Back when I was seventeen years old, I weighed one hundred and eighteen pounds. I thought I was FAT. I was ashamed of the cute little TINY baby pooch that I had hovering over my tummy. In all other ways, I was a veritable hard-body. I rode horses and worked in a stable, so I was constantly exercising. My calves were AWESOME. My butt was LEGENDARY. I had visible biceps and triceps.
And still, I was terribly unhappy with my body.
Fast forward a handful of years, where I popped up to around 130 lbs. A divorce shaved some weight off of that, so that when Calvin and I got together I was around 123 pounds. And I thought I was “fat”. I was sad that I couldn’t wear belly shirts or bikinis without calling attention to that darn tummy. I constantly compared myself to the tall, willowy women that seem to be EVERYWHERE in Arizona (fucking Scottsdale Bitches). I was shorter, rounder, curvier. I had hips and boobs and an ass. I had a shape that wasn’t popular for my time.
When I hit thirty years old, I was staying at right around 130 lbs. I didn’t try terribly hard to lose any weight, though I was still rather body shy, but getting over it. And then, a couple of years later, I had my gallbladder out. In the three years since then, I’ve gone from 130 to, at my highest, 158 pounds. I’m at 152 right now.
I’m KICKING myself that I didn’t enjoy my body when it was nice… I still had a messed up sense of what an attractive body should look like – and my curves weren’t a part of that. Let me tell you what, I would KILL for my 130 pound body right now – in fact, that’s within five pounds of what my goal weight is. I’d like to get as low as 125, but 130 is just fine by me.
Funny how a weight that I used to AGONIZE over and cry and beat myself up about, is now what I consider to be my ideal. I was such a damned idiot. Now, I’m trying to find things that I like about my body, even though it’s well above my goal weight. I have great hair and skin. My butt still looks good in jeans. I still look young for my age.
I’m not perfect and I never will be. Now, I don’t WANT to be – that’s way too much pressure. When it came to finally growing the fuck up and figuring out what was REAL and what was IMPORTANT, I came late to the party. But I did show up.