Recently, I looked through my instagram feed, and I noticed a large majority of my posts are me in either a bikini or underwear. On the surface, some may perceive this as vanity. I’m sure some folks will even assume I’m a whore, slut, hoe, etc. I’ve had many guys ask me if I have an OnlyFans, because of what they see on my IG feed. I do not.
Those pictures are only what people see now. They don’t see the me of way back when. They don’t see the thirteen-year-old girl wearing a t-shirt over her bathing suit at the beach because she was so uncomfortable in her own skin she felt she needed to cover herself up. They don’t see a girl of twelve too embarrassed to go bra shopping, so she’d beg her mom to do it for her. They don’t see the adolescent girl who never wore a ponytail because she wouldn’t be able to hide behind her hair. They don’t see the young girl who was so self-conscious about her legs she didn’t wear shorts the entire time she was in high school. They don’t see the college-aged young woman who basically stopped eating because during some “locker room talk” one guy said to another guy, about her, “you fucked that fat girl?” They don’t see the woman too traumatized at the weight she was gaining during her pregnancy, she’d turn around on the scale and ask the nurse not to tell her what she weighed.
I worked hard to get my body where it is today. I haven’t always done this in the healthiest ways, but that is a post for another time. The first time I ever ran a mile without stopping, I was 30. I ran it in 12 minutes. I felt like I was going to die the whole time. I kept pushing through. I finished my mile, and I experienced my first runners high. I felt proud of myself. When I started weight training I used 2.5 lb. and 5 lb. dumbbells. Now I use a lot more weight. I can curl a 20 lb. dumbbell with no problem. I can plank for several minutes. I can run 3 miles in under 30 minutes. I can invert on a pole and hang upside down by my legs. I have muscle definition. None of this happened overnight. I worked at it.
Changing what and how I ate was the hardest part, because I am always horny for food. If I had to choose between food and sex, I’d choose food. This is the part I still struggle with. I can workout all day long. That is easy. Eating only one or two pieces of pizza instead of the entire pie, is the hard part. I have a fucked-up relationship with food, but like I said, I’ll save that for another time. The point is, I have finally reached a goal I thought was a pipe dream. A lot of the insecurities I had about my body have faded. I, of course, still have insecurities, but not like I used to.
I have received hateful comments from others because the way I carry myself, or pictures I post on social media, make them uncomfortable. It isn’t my job to make you comfortable. Don’t look at my feed if it makes you feel some type of way. Don’t look my way if the way I dance or carry myself makes you feel so down on yourself, you feel the only way to raise yourself up is to insult me or call me names. A few years ago, a woman approached me at a company Christmas party I was attending with my husband. She told me I was disgusting and her husband would be thinking about my pussy tonight instead of hers. I was drunk and told her, “Good!” Probably not the best response, but how is her issue with her husband my problem? I’ve had a woman call me a whore in an instagram comment. I don’t even know her. It isn’t what these women say to me that bothers me, it’s that they feel they can. As if being myself, has diminished who they are.
Sometimes, I make myself small; I shy away from embracing all that I have accomplished. Fuck that! I’ve gained a lot of confidence in myself, and while it seems superficial on the surface, it isn’t. I put in the work. I achieved goals I set. I’m not going to apologize for it. I think teenage me, would be proud of middle-aged me. That’s what counts.
Lost in Resolute Reverie 
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