I am a weight loss blogger and I love my body. I weigh 350 pounds. I am 5’8 and 23 years old. This month I took my measurements. 58-51-67. I even applied to be on a weight loss show and I think the principle reason I didn’t get picked is because I don’t fit the “sad fat person” stereotype that reality television exploits. I’m a large person who isn’t depressed or sad or even unhappy with what I look like, and I’m sure to most that’s a bit confusing. Especially since I have a 2-year plan to lose 200 pounds.
I’ve always loved what I look like. I wake up every morning and look in the mirror and smile. I’m beautiful. There is no need for morning affirmations because I’ve never thought I wasn’t pretty. Today I thought I’d stop to brag a little about what I love about my size 24 frame.
I love my face. My eyes are a deep almond brown and often reflect what I’m thinking. My lips are a natural shade of deep pink that compliments my fair skin perfectly. I usually don’t wear lipstick, just a little gloss and people comment on how lovely they are. I never had to work that hard to kiss well, my lips were good at that from the beginning. My nose is thick, short but broad and it fits the width of my face perfectly. The chubby cheeks I despised when I was 9 grew up to be the high cheekbones of a woman, adding depth to my face.
I love my shoulders. They were made for spaghetti straps and tube tops. I added a few tattoos for decoration and then left them alone. My arms are a little flabby but so strong. I frequently toss around my 2-year old nephew and have no worries that I won’t be able to catch him. I wrap my arms around myself when I get a chill and they can keep me warm.
I love my breasts. These hulking huge breasts are what I lay on when I fall asleep and even when they’re sore I wouldn’t change them. They fit into my shirts phenomenally, filling them out and sometimes spilling out a little when I want to be naughty. When I watch television with my significant other he snuggles up against my chest and sometimes falls asleep.
I love my waist. It’s been the hardest thing for me to learn to love because flat tummies are all the rage this day and age but I do love it. I love that my sweet nephew comes into the living room and lies on my belly. It’s not ugly but a reminder to me that for 23 years of my life I ate well and was never hungry.
I love my hips. While thicker than I might like, they are what make me incredibly curvy. I am a walking hourglass and I revel in it every time I put on a slinky dress or a snug ensemble. When I slide into my jeans I’m always confident that it’s all in the hips. They are the reason that the rest of my body makes sense.
I love my ass. Some days the men in my neighborhood honk when I walk by. I’m not embarrassed; I just call it a gift from my mother and grandmother. Our shapely booties handed down from one generation to the next.
I love my thighs. Smooth, soft and very round. They flow right down to my legs making a lovely soft line. My legs are long; my calves hard and shapely from holding up this body for 23 years this far. They are tough from the long runs I put them through. When I put on a pair of 4-inch stilettos they look even longer as I sashay through Downtown on the weekends feeling like I belong on a runway.
I love my feet. These size 11/12 babies keep me moving. Walking around my city for transportation. Dancing on the platform of the local subway station. Standing up at work all day.
I love all of me. My love for this body runs deep and because I love it I now treat it well. I do not deprive it of the things it needs. I don’t let other people abuse it in word or deed. I’m the type of person who believes that you can’t help to make positives changes to yourself until you truly appreciate what you already have. That way I won’t lose perspective of who I am while I change. Now that I’ve grown to love me, I can lose the weight that I want and make this body even better.