You know when you are spooning in bed with a guy, him as the “big spoon”, you as the “little spoon”. The natural place for his arm to go around you to lie is across your stomach and I absolutely hate that!
In that situation I will always move the guys hand to either my breasts, my pussy or I’ll link fingers with him and pull his arm across me.
Why do I do this?
Because I absolutely hate my stomach. I have a proper pot belly.
If I breathe out it actually looks like I’m about 7 months pregnant! What’s worse is that over the past couple of months stretch marks have arrived on the body part I hate the most, making me detest it so much more. The fact that they are still new and red makes me so ashamed of it and extremely self conscious.
I started taking part in #Sinfulsunday to try and be more body positive. It was a good plan to start with, my second anonymous #SinfulSunday included my stomach (pre stretch marks) but since then it’s changed. I’ve realised that since then I’ve only posted pictures of the part’s of my body that I actually like i.e. my breasts. Those picture’s still normally require quite a few takes and some editing till I am 100% happy with them.
Purposefully I hide the parts of my body I hate and that is not being body positive. I know exactly why I do it. It’s so that people don’t see the things I hate in myself and are repulsed by them as much as I am.
After watching a video where blogger Matt Diaz revealed what his body now looks like after he incredibly lost over half his body weight really inspired me. If he is brave enough to do that, surely I can be brave enough to show the parts of my body that I hate.
This is my body. It is what it is and my life and experiences have made it what it is today, accepting that will only help to improve my own body image.
From the chicken pox scar on my right boob, to the birth mark on the back of my left leg, to the freckles and moles I inherited from both parents and the stretch marks, whether they are old or new.
This is me.
No cropping out the bad bits.
No posing or holding my stomach in.
This is the real me.
The lopsided boobs.
The big belly covered in stretch marks.
The unkempt pubic hair.
My body was created from having a good life.
Good eating, good drinking and good times.
How can I hate that?
How can I ever expect someone to accept the real me when I don’t accept it myself?
To view everyone else’s contributions this week, click on the lips.