Imposed image

To look good in a photo, you need to pose right. Turn your body about 45 degrees to the side. Put one foot slightly in front of the other. Pull in your stomach as much as possible and push your chest forward.

Now hold still.  And smile.

You’ll have a beautiful picture. You’ll look slim and feminine in it.

But you’ll still be the one who knows it’s only in the picture. And in real life you still have your huge butt, stretch marks and cellulite.

What are you supposed to do? Stick to that image? Always walk around with your belly sucked in and your breast out?

Yes, it’s hard for you to breathe. Yes, your smile reminds heartburn burp. Yes, your legs are tense now but they look longer.

No matter what, don’t get out of the image! Live like this forever.

And I think I’m going to breastfeed my baby. Let my stomach be full, slightly curvy and relaxed. I will be happy to give another birth. I want to be a woman in her forties that is free of horrible social clamps, relieved and happy from knowing that my slumped shoulders don’t resemble my former dominant, bodybuilder-like posture at all.

I will relax and look how I now look at the photos. This isn’t a sculpture, not and antique statue. This is me at the photo! I am not fat. I am angry. I am happy. Or disappointed.

I am open to the world.

My husband and I are free. The natural weight of problems doesn’t pull us down to the ground. Our feelings are getting our backs relaxed. And this makes it so easy and pleasant to walk together.

Yes, sometimes it may be scary. Sometimes it hurts. But even so, it sometimes can also be wonderfully satisfying. It’s nice to be able to feel different and real feelings. 

Not being a style icon. Or beauty standard. Just simply be!

I often see ‘famous’ bloggers on Instagram posing for a better picture. These pictures bring them views, outreach and followers. And what about real life?

We are travellers. But a traveller is not the same as a travel blogger. The one that goes on a tour for new pictures in fancy dresses only. Turns out, I can’t be a travel blogger?

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