Belly talk makes enemies

Last week, I wrote about the self-loathing I feel for my body. It’s not all the time and I certainly don’t spend every waking hour obsessing over it. But I have days, like everyone else (I hope), where I look down at my body and ask myself what the fuck happened?

I got a bunch of supportive emails and comments from that post last week and THOSE? They were really awesome. Thank you. And yes, J from California, my counter is full of different lotions and creams, none of which have done what they promised to do. So yeah, a total waste of fucking money. And I am totally and unequivocally gullible.

I certainly don’t write this blog so I can get people to kiss my ass and tell me how wonderful I am. If that were the case, I should probably start by changing the title to I’m a Conceited Asshole or the Gloriousness That is Me or something. I write here to sort out the daily craziness and stupidity that is so very much a part of my life. If people can relate, great – I’m glad I’m not the only one. And if you can’t relate, thanks for fumbling your way here, reading my words and rolling your eyes.

Sometimes, I feel like, as women, we’ve got so many different roles to fill, that we lose sight of who we are. It certainly doesn’t help that we’re bombarded, on too many fronts, with faces and bodies that we’re told are beautiful and perfect – that these are attainable, if only we do this or that to our bodies.

When I was in my 20’s, I suffered through a horrible eating disorder that warped my body image. I worked out constantly, I starved myself, I straightened and colored my hair, I tweezed and lasered and waxed just so I could be like that 5’10” supermodel on the magazine cover. But I lost myself in those years. I lost sight of who I was. I became this young woman with no identity, trying to achieve the impossible.

I got a handful of emails that were a little more critical, to say the least. Here are some excerpts:

God, get off your lazy ass and at least walk around the neighborhood. Your body isn’t going to transform itself by sitting on the sofa all day eating chips.

I hate reading about women like you who just make excuses for getting fatter as you age. This is no one’s fault except your own. Deal with it.

Maybe if you didn’t eat so much, you could work on that gut a little. There are other things out in the world besides eating and drinking.

Do you really think anyone is going to sympathize with you?

Shit. You are one of those moms that I totally hate. Suck it up and stop complaining.

You’re right, people who emailed me, I hide behind my excuses to not get up and not doing anything about my flabby stomach and growing thighs. And yes, the excuses are endless. But maybe I cringe at the idea of working out because I used to be THAT girl that is always at the gym, THAT girl that is always eating healthy, THAT girl that makes judgements on other people because they can’t maintain a healthy weight and physique. I was THAT girl that said I would NEVER be that mom with the big ugly shirt, hair pulled back in a bun and sweats on all day long. I hated that girl and I never want to see her ever again.

And maybe I AM too fucking lazy to go outside and go for a stroll. But mainly? I don’t want to go outside because even with a ridiculously big hat and sunglasses and sunscreen with SPF10000, I will get sun spots all over my face and i hate sun spots. Also, all my shorts are a little too tight around the waist.

My body is a direct reflection of what my life is like now. I still hate my midsection, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s not so bad. And every day, I grow just a little more comfortable with that. Just a little. Because I love my life.

Maybe I should go shopping for some mom jeans now.

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