I Am Not #Winning At Body Acceptance
In the past year I have gained 15 pounds and am officially the heaviest I have ever been in my life, aside from my two pregnancies. As much as I would love to say that I am happy in the skin I am in now, that would be a lie. Straight up. Because NOTHING could be farther from the truth. I cannot stand the way my body feels right now. I cringe at the fact that I am up a jeans size, and even THOSE are tight. Medium shirts don't fit quite like they used to either. I find myself buying more and more large sizes, and each time my heart breaks a little more.
When I look in the mirror it would be nice to say I love my new curves. But I don't. I fucking hate them. I hate the rolls. I hate the belly. And I DESPISE the muffin top. The only plus side to my new found weight gain is my bigger boobs. But with each bigger boob comes a fucking new chin. And maybe I'm exaggerating a tad, but it certainly doesn't feel that way when I look at myself in the semi-full length mirror.
I am NOT comfortable with the weight. I never will be. I know my personality, and I know what I'm capable of. This new body is the result of pure neglect in the health department. This new me is because I skip the gym more often than go, and I eat McDonald's breakfast like the apocalypse could happen at any moment. I am being mean to my body. I am punishing it for reasons unknown to me. I am giving my body a big FUCK YOU everyday and it's got to stop.
I refuse to accept the new "me," because, duh, this isn't me. This is lazy. This is bullshit. And I deserve better. So, back to the gym and fuck the junk food. As the good Lorde sang, "Glory and gore go hand in hand." I intend to put myself through hell and come out on the other side victorious. And more importantly, healthy and content.