I am officially deciding to accept my flaws. I’ve always had serious body-image issues and problems with my appearance, but you know what? I’m done. I don’t look perfect, I’ll never look perfect, and that’s okay.
What prompted this? I was thinking about my weight, and what’s a semi-reasonable weight loss goal. Before I had the smidge I weighed 113 lbs. To some that’s big to others it’s tiny; all I know is that that was as small as I could get, even when I was starving myself. I would skip as many consecutive meals as I could, until I was lightheaded and dizzy and could barely stand and Josh was yelling(not yelling but being worried and telling me) at me to eat food. I was a size five and I was incapable of getting any smaller, no matter how hard I tried.
So I was thinking back on that with my current 123 lb self and I realized something: Even if I could starve myself back to that weight I will never be any smaller than a size five, and it’s not because I’m fat, or not determined enough, It’s because I have some damn wide hips! It’s not my fat or lack of will power that prevents me from being smaller, It’s my freaking skeleton! I have spent so, so much time worrying and crying because I was so overweight (I mock my former skinny bitch self) and being afraid that Josh would get sick of being with a fat chick (he actually started dating me when I weighed roughly 135… He says he loved my ass back then.) And I realized that that’s kindof insane.
My body isn’t perfect, I have:
A fat baby face that leaves me with a perpetual double-chin in photos
Stretchmarks that are no longer terrifyingly purple but still very visible
Boobs that are more befitting of a forty year old than an eighteen year old (fuck breastfeeding, it’s not that much healthier it made me depressed and gave me old lady boobs, stick to formula.)
And a tummy pouch that I may never completely obliterate.
But I also have:
Nearly flawless porcelain skin (if I gave up coke(the soda people!) I could clear the last of my blemishes but it’s a beloved weakness of mine)
An hourglass shape
Double D’s that look pretty good in a bra (helps the old lady sag)
The biggest bounciest ass you can find on a skinny white girl (I’ve been repeatedly advised to try some of the black-girl brands (Is that racist? Probably but everybody knows that black chicks have the best booties so you can’t be too offended right???????))
And because of my smaller-size-prohibiting hips I have a huge thigh gap. It doesn’t matter if I’m not starving myself because the way I’m built makes my legs naturally sit a bit apart.
So I’ve decided that while I’m going to try to shed a few more pounds and get back under 120, I’m not going to freak out and have epic melt-downs because of my waist-size any more. I only get one life. I only get one chance to be young. So I’m sure as hell not going to waste it sobbing because I’ll never ever be a size two like my anorexic twat sister (besides unlike her I’m curvy). I’m going to remember that it’s honestly unhealthy for me to go back to what I used to weigh, and it’s even more unhealthy to worry and obsess about it the way that I have since I was fifteen.
You see so many women in their thirties and forties finally accepting, or still struggling, with self-image issues and sorry, but I refuse to be one of them. I will force myself to eat. In healthy amounts. I will eventually learn to fucking excessive instead of skipping meals. But I will not worry about it anymore. I will drink my soda and eat my ice cream and instead of feeling guilty I will remember that I’m not overweight until my doctor tells me so.
…….But I’m going to get a booby lift once I’m done spawning pint-sized dictators…… because I want to enjoy my figure as much as I can and that’s something diet and exercise just can’t fix.
Take all of this however the fuck you want. I don’t have a moral or a point (besides maybe not blaming your fat for what your skeleton does to your pant size), I’m just happy because I’m not wasting time and making myself miserable anymore.