I’m sorry I can’t say that now that I have lost 13 kilos since february, I feel better. I’m sorry I cannot tell you that it made me feel awful to have all that extra fat around my body. I’m sorry I can’t say that “I feel more beautiful”. Yes dad, I am sorry I can’t tell you that words you would like to put in my mouth.
Because sure, I’m happy I can put some size 12 instead of 16. I’m glad my booty is perkier and my arms firmer. I’m feeling more comfortable overall, with pants that fit better and a belly that is less wobblier. I can fit in shirts I haven’t worn in years and all the others feel loosier around my chest.
Does it make me more happy? Does it make me feel more sexy, does it, in any way, change how I feel about how I look?
It doesn’t.
A few years ago, maybe it would have had an impact on my self esteem, my self love. But since I have realised that those extra pounds didn’t stop people from liking my body, since I realised that I am allowed to feel good whatever size of clothe I’m wearing, since I’ve had hands caress this belly bump and cellulite filled ass, since I have been realising that people have wanted me even when I have a bad hair/body day … A lot of things changed since then.
A lot of things have changed since I have realised that it wasn’t how I looked like that mattered, but how I felt about how I looked like.
So dear dad and dear everybody else that isn’t you but are trying to have me say that now that I am a few pound lighter, I am happier; I’m sorry to report that I am not happier. I’m about as happy as I was before.
L' infante à tête de bois 