Kendrick Lamar put stretchies and bare-faced beauty in a music video, so why was I questioning my love for my own body and baring it on a beach in front of 40 friends and family for my wedding?!
I mean, it’s not like I’ve never worn a bikini before.
But because other people I know, emphasis on that part, would be there, suddenly I seemed to care more.
When in fact, I shouldn’t. My body is amazing. It’s dealt with numerous health issues, from having a benign tumour whipped off my thyroid, a tonsillectomy that resulted in two post-op bleeds and a blood transfusion and the daily irritant of having IBS. I’ve naturally lost and gained weight dependant on stress, health, age and lifestyle. My body is tough.
Sophie wrote a great post on the shitty fact that people assume you want to loose weight, diet and generally do anything to not look like you ahead of your wedding day. Honestly, who needs that pressure on top of everything else. Not me.
I haven’t joined a gym. I haven’t started having weekly facials. I haven’t set myself a goal weight. And I haven’t resorted to eating lettuce leaves and cubes of apple.
I have finally gone back to the dentist because it had been an embarrassingly long time since I last went and I was having nightmares about all my teeth falling out. I have continued to play netball and go to Zumba with my mum, because I’ve always done them and love the way group sport and exercise makes me feel. I have continued to monitor the food I eat but only because I’m on the re-introduction stage of the Low-FODMAP diet and if not it’d have a catastrophic effect on my IBS.
The main thing I’m worried about appearance wise is whether my IBS will be niggled by my nerves, resulting in a bloated belly and the possibility of the shits. No one wearing a white dress wants that. Ever.
I may be in the process of researching lash lifts, looking at brow tints and even teeth whitening but the honest answer is I would do this stuff regardless of the wedding. But loosing weight, extreme dieting and then being pissed off at myself for failing because god forbid I ate a carb, no. I’m not down.
Would I like the inevitable summer thigh chafe to stop. Sure! Am I bothered enough to do something about it, nah.
I’ve come to accept the scars, stretch marks, dimples and bruises that ripple their way around my body. Because every little flaw represents a journey. And every little flaw is mine to love.
At some point in time you have to learn to love the skin you’re in. I’ve been through a lot with mine and I think I’m almost there.
Pass the cake.