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.
“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”
ps if this was Twitter, I’d hashtag it with #crotchshot