I am self conscious. I’m unsure. I’m scared. I’m horribly imperfect. I’m not in the right body. I’m not in the right head space. I’m terrified to end up alone. I feel unappreciated.
You can’t tell me anything about me, I’m living it.
“Here — tell these people something they dont know about me.” -Eminem 8 Mile
There’s a part of reading this initial post that makes me really sad. I hate to think that I had that much negative shit to say about myself.
BUT, I get me.
These things are all still true. I’m sitting here rocking my baby in a t-shirt and my undies, committing to toning up my legs and core, losing weight everywhere, and strengthening my skincare regimen…maybe. I gotta get this shit under control.
I’m dating, but it’s new. Neither shoe has dropped, but I’m super cautious. Because, I believe all that stuff about myself, 100%, and I have a newborn to add to the list of red flags. I mean I don’t date guys with young children. Too much potential drama. Layer that on to thunder thighs and lingering post pregnancy acne, and I’m left wondering what the hell he’s doing pursuing me.
But, I get me. I KNOW me.
No one can attack me. I am my own worst critic. I’ve already analyzed the hell out of me. You can’t tell me anything I don’t already know.
The flip side to this imperfect body is that it brought two amazing boys into this world, thirteen years apart.
I support the people I love. I stand in the trenches unafraid, even when I’m feeling unappreciated.
My headspace is contingent on what’s happening around me. That’s fine. I can handle the ups and downs.
And although I am terrified to be alone forever, I can if I gotta. Single is a really comfortable place for me. Plus, I’m dating anyway. He likes me, genuinely, and I like him. And, if it crashes and burns, I’ll blog about it and move on.
Side note: I’ve decided to start trying to complete some of my many MANY unfinished blog entries.
This is the oldest draft I had. I started it shortly after I started this blog. I’m sure it came after a difficult moment dealing with the second Chris, and I was feeling both ready to fight and ready to cry.
Because, I’d probably just realized there was competition. She was thinner, with long legs, and a much tighter waist. And, she was a local to my almost two hour trek. They’d known each other longer. Despite their drama and insanity, he was invested. And, although I brought a ton of quality shit to the table, I couldn’t compete with those things. Those were big things.
In the end, neither of us ended up with him. We spent what I can only assume were, at least, months in competition, teetering back and forth between winning and losing. And, it was never worth the work or chaos. I decided not to ever again be in that situation. Dating competitions typically don’t produce a real winner, anyway.
And, never to judge myself against someone else’s scale. I’m a damn catch, with my intentional and unintentional curves and extra baby softness.