Its like one day I woke up and actually stared at my reflection and thought “you actually ARE pretty.”
That was some deep shit. More precisely because I spent the past 24 years of my life feeling unpretty. Unpretty isn’t at the top of the list though. I’ve felt a number of really negative things. And most of them didn’t start with me.
I’ve always felt fat. I was pretty much always told I was fat and it wasn’t until I went to Miami with my lady friends that I realized, that I wasn’t fat at all. I didn’t think I was obese, just fat. Fat enough to know that it wasn’t attractive. Fat enough to be embarrassed when I would buy clothing at the store. My mom would always nicely suggest that I should hit the gym. It was always nice enough to make me know that I was overweight but not forceful enough to think that I was obese and about to die or something. In my mind, I was fat. Even the girls that I didn’t think were fat, but low key actually were, in my mind were smaller than me.
Then one day right around my 24th birthday, it hit me. Generally speaking, fat girls can’t wear a size small. Most girls that were fat could fit a 34 bra size, period. Those cuts, can’t be part of fat. These thighs are more likely to convince others that I might be related to a horse before they’d call me fat. It just wasn’t true. I wasn’t fat at all. I started looking at the people around me and compared myself to them. I was right. I wasn’t fat.
The only thing this epiphany made me do was realize that there were probably a million things that I thought were wrong with me that actually didn’t exist. I was out her in the street feeling bad about myself and bout being fat and I’m not even fat. I used to spend days analyzing all the things wrong with my body, my face, my life and I just absorbed all of this negativity. It made me question everything I ever believed.
Moving to LA was about to be more about me and less about freeing myself and trying to prove something about him (we’ll talk about him another time).