I’ve spent so much of my life hating my curves, then learning to love some of them and still loathe the others. Because I’ve compared them to what they are “supposed” to look like. Once I took that out of my vocabulary, and changed how I spoke to myself, it got easier. Now I challenge it. I often end up having conversations with myself in real time about it. Take this photo for instance, a few years ago, there’s no fucking way I would have shared it. I hated my glasses, I hated my belly. But I saw this photo yesterday that I captured and really liked it, until that voice popped up in my head.
Oh, that’s not a very flattering image of my belly.
Because it looks kind of flabby and not at all flat.
Who says it has to be flat? Why would that make it “better”?
Oh. Yeah. Fuck that. I look hot here. Flat tummies aren’t the only pretty tummies.
This is a new enough development that I am still surprised by the lack of disgust at things I’ve spent literal decades hating about myself. While it is unequivocally a positive thing, it’s a bit jarring to have to take a moment and ask, wait, who the fuck even am I? When you are the girl who based most of her life decisions around hating herself, and that hate starts to fade, it’s kind of fucking scary. While it is likely good things waiting to be discovered, the unknown is still the unknown. And we’ve been taught to fear that.
Even an ultimately good thing like healing and learning self-acceptance can be unnerving, uncomfortable and scary.
But fuck can it feel so good.