How many bikini season posts have I seen on the internet so far this Spring? How many sopping guides; rules to determine which fruit I resemble the most? How many lists are there of swimsuits and sundresses that are “appropriate” for my body type? How much time have I spent in front of the mirror,…
No exaggeration - this woman is my hero.
I had an appointment today with a kinesiologist who is going to help me get my body back into some semblance of health. I’ve thrown in the towel, waved the white flag of surrender, I give up - completely and totally. I just can’t do it on my own. The repercussions of the anorexia nervosa I put myself through 5 years ago (and never dealt with) has compounded into such an exaggerated state of physical being that I feel like a caricature. I’m 100 pounds overweight. I’m so biochemically fucked up from the self-destruction and yet I continue to be disappointed that I’m not pregnant, with each passing month. I’ve decided, and now it is documented, that I can no longer live in this way, let alone bring a child into my distorted reality. I’ve been making some small changes over the last month or so - going under the care of a naturopath, continuing my psychotherapy and dealing with my underlying need to self-destruct due to past traumas, receiving acupuncture treatments, spending more time with people who make me feel good and normal and worthy of happiness. The kinesiologist I met today did something that no gym, personal trainer, eating regimen, NutriBullet infomercial, or doting friend could do - a promise of help. Not an offer…a PROMISE. Not a money-back guarantee. A PROMISE. I left feeling very differently than I have in years…I felt hopeful. In the car on my way home, I decided that I would put off trying to conceive until I could trust my ability to take care of myself consistently. How could I expect to carry and nourish another human life in a toxic environment? With a toxic mindset?
I’ve enlisted the help of an ND, my psychologist, and a kinesiologist to be my crack superhero team of people to help me get back to myself, and the amazing thing is that they’re all happy to be there. I feel lucky to be under such genuine care - which seems to be getting rarer in the medical profession - and I won’t take it for granted. My life depends on it, I deserve it, and I won’t let down whoever cheers me on. Hey, even if it’s nobody, I’m gonna be okay.
How relationships work:
I like your butt.
However, I can notice other butts. They can be nice too.
But your butt is my favourite butt. It’s the nicest butt. Because it’s mine. And I can touch it.
no they can’t be
my butt is the only butt and no other butts exist
anything to the contrary means i’m ugly and you hate me
…unless i point out an awesome butt
…but you still better not agree