All my life, I have been very self-conscious of my body. When I was a teenager, I hated it and did everything I could to ensure I kept it covered. I rarely wore shorts, I wore jeans all summer long. I have no idea why, other than teenage angst, because when I look back, I had a kick-ass body back then. I had nice hips, a thin waist and just enough boobs. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I was a teenager.
As I got older, I discovered beer. That’s when my body started to expand, but not in all the right places. I had a very unhealthy/emotionally abusive relationship which upped my beer intake considerably. I eventually got enough nerve to kick that relationship to the curb, but depression snuck in and I was terribly fashionable for quite some time in baggy sweatshirts and sweatpants. I was the queen of fashion. But, my body was completely hidden, rightly so according to my ex, because it was disgusting.
After a while, I shelved the sweatpants (although I still wear then when I’m carving, because it’s okay to look like a bag of crap when you’re turning into a giant dustball anyway) and returned to my jeans and t-shirt comfort zone. But, without realizing I was doing so, the t-shirts were always big. Really big. I was still hiding myself. Funnily enough, I also started wearing more outrageous things. I was wearing bright colours, many colours, weird saying on my t-shirts. I think that subconsciously, I was hoping that if people noticed anything, it was my clothing, and not me. That endured through another unhealthy/emotionally abusive relationship (what’s up with that anyway?) and into the recent past.
Fast forward to 2015. (Ironically, I’m numerically dyslexic and typed 2105… that would be a reeeeeeally long time from now.) I still have the clothing with the weird sayings, and the brightly coloured clothing, and the many-coloured clothing, but I’ve noticed that, for the most part, the bigger stuff is still in the storage boxes. I’m pulling out the stuff I like that may be a teeny bit snug, but I’m okay with that. I’m pulling out the shorter pants.
It would seem that, for the first time in my life, I’ve suddenly become more comfortable with my body. I can attribute that to one thing, or should I say, one person. I think that finding someone who actually loves me for me, who tells me I’m beautiful, and who loves my body the way it is, is slowly starting to change the way I see myself. I don’t use the word “disgusting” when I describe my body. I am still not overly fond of it, but I can live with it now. And who knows, maybe, eventually, I might love it as much as he does. But for now, at least someone does. 🙂