This is day 2 of this crazy little journey that I am putting myself through. If you want to check of day 1 it is here:https://blankssd.com/2018/02/22/the-insecurities-of-a-20-years-old-woman/
This is a self-discovery path for me that I decided to share with the world because:
- This way I am kind of forced to do it.
- I know that 20-years-old women are insecure and maybe they will want some company on their own journeys to adult-life.
Enjoy, laugh and stay strong.
I think I am incredible fat. Like a gigantic ball of massive pizza slices and hot chocolate.
Today I am wearing a bright orange blouse with some mom ripped jeans. What the hell was I thinking?
I am not a queen of fashion but I would love to know how to dress myself and what my style is.
But the problem is that when I picture my outfit in my mind is beautiful and I look like some kind of supermodel but then I am a huge bright orange ball wearing mom jeans in a coffee shop with everyone looking at my Michelin body (you know that stupid character from a car add? No? Ok. Insert image here).
For fucking god sake, I am not obese. I have some flufflyness to me. Somehow that little piece of fat on my stomach grows out like a little monster every time I look at pizza. And I love pizza.
Why do we, woman, think so little of a piece of flesh in our body. It is just fat. I wish I could think like this.
Lately I hate my body. I can´t even get naked in front of my boy because I don´t want him to notice that I have a mini- little extra roll in my belly. I called him pizza baby.
The other day I was in a clothing shop and while I was changing into my soon to be shirt we said: “That strips you have, can they be removed?”. I cried over that. He insulted my tiger strips. And no, they are never going to go away. Sorry society I am not a Photoshop model.
Isn´t it stupid to put ourselves into categories: fat, thin, obese, ball, sad, depressed.
I want to be me, and my body is not your body so why has I convinced, since a child, to compare myself to everyone else.
I even see other girls that are fluffier than me and I get jealous because they own their body. They love themselves. And I am here getting frustrated over an extra roll or my tiger strips.
Anyway, none of this matter actually matter in my head enough, otherwise I would starve myself to achieve an overly perfect silhouette. I am not up for that. I am up for confidence and a good and regular workout to make it easier to run in stairs if I ever need to.
This extra roll is not worth my hot chocolate. That I am drinking. Right now. No guilt. Let them appreciate my belly roll.