Keeping it oh-so real.
And nothing's wrong, so don't call out the guard. I'm just musing a little bit.
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My first Body Issue will be forever tattooed on my heart. I was eleven years old, and seemingly overnight I grew a chest. A large one. One that I didn't know how to handle, especially without the help of a training bra beforehand. It was a miserable experience for all involved, especially for my mother who would often find the bras she bought me stuffed into the bottom of my backpack.
And ever since then, I've felt like I have had to rely solely on my personality to get me the things I want in my life. When I was eleven years old, I subconsciously decided that my body and my looks were not worthwhile to anyone and therefore didn't need to be part of my equation.
Sure, I have tried to keep myself clean and make-upped. Hair brushed and behind-the-ears washed.
But it never really mattered what clothes I wore or what food I ate - I knew that the only way I could achieve my goals was to keep my head down, work hard, and charm the flippin' pants off of every person I met.
The days where a girl is supposed to feel beautiful have come and gone for me, but without the beautiful part. My prom? I've never seen the pictures, and I don't want to. My wedding day? I can't look at my dress hanging in my closet now without thinking about how the slip cut me off at and accentuated my thick waist. The birth of my baby? I had a terrible haircut.
All of the things that are normally equated to looking and feeling good about oneself are things I feel I cheated my way into. All of the boys I ever dated were products of my outrageously amazing flirting skills. The pictures I look decent in are because I practice my angles in the mirror constantly. (Recently I've taken to opening my mouth all the way in photos, which elongates my larger-than-life face and makes it look normal.) Heck, I even have myself convinced that Caleb married me because it was a practical match, rather than a good chance at having nice-looking posterity.
Now, after being pregnant twice and facing the likelihood of high cholesterol, high blood pressure, diabetes, and heart disease, I'm finally having to come to grips with my body for what it is. I have never been an average weight as a teen/adult. I have never been able to fit into a medium-sized shirt, and rarely a large. I never dated skinny guys I liked, because I felt like a mammoth even standing next to one. When I look into the mirror, I don't recognize that person as even remotely related to who I am. I'm not sure if that's due to self-loathing or being more interested in cultivating my inner awesomeness.
My job that I love, my friends and family that I have, my success in academics and extra-curricular activities - they all hinge on the inner Me. And the outer Me? Someday I'd like to say it'll be worth something to my equation, but for now it's just a bag of bones that carries me around.
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Moving in silent desperation
Keeping an eye on the holy land.
A hypothetical destination
Say, who is this walking man?
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