Embracing our
Most of us have different body hang-ups, but these three women have learnt to love the skin they’re in
‘I’M NOT HIDING MY TRUE SELF ANY MORE’
Lindsey Beveridge, 54, is a registered nutritional therapy practitioner living in Manchester with her husband, John, 61, and her daughter.
Growing up in South Africa with my hypercritical mum, I never had much body confidence. I struggled with binge eating. The more I ate, the more my mum would criticise. At 14, I hated my unhealthy body and I turned to drinking and smoking to mask my poor self-confidence. On the surface, my life seemed normal, but in private, my drinking was becoming out of control. There were other parts of my life I was covering up, too. My dark brunette hair had started going grey in my 20s and I blanketed my silver locks with endless boxes of dye. In July 2000, aged 32, I decided to stop drinking. With my new-found clarity, I wanted to start life afresh, and was offered work as a conference producer in London. I wanted to be in good shape for my big move, so I saw my doctor for an all-round check up.
It was there I discovered I had a lump in my left breast. A biopsy revealed I had stage 2 cancer. I was overwhelmed with shock and I turned to my old comforter – alcohol.
I had a mastectomy. While I was offered a reconstruction, I wanted the fastest recovery, so I could move to the UK, even if that meant I’d be left with a large scar where my breast had been. I didn’t need any further treatment, so once I’d recovered, I finalised my arrangements and moved to London.
I wanted to feel as confident as possible, but wearing an uncomfortable breast prosthesis and shapeless mastectomy underwear, I felt terrible. Instead of confronting my feelings, I just carried on drinking.
Refocusing
When I started dating, I was terrified of men seeing me naked, but my scar was bothering me more than them.
In 2003, I met the father of my child, and four years later, we had a baby. And while I loved showing off my little one in public, I found breastfeeding while wearing a prosthesis awkward, as it wasn’t designed for new mums.
Wearing the prosthesis and continuing the tiresome hair-dyeing routine, it sometimes felt like I was hiding my true self. I had spent my life hating my body and abusing it with alcohol.
In 2015, when I turned 47, I realised my drinking was out of control. I knew if I didn’t stop, it would kill me. So, I stopped for good, refocusing on exercise and nutrition to keep healthy.
Going sober gave me a clarity. I stopped dyeing my hair and I stopped wearing my mastectomy prosthesis for the first time in 15 years.
I’m in the best physical shape I’ve ever been in. My husband loves me just the way I am and so do I. I’m not hiding my true self any more, and I’ve never felt better!
‘Going sober gave me a clarity’
Kari Roberts, 58, lives in Southampton with her husband Kevin.
When I see my size 14 body in the mirror now, with my caesarean scar and all my wobbly bits, I love the woman looking back at me. But it hasn’t always been this way. Growing up as a British teenager in Malaysia, my then size 10-12 body seemed big compared to the girls in my class. Girls at school would tell me I was big, and I always had to buy dresses and jeans labelled large. I loved dancing, and did some cheerleading, too, but both had a culture of skinny being superior.
Desperate to be smaller, at 15, I became bulimic. As I deprived my body of the food it needed, my waistline shrank to a size 8-10 and I started to get the affirmation I’d wanted. My friends would tell me how much better I looked, which only spurred on my eating disorder.
Then, in 1982 when I was 19, I moved back to the UK and the change in my environment helped me overcome my bulimia. Having a new job at a magistrates court made me focus on work. But everywhere I looked, the message remained the same. If I wanted to be loved and accepted, I’d have to be thin, and I never felt good enough. Even when I got married in 1985 wearing a size 8 dress, I still thought I was too big. My husband, who I met when I was 19, always told me he loved me just the way I was, but I still carried my insecurities. I danced regularly and, even though I was no longer bulimic, I sometimes fell into patterns of not eating enough. If only I’d realised then how gorgeous I was. Following a difficult birth with my first son at 21 and losing my second child, I had my third and fourth kids by C-section at 25 and 26. Seeing how my body changed with pregnancy and birth made me feel even more self-conscious, especially losing my size 8 figure. I loved spending time with my babies, but I felt awful in my post-baby body. On trips to the beach, I couldn’t even bring myself to wear a swimming costume while paddling with my toddlers in the water, terrified of people seeing my size 14 body.
Finding happiness
As I got older, my body continued to change as I gained weight and lost the firmness I once had. While my husband loved my curves, I hid away in photos and chose clothes that covered up my arms.
Then, as I approached 50 in 2013, something in me switched. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life hating my body. I wanted to stand up to my fears. I conquered my fear of heights with a tandem charity skydive, and confronted my hatred of the gym by doing a Tough Mudder with my daughter and partner. I took up belly-dancing classes, too, which helped me love the way my body moves.
Now I’m not scared to wear a sleeveless top or a bikini. I’m more confident at a size 14 than I ever was at a size 8. Sometimes it’s hard to love yourself when the world is telling you not to, but it’s about finding the happiness and confidence within.
‘I’M MORE CONFIDENT NOW AT A SIZE 14 THAN I EVER WAS AT A SIZE 8’
‘I wanted to stand up to my fears’
Victoria Massey, 37, lives in Cardiff where she runs her online business, Virtual Victoria.
Walking down the main street in Cardiff with my friends one evening, I turned my head away as a group of lads sneered and laughed. Living with cerebral palsy, I was used to brushing off nasty comments from strangers in the street, but I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t hurtful.
Born a month premature in October 1984, I was rushed to intensive care. I was a poorly baby, but as I grew older, I hit all my mental development milestones.
Only, by the time I was 18 months, I still couldn’t pull myself up to walk. My worried mum and dad took me to the doctor who told them I had cerebral palsy and I would likely never take my first steps.
But my parents were determined for me to lead a normal life like any other little girl. Even though it took me a little longer, my left foot dragged and my hips tilted,
I did learn to walk.
My disability didn’t stop me from going to a mainstream school and even though I’d get teased from time to time, I got on with it and took all my exams.
Difficult teens
But when I reached my teens, I started to notice my physical differences and began to feel self-conscious.
I worked full-time in my local government careers service from 18. As my friends went off to uni, I felt like my disability prevented me from joining in on nights out. My turned-in feet meant I couldn’t wear heels like the other girls, and I had to sit at the side while my friends danced in the clubs. If I did go out, drunk men would shout slurs at me, insulting my disability.
Desperate to distract people from my legs, I was forever changing my hairstyle with different cuts and colours, and buying nice make-up. I thought that if the rest of me looked nice, people wouldn’t pay so much attention to my disability.
In November 2008, at 24, I had a breakdown and became clinically anorexic, wanting to punish my body for being different. Luckily, with help from my doctor and medication, I managed to push through my disorder within a few months, but I still wasn’t confident. Instead of struggling on nights out, I became reclusive.
It wasn’t until lockdown in 2020 that I began to re-evaluate my priorities and start my journey to embracing my body. With my mobility getting worse as I got older, I was spending an increasing amount of time housebound. I decided to launch my own virtual assistant business online, and soon realised I needed to show my face in videos and live streams. Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t getting me anywhere. With the support of my parents and my growing online business community, I felt confident and ready to show the real me.
Now, I’ve ditched my baggy jeans for freeing maxi dresses, and embraced my whole body, wonky leg and all. My newfound self-love has helped my confidence, too, and I’m not afraid to go for dinner with friends in my comfy shoes.
‘I’ve ditched my baggy jeans’