The insecurities of a 20-years-old Woman: Day 2

Hi crazies.

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:

This is a self-discovery path for me that I decided to share with the world because:

  1. This way I am kind of forced to do it.
  2. 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).

that is how i see myself.

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.