I just read Miss Britt‘s blog, which is rapidly becoming my favorite. I read a couple of her posts. But I stopped at one called Ugly. I read every word. And it resonated. Particularly a part where she spoke of finding her naked body unattractive. I just discovered her, by the way. If you haven’t yet, do. Truly.
I hate my body. Despise it in it’s entirety. I don’t feel there is a single redeeming quality from my chin down. And I’m not saying this in a fishing for compliments type way. I’m just flat out telling you from my heart.
I’m embarrassed by my body. I don’t feel like it’s ugliness should belong to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve it? Well…aside from quitting any workout regime. But I feel that I was given a pretty face and as a joke, a very unattractive naked body. I’m the complete opposite of that stupid teenage-boy saying of my day…”body by fisher, face by mistake.”
My stomach. I should love it and all its jiggly splendor. It was home to my three beautiful children and kept them each safe for 9 months. But no. I think back to my smooth tummy, pre-stretch marks. The tight skin. I used to have kick ass abs. No matter how chunky I got, my stomach was always beautiful. I actually had a physical attribute I was proud of. Truly. Until my first born started living in there. And I ate my way up the scale 90 pounds in 40 weeks. It was quite a feat. Few can claim an accomplishment such as that. I was never able to achieve such heights with my two other pregnancies. Although, I didn’t quite try.
The rest of my body. I can’t look at it.
I won’t stand naked in front of a mirror.
And I won’t let my husband see me naked.
I’m ashamed of me.
I’m afraid that, if I find my body to be a monstrosity, then so will my husband.
I’m afraid that I will repulse him, and he won’t love me any more.
Because if I don’t love my body in all of it’s nakedness.
Then how can he?
With all my dimples and craters.
With all my sags and dips.
And now, with age becoming a factor.
Which causes things to go when no things should go…
I hide my body in shame.
At night, we keep the lights out when we make love.
Because I’m so insecure about my body.
I refuse to ever be in a position of vulnerability.
And as long as I feel like no one knows about the ugliness that hides under my clothing.
And as long as I feel like my secret is safe, cloaked in darkness.
Then I’m OK, masked in a false sense of security.
But, I do worry.
About being exposed.