have low self esteem anyway.

I'm not perfect, I'm not a size 10 but I'm happy and I'm successful. I'm working my ass off to become an amazing businesswoman and entrepreneur- How many 22 year olds can say they own a dental surgery? I'm so blessed! AND I got here NOT on my looks but with my hard work.

Always remember: "Even the most beautiful woman can have hell in her heart"

Keep it Haute

Anni xoxox