Hi hi hi!!
Thank you guys so much for all the wonderful comments on yesterday's post :) You all make me smile!!
So did y'all know that next Monday is the Fourth of July? Um yeah. Somehow I missed that until last night when my coworker asked if I had plans. See, my whole life right now revolves around July 9 -- the day I find out if I'm formally accepted to the nursing program -- and while I know July 9 is a week from Friday, somehow I didn't realize that makes Monday the Fourth.
So, long story short, the second part of that post will probably appear on Friday. ;-)
Anyway. For the past month or so I have been working on a little undercover pet project that I haven't talked much (more accurately, at all) about.
I am on a mission to love my body. And I don't mean, "I love my body because it's strong and digests food and allows me to live." I want to love its flaws.
See I have this nasty little habit. Whenever I feel a little puffy (or get a little puffy as the case may be coming off this spring's bulk), I play this game called My Stomach Doesn't Exist.
I look at the ceiling when I change; I absolutely refuse to look at where I'm shaving when I shave the tops of my legs (this leads to some fabulous results let me tell ya); I wear a baggy shirt around the house at all times.
But it seems to me that if I'm going to claim to love my body, I should probably acknowledge all of it. Even the parts I don't like. Sort of like when you love another person, ya know? You can't ignore their flaws. You have to accept them and work with them.
So lately I have been looking at myself naked. And looking at the tops of my thighs when I shave.
And just to deeply PROVE to myself (and anyone else who may be wondering) that my stomach does in fact exist and belong on my body....
Yeah. Holy shit. I am publishing a picture of my decidedly not-tan, not-perfect, not-airbrushed stomach to the blogworld. And I'm not even wearing makeup.
You guys, I have spent my entire life trying to convince myself that I don't have a stomach: sucking it in, hiding it, refusing to look at it.
So here it is, once and for all: My name is Sable and I unapologetically have a stomach.
Side note: do we all see the fallacy of fearing that you'll "bulk up" now? That is what I look like with none of my muscles flexed. Versus this:
Will you join me on my quest to accept my physical flaws? Do you play the I Don't Have A Stomach Game?