Inspired by my good friend Chris Devinney’s blog post today, Stumbling Toward Serenity at wordpress.com, I decided to write my own mini version about one of our conversations, which in fact was also inspired by my cleavage. Yea, that’s right, I said my cleavage. You see, I’ve been a little put upon lately by the cellulite on the backs of my thighs, after indulging in winter’s hearty fare of breads, wine and other fat attracting foods. And by the pace in which they cling to my booty, and not my boobies, has made me chase my own tail. (But not that way)
I’m ridiculous, I know this because I’ve chiseled myself down to 11% body fat before and I was one hard, miserable, implanted lady during that time. I couldn’t get the scale or hydro-tank reading low enough to fit my distorted self-image.
Today one of my kids was home sick from school, so I invited a few friends over to workout with me. We were kefetching and commiserating about the occasional common hormonal bloat we all experience based on the moon’s cycle of full, fingernail, full/fingernail shape it takes. Finally, I said, “I think the women I’m most attracted to at the gym are healthy-fit, more softer looking, not the wiry types. The really thin women look hungry and angry, and way too bitter.” I love muscles on women, but I also love an added layer of a little fat (not a lot, don’t get carried away now ) to act like as yoga mat on a hardwood floor.
Since then I’ve learned that trying to renovate my outside didn’t do too much for me other than provide temporary relief from my age-old problems. Any repairs I made only seemed to mask the real issues that reside deep within infrastructure, and tinkering around on the surface only made me want to polish more. It was only when I started focusing on the true me, my inner beauty, did I start to see myself better as an attractive woman.
Now contradictory to everything I’ve just said, my artificially inflated cleavage on the other hand fills me up like nothing else, (well not really, I just can’t refuse a pun). However, I do love my breasts and i still think it was the best damn money vanity could ever buy me. I suit them well and I know they don’t define me, nor make me any better than who I am.
Obviously from my introduction I still plot revenge on my pretty backside, but there are time when I just accept it and learn to live with all of me, cellulite and all. Sometimes I walk by a mirror and see the round back and think, “Hmm, that’s kinda sexy, my ass looks HOT in these jeans.” and other times all I want to do is grab the skin and pull it away from my body, but I don’t. I remind myself that I am much more of a woman now than I ever was before and that is all the clarity I need.
This to all you women out there who dismiss the uniqueness that is you, I say practice loving yourself through thick and thin. (Sorry, I couldn’t help myself again. Big grin.) XO forever, SK