Today is Mother’s Day in the U.S., so Happy Mother’s Day to mommy readers out there. Even if you’re not American mothers. You still can be appreciated for all the hard work you do, because your job is a tough one.
One day, I would love to be a mother. I’m 31, and that pull is almost stronger than gravity at times. It’s one of those things that I know for a fact that I would do well. Most people are terrified of screwing up their children, and sure, part of me worries that I could. However, more often than not, I think I will do an amazing job when I get there, and it is one of the very few things in life that I am super confident about right now. While it sort of sucks I’m not there yet, I know I have to trust that eventually, I will be there.
I took new pictures of my body today. This time I was only in a bra and tank top, so I don’t think I am going to be posting them… At least not at this juncture. Interestingly, I had similar pictures from mid-March, so I was able to get a decent comparison of what the last 60 days have done for me.
People kept telling me they can see the difference. I couldn’t. At least not really. Looking at the pictures, though… I can. Things are tighter, for lack of a better term. The sides of my body are more defined and muscular. My back has a lot fewer rolls. Actually, my stomach is different. I may end up with loose skin there, but I think I’m starting to accept that.
Loose skin terrified me. I didn’t want it, because I thought about how unattractive it would be to have this “pouch of excess” hanging out right there. But I’ve been overweight for over 20 years. My skin got comfortable being all stretched out. So it is likely my reality. I can’t let that hold me back, though. Hell, maybe I will get lucky and my skin will learn its way back on its own quickly.
I did something interesting, today. I thanked my ex-friend in this long, sort of heartfelt message. Honestly, I know he had quite a bit to do with why I’m at this point in my life. It’s the last thing I am going to send him; well, at least, that’s the goal. He doesn’t know that part.
The thing is, he didn’t appreciate me… but that wasn’t his fault. Well, not entirely. I also didn’t appreciate myself. I didn’t love myself, care for myself, or feel that I had any value unless he determined I had value to him. Living and dying by the words of another person is a surefire way to make things difficult. It’s nearly fucking impossible to love someone the way you need to when they can’t love themselves.
Sometimes, we need to be rocked to our core, to think that we can’t make it out, that we are going to be stuck in the same hopeless cycle forever. That realization can be the wake-up call you need more than anything. If you take it as a lesson, you begin to develop your ability for self-love.
And it’s working for me. I noticed it when I looked in the mirror this morning. My eyes are a little red and puffy (thanks fucking seasonal allergies), but I looked at my face and thought, “You know, Kelsey… You have quite a pretty face, and fucking amazing hair.”
It was like I fucking woke up. No more waiting for him to see it in order to make it true. No more only letting his opinion determine my worthiness. So I thanked him for letting me go, because I needed it. And I can know my value while understanding that he was important to this process.
I think I had a lot to come to terms with when it came to him. He’s been a part of my life for years at this point, and he was really fucking important. He wasn’t bad, but I think I needed to demonize him so that I could feel justification in being hurt. It was like I couldn’t accept my mistakes and understand that the fact that he hurt me were two separate things, and I was equally allowed to acknowledge both.
I am acknowledging both now. It’s ok that I think he’s a prick for hurting me but that I can also understand that I did things that required me to accept full responsibility for my actions. God damn… Is this what being an emotionally healthy, mature adult is about? This sort of doesn’t suck as much as I thought it would. It’s a lot of fucking hard work to even start getting here, though.
Well, this is a nice, long entry to offset the fact that I think my last couple were shorter. I’m going to go make myself some dinner. Toodles!
P.S.- I’m 31 going on 87 with that “Toodles” thing. Self-deprecating humor is never going to leave this meat sack, lol.