I thought this was absolutely inspiring and has a great message/messages. Yes, there is always pressure to stay thin, wear those tight dresses so that men will look at you and admire you, but is that way of living beneficial for you??? I used to suffer from bulimia nervosa, and I always felt pressure to stay thin for my boyfriends, my dad, and really any male, because I felt they were always judging me and critiquing my body like it was a piece of meat without a soul. Sure, I would get compliments from friends on how skinny I was, but they didn’t know — or just thought it was normal behavior for a high school aged girl–to eat so little as 3 packets of peanut butter crackers a day. I would go to parties, get drunk, and throw myself at guys–or drunkenly call my ex-boyfriend–because I need their validation to feel good about myself. I was the skinniest I had ever been in my life, but I was also the unhappiest. SO, if you think that hitting size zero, or being able to eat only pirate’s booty all day, is going to make you happy YOU ARE SO WRONG. Trust me. I’ve been there, and it doesn’t. I am so grateful for the friends I have made in college, and all the support I have gotten from them. They are the ones who showed me that you can eat ACTUAL meals and not blow up like a balloon. They are the ones who went to the gym with me, encouraged me, and told me I was beautiful and gorgeous. Something some of my high school friends never once said, even if it was at my 18th birthday party, and I was one of the skinniest there. Now, I feel comfortable in my body for the way it is. Sure, I still have days (more often than not) that I want nothing more than to magically be granted the perfect body according to the popular trend, fad, or look of the times. But that’s the thing. Everyone has a different definition of perfect. I would rather continue to work out, eat well, splurge a little on drinks and junk once in awhile in moderation, than ever go back to starving myself or making myself sick. Thank you for this post @thedaisyb, because it speaks to me, and i’m sure many other women, on multiple levels.
Shall we talk about your body?
Your body, which used to be thinner. Which you took for granted, because it fitted into cheap, tight dresses. Your body, which took you up and down Brixton Hill, every day, twice a day, never unheralded by catcalls, the stream of men and their “Oh baby hey baby nice tits nice ass hey WHERE YOU GOING?”
Your body was a girl’s body, made from dancing and late nights and skipped dinners, of hopefulness and sleeplessness and sadness. It took care of itself, or rather, you didn’t care that it couldn’t. It wasn’t for you, and so you didn’t mind that you couldn’t always afford to feed and nurture it. The admiration of others was nourishment enough. You often went to bed feeling empty. You thought it was heartbreak. It was probably hunger.
Then your body became plump with love.
Late dinners and later breakfasts…
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