I am Victoria Jane.
As you can guess from the title of this blog, I am 29.
I am five foot, six inches tall.
As of this morning, I weigh ten stone, eight pounds.
I am on the heavier side of a healthy BMI and eight pounds over my personally preferred weight.
My hair is naturally dark and very straight, which I’ve always hated because it’s always difficult to curl.
My eyes are a very dark brown and I have freckle on the right pupil.
I inherited my fathers nose and my mothers mouth and thanks to two years of braces, I have a perfectly straight top set of teeth.
I have laughter lines around my eyes and frown marks forming on my forehead.
Like most women, one breast is slightly bigger than the other and two years ago, I found a lump that thankfully turned out to be harmless.
I have a very narrow waist and carry most of my weight around my stomach, which has prompted more than one stranger to ask me when my baby is due.
I have quite narrow hips and thighs that will never have a gap between them.
Both my knees are scarred from childhood adventures and I am oddly self concious about them.
After a break from ballet of more than a decade, my feet are finally starting to soften and the nail beds are recovering.
I have series of small scars on the backs of my hands and arms, the result of having drips inserted as a kid.
Both of my index fingers curve inwards and it’s rare that my fingernails grow long.
I have a lot of freckles and moles, including large ones on my chin, chest and the back of my left thigh.
I have a ‘halo’ mole on the back of my right shoulder, which means that the skin around it stays pale, even when I have a tan.
I have stretch marks on my hips and cellulite on my bum.
And just before Christmas, I found a single grey hair growing in my fringe.
It was a strange moment and one that I was not at all prepared for. I stared at it for several seconds and then burst into tears.
I am generally a body confident woman; I have been thin and I’ve been bigger, I’ve had a rainbow of hair colours and I have accepted other signs of aging – laughter lines, stretch marks, the arrival of one or two creases in my forehead – with relative ease but for some reason, this single grey hair came as a shock.
I have always been of the opinion that people should do whatever they need to in order to feel comfortable in their skin. Colour your hair, wear contact lenses, get tattoos, wear a certain style of clothing. And I always thought that when my grey hairs arrived, I would wear them without worry, it’s a natural part of aging after all.
But when it happened, I just wasn’t ready.
And so I pulled it out.
I felt guilty afterwards – and I know the old wives tale that if you pull one out, five more will arrive in its place – but it was making me feel uncomfortable.
And one day soon, I’ll grow old disgracefully and grey hairs will be woven into the map of my body.
Just not today.