Dear Body of Mine –
We’ve had a love/hate relationship for as long as I can remember. I don’t think there’s been a day that I’ve been 100% satisfied with what you looked like. Even when you were on point, I could still look into a mirror and pick out a few flaws. From my height, to my skin tone. My weight, to how slanted my eyes are. Why is that? Did society make me that way?
I had a few issues with you while I was growing up. Why did I have to be taller than everyone? Kids made fun of me because I towered over them. I couldn’t stand it. I used to pray that I would shrink while I was sleeping. lol…..didn’t happen. I was called “beanstalk” and “two-tall” regularly. I started to believe that there was actually something wrong with my body. Even though I knew better, you made me shy and insecure. I was the girl who had a boyfriend that would look at me like I was the only girl in the room and I felt like a giraffe.
I used to go to the beach all the time to “tan”. Yup that’s right….I thought I was way to light skinned. People never really knew which category to put me in. I was too light for the blacks and too dark for the whites. Craziness. So I tanned. Hours and hours with my little spray bottle filled with coke. Trying to fit into what magazines were telling me. Spray, spray, spray…tan…rinse….repeat. But I achieved the best caramel colored skin tone.
In college, I discovered the gym for the first time. Fucking loved it. During my first semester, you grew another 4 1/2 inches (yay me) and since I was working the dog shit out of you, you started to change. I had to hand it to you though. Back then you were sick: 5′ 8.5″ tall, 120 pounds, 6 pack abs….and I had fallen in love with heels. Shit, you had legs for days. Mini skirts and shorts were staples in my wardrobe. I was totally in love with you then. Everyone else thought I was too skinny. My doctor told me you needed 30 more pounds to make you healthy. Didn’t he realize how hard I worked to get you to what my level of perfection was back then?
The pregnancies….a glorious time. You gave me cravings, acne, and 50 pound weight gains for the first two. For the third, you almost killed me from the inside. Seriously? You allow me to carry three beautiful babies and try to kill me?!
After that? A daily struggle to get you back to what you once were. Shit, now I actually have to watch what I eat? Gone are the days that I can eat rice and beans everyday and not have to worry about fitting in my jeans. Throw in all the calories from alcohol during a social outing and you’re literally laughing at me. I can hear you. Every time you start counting calories, I quickly think about something else. Why? Because I love food. But in order to keep you the way I think you should be, I can’t enjoy it.
I’m fucking killing myself at the gym. Working out at 5am before going to work. Attempting to drink a gallon of water a day. Limiting myself to no more than 1200 calories. If I don’t make it to the gym, I work out at home just to get it in. And how do you repay me when I get on the scale? The number only goes down 1/2 a pound. For fuck’s sake….really?! At least you shed inches when I workout like a maniac. If you could just do what I need you to do in a reasonable amount of time….that would be great.
But I still need to tell you one thing: You’re beautiful. I put you through hell daily. From shaving, waxing, tattooing & tanning. You name it and I’ve probably done it. I workout harder before I submit you to a happy hour or a girl’s night. In the next few years, I’ll probably put you through two more tats (because I’m obsessed). I’ll continue to torture my feet in five inch heels. I now embrace your height and your curves. I love the smile you gave me and the way you sound when I’m laughing.
So, thank you. Thank you for making me unique.
PS ~ I still hate the stretch marks……
xoxo ~ D