I have struggled with loving myself every year, every day, every minute of my life since I was twelve years old.  I've tried every diet in the book, every exercise regime, and even resorted to bulimia and thoughts of suicide.  

It all started when we left my comfy home, best friends, and the only state that I had ever lived in and packed up and moved to Phoenix.  My entire world was turned upside down.  Not only did we move from a small town in Wyoming to the overwhelming city of Phoenix, but I started puberty.  I had no friends, hated my new school, and hated the body that I didn't even recognize anymore.

My "itty bitty titty committee" chest (as my grandpa used to call it) was changing into breasts that now required "over the shoulder boulder holders."  My cute little girl clothes with unicorns, neon colors, and Strawberry Shortcake on them no longer fit and I was stuck at the dreaded 'inbetween.'  All women know about the 'inbetween.'  It's the crappy section of the store, the empty section of the store.  The turtleneck tees in plain colors, jeans that fit just right in the waist and were 6 inches too long, granny panties, and Playtex bras were housed in the 'inbetween.'

My little girl waist was now filling out.  I was getting a 'ghetto booty' along with a a muffin top.  I had to start laying on the bed to zip my pants and then I felt like I was going to pass out when I put my shoes on!  

It was then that I began my lifelong battle with depression and anxiety.  

The girls at my new school were skinny and wore bikinis to the swimming pool; my parents wouldn't buy me a bikini and even if they did, my self esteem was in the shitter... I wouldn't have worn it.  The girls at my new school were different than me; they were fancier and knew all about life in the big city.  According to them I was just some poor fat country girl.

I lied to my parents.  When they asked me about school, I made up new friends and stories about all of the fun I was having during lunch.  In the meantime, my only real friend was food.

Oh the joy I felt when my muffin top was full.  Cheese, potato chips, cookies, Snickers bars, and candy were all characters in my story, the story of a happy life- the happy life that I created in my mind.  I would come home from school and my parents were still at work; it was the perfect time to hang out with my friends.  I'd rush to the kitchen and invite all of my new friends out to play.  I'd gather them all up and we'd go to my room and shut the door.  We'd reminisce about the good ol' days in Wyoming and I'd eat and eat and eat.  I'd fill up my muffin top and forget about my loneliness.

My family took notice and offered help;  I was offered my first diet pill at the tender age of twelve. The loneliness grew and so did my waist line.

By the age of fourteen I had met Jessika and a group of girls that I could call friends. I no longer felt lonely, but I had discovered a  new emptiness.  Jessika and the rest of my friends were skinny and pretty and consequently,  they all had serious boyfriends.  Nobody was interested in the fat friend.

Again, I was left out.

This was the catalyst for my battle with bulimia and suicide.  I would gorge myself because I loved the feeling that I got from eating, then guiltily I'd run to the bathroom and shove my finger or toothbrush down my throat.  When I couldn't get the food or the feelings to go away, I'd resort to thinking about how much better it would be if I didn't have to deal with any of it.  Sometimes I thought of ways that I could make my death look like an accident and other times I wrote elaborate five page suicide notes and constructed 'death sets.'

It is only now that I hurt for the little girl that I ruined.  It is only now that I hurt for the childhood that I stole from her.  

I am writing this post so close to the holidays for a reason.  
This is the first holiday season that I don't give a fuck.  

I don't give a fuck that I will never be a skinny girl.
I don't give a fuck that certain men do not find my curves attractive.
I don't give a fuck that when I take photos my double chin shows.
I don't give a fuck that the average Christmas dinner is 4,000 calories.
I don't give a fuck that it is recommended to eat only one slice of pizza.
I don't give a fuck that my stomach is decorated with stretch marks.
I don't give a fuck that my ass jiggles a bit when I walk.
I don't give a fuck that the fudge that mom and I baked is incredibly fattening.
I don't give a fuck that I wear a size 18.

Somehow I have managed to learn to love myself.  I wish that I knew how it happened or when I had my epiphany so I could tell the whole damn world! I learned that fat is beautiful.  I learned that it is ok that I like to eat yummy food and I learned that food should not be my friend nor should it be my enemy.  

This Christmas season I will eat the cookies I bake, I will eat the wonderful Christmas dinner that my mom and I prepare, I will wear my Christmas outfit, and I will look beautiful.

Because I AM beautiful.


Thanks Sarah:)
 I know that I'll be enjoying the apple pie I make tomorrow night!


  1. So inspirational. Go you! You're such a badass! :)
    Yay for size 18! :)
    (And as for the one slice of pizza deal? Yeah right! Maybe if I only cut the pizza and half and that counts as a slice, haha! Hmm... I want some pizza now...)

    Happy holidays!!

    1. Depending on the pizza, I always have a few! If that makes me a bad person, I'll take it!

  2. Hahaha ! "I don't give a fuck that it is recommended to eat only one slice of pizza."
    One slice ? Only one slice ? Seriously ?
    If I do not cut my pizza, does it count for just one slice ?

    Happy Holidays Gorgeous !

    1. I saw this image that said "Every pizza is a personal pizza if you try hard enough and believe in yourself!

  3. And I think she is giving the best present with this brave post to that little girl she thought she hurt...Thanks for sharing :)

    1. Its always wonderful when we connect with who we were in our past<3 I'm glad she shared too!


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