Fiancé sent me an article today about stretch marks and how they didn’t happen to ruin this one fitness bloggers life and they most likely won’t ruin mine. If he could just take away pain, stress or discomfort from me he would, but in true male fashion since he can’t… he is constantly “fixing” problems that just may not have a solution. I believe he will love me no matter what. Saggy skin and “tiger stripes” as I’m so sick of hearing them being referred to, will not keep him from wanting to fuck me. However, I cannot promise that the insecurity they will bring won’t keep me from wanting to fuck him.
I’ve always been pretty. I may have been awkward or chubby before a growth spurt here and there… but the unattractive times were far fewer than the “too cool for school” times. I’ve always been confident. Big fish in a small pond. Went to private school. You get it. My point is… my identity has always been connected largely in part to the way I look (isn’t everyone’s though?). I was smart enough to know even at a young age that people treated me different because I was pretty. For that same reason I thought from a very young age that I had to always look pretty and stay pretty in order to have people like me or keep liking me. My few heart aches left me thinking that I could’ve changed the outcome with my “desirability” rather than acknowledging poor timing or douchery on the part of my not so significant other at the time (God forbid any relationship failures were my fault) 😉 Let’s shorten this up. I’m vain.
A combination of the above mixed with a lack of education on healthy eating and dieting has resulted in years of being either way too thin or a tad chubby. I’ve just finally gotten my body exactly how I want it since competing in bikini competitions (nationally qualified by the way…toot toot) and I feel I can keep it this way due to the education I received about proper nutrition during prep. This has all happened just in time to have a human go tearing through me. You might say…. Then don’t have one. Then wait. Then shut up. But I’ll be honest, in 5 years I’d rather have a 3 year old than more bikini trophies. That shit doesn’t matter; these are just some frustrated thoughts that are the love child of unfortunate life timing. Upside- I’ve gotten to experience all these amazing things. Optimistic side- I’ll be a super “fit mom” who magically avoids skin tearing, vagina ripping, stretch marking, adult acne producing, boob sagging aftermath… I’m just mentally preparing myself to look like Shrek afterwards with the hope that I’ll be pleasantly surprised.
Terrified of being gross