I began reading a book last night. I only got about 45 pages in, and I turned it back into the library today. It is not an intense read worthy of the time, but I did glean something from it in the time spent.
There are women out there who are not bombshells, not gorgeous, nor perfect by any means, but who are comfortable with their bodies.
I am not terrible. I am not excessively overweight. No one would guess my weight, which consoles me in suggesting that a lot of it is muscle. Yet I am not one of those women. I am not, nor have I ever been, comfortable in my body.
In my last relationship, I got much more comfortable with how I look. I began to realize, “Hey, if this guy sees me and still acts or thinks the way he does about me, then I must be okay…”
And now I am beginning to realize that this is wrong. I am not okay. I am great. I need to say that to myself every day, if that what it takes because by the next time I’m in Europe I want to be able to walk the streets comfortable with what I look like. By my next relationship I want to be comfortable with the guy seeing every inch of me. I want to carry myself in a way that suggests I’m boasting about who I am, not trying to hide something.
And it’s going to happen.
