It’s not who you are that holds you back, it’s who you think you’re not.
In Aruba, I was not skinny, in Aruba I had not lost 50 pounds, in Aruba I was my own worst critic; self conscious of every movement, at any given time.
Of course, no one was watching me, I already knew this, but what if they did. I wore tank tops and shorts on all walks, looked both ways before running into the sea, I was so nervous of someone catching a glimpse of my size.
I lived in complete fear on a beautiful beach in Aruba.
The beach chairs were the worst.
I was on display for the world to see, for people to judge. But I had my techniques, I would stretch out, making myself longer, making myself skinnier. I would point my toes, in a feeble attempt to gain some, any, calf definition. I would rest my arm down the side of my stomach… made up techniques, to make myself appear smaller than I was, when absolutely nobody was watching me.
My thighs were the worst; the cellulite, Oh. My. God. The cellulite. I’d lie in the sun, eyes-closed, stretched-out, sucking-in, toes-pointing and think of my thigh cellulite. I imagined it sparkling with mountains and valleys in the bright sun, being compressed down on by my weight, letting the fat ripple out the sides.
On the last day there I took a photo of my left thigh, I wanted to see how bad the cellulite I had envisioned all week, truly was. I took 3 photos and then squinted in the sun to see the results. It was all in my head, all of it; what a shame.
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“That which we manifest is before us; we are the creators of our own destiny. Be it through intention or ignorance, our successes and our failures have been brought on by none other than ourselves”
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ps if this was Twitter, I’d hashtag it with #crotchshot
