I mentioned this a bit in an earlier post, but one of the most helpful things I ever did was to stop worrying if I were good-looking. Instead, I started to just assume I was average.
If people compliment my appearance, I thank them and leave it at that. No need to argue like I’m Jimmy Stewart lecturing an old-timey movie courtroom. » Read more
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to a super attractive friend or romantic partner tell me they looked like crap. Or asked for reassurance that they looked okay — when in fact, they looked stunning.
This kind of behavior can actually be a little trying. It can come off as a disingenuous form of attention-seeking. » Read more
If I want to think of a time when my inner thoughts weren’t self-critical, I have to think back very far. Practically to a point where life was largely non-verbal, and I don’t remember too much aside from images. The warmth of sunlight on my face. The view of my own tiny stockinged feet shoved into full-body pajamas. » Read more
“Wow, that came out beautiful,” I said. “What glaze combo did you use?”
“You’re kidding, right?” the other potter replied.
“Ummm…. no,” I said. I laughed nervously.
She turned to her friend, started talking with him about everything that was “wrong” with her stunning dishes, pointedly ignoring me.
I sheepishly picked up my comparatively janky little beginner pieces. » Read more
“Keep your top on,” she said.
“Sure,” I said, dropping my arms to my sides and then quickly wrapping them around her waist. And as we kissed, I moved my hands up her torso, feeling her body through her shirt. Her chest had its own topography. Subtle places where she came in. Went out. » Read more
“When I lose 50 pounds, I’ll finally be able to…”
“I can’t wait until I get thinner because I’ll…”
I’ve said things like this so many times. I spent years waiting for that magical moment when I would finally be the right acceptable size. And then, only then, would I have permission to start living my ideal life. » Read more
I smoothed down the black silk over my full hips, noting the high slit. Good for movement and enticing without being trashy, I decided. The lace had held up well in storage, those months this slip had spent in a kind of time-out, awaiting a weight loss that would allow it to fit again. I adjusted the straps and made sure my breasts lined up in a logical way with the bust area. » Read more
Camis (camisoles) are typically pretty handy for cleavage concealment (crucial in most office settings), and while I admit that they do help mitigate the effect, I find that I will often have residual cleavage peeking out from beneath the cami. It would appear that even my cleavage has cleavage – like some demented recursive Escher funhouse of boobs. » Read more
About 40 pounds into my weight loss journey, I had a friend compliment my progress and ask me what my goal was.
I thought a moment and replied, “I want to be out of my league.”
She laughed, but it was true. I was polyamorous, in an open marriage in a rural area where such an arrangement was a rarity. » Read more
I didn’t stop. I focused on my breath, my counting, pressed down harder on the pavement, letting the tension propel my body forward.
The neighbor dude was boring holes into me with his eyes, gaping, his face clearly reading an expression of disbelief. It could have been one of any number of reasons. » Read more