Sometimes I delight in my fat rolls

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Sometimes I delight in my fat rolls. I didn’t always have them. I grew up a very skinny kid, the     kind that could barely put on weight.  If I didn’t like what people gave me, I wouldn’t eat it.  Then I’d proceeded to eat whatever my body would want.
As I grew I got jabs about how small and skinny I was, “put some weight on you.” “You’re skin and bones.” “eat more”,  I realised that where others had breasts where I had barely nubbins. I felt asexual, not that you should be ashamed of asexuality, but at that time you think “what’s wrong with me?” After my first boyfriend, I realised what I was isn’t asexual. I was threatened by men, who I hardly understood but I was slowly realising that my body as it was can be a powerful thing.  At 22 I started putting on weight, I developed stretch marks of which I was ashamed.  I was loved but I felt I did not deserve it. So much was caught up in this idea of perfection, I would not let him touch my little stomach although he delighted in it. I lost the bit of extra weight, I gained again.  I lost love, I gained love. I lost again.
So much of who I was, was tied up in this idea that I was not good enough.  My figure it’s boyish but carries some weight. My thighs, my love handles, my stomach created a strange undulating silhouette but it was definitely not an hourglass, more like a jelly baby. As I get older and in my 32 year I revel in my fat rolls. they are part of me. The only time they cause me pain is when my clothes don’t fit right, when I see my bottom from behind it’s a little saggy.  When I see that gorgeous girl with the larger figure, her stomach is still as flat as a pancake and her breast are a force to be reckoned with, I’m jealous.
It’s others who shame me with their well-meaning words, It’s for others that I go to my most hated place, The Gym. I want to stop listening to others because sometimes I delight in my fat rolls, they’re part of me.

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Filed under Bitch, Feminista, Home truths

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