“You’re another person, so of course you look different. What do you need to be ashamed for?” -Ciel Phantomhive

This past weekend, Father’s Day, was the Limbo trip to White Water in Atlanta, Georgia.  I was thrilled for it, even though it was the same day Ocarina of Time 3D for the 3DS was coming out, a remake of my favorite video game of all time for reasons I’ll probably write a blog about one day, but it was an opportunity to spend more than just an hour with people I’ve really loved getting to know over the past year, in a water park on a hot June day – as well as a way to forget about the fact that it was Father’s Day.

But I was nervous, too.  I’d just bought a new swimsuit about two weeks before the end of school, as Charity and I were going to try to go swimming at the SAC at Montevallo like we had the previous semesters, but never got around to it.  So, I had this new swimsuit (my first new one in years, probably since high school), and nowhere to use it (well, I could always go to the East Lake pool but I’m way too shy for that).  So when I learned we were planning to go to White Water, I was excited but nervous.  Nervous because…I hate my thighs.

There’s just something about a pool or the beach where I don’t feel all that exposed.  The pool a little more than the beach, but not really enough to spend the energy caring.  But a water park…well, I’d never been to one, so I didn’t realize everyone (or close to) was walking around in JUST bathing suits.  No covers, few shorts, and I think I only saw, like, two fully-clothed people.  I was determined to keep my shorts (some Soffe shorts, nothing fancy) on because my stomach, eh, I can suck that in or it’s not that bad anyway, but my thighs…uh-uh.  No.  And it’s not even all of my thighs, either.  I don’t care about anything past, like, an inch and a half from the top.  It’s that top inch and a half that really, really bothers me, and I don’t know why.  I was cursing myself as I saw all these women with cute swimsuits with a little ruffle at the bottom to hide some of the thighs, and thought those would be perfect for me – why didn’t I get any?!  But by the middle of the day, I realized I was sick and tired of ringing out my shorts and them sticking to me, and I realized it was kind of pointless when they stuck to me that much so when we stopped by the lockers, I decided to say “fuck the shorts,” and stowed them away.

And I have never felt more exposed in my entire LIFE.  Not when I went to the proctologist, MAYBE when I have my yearly gynecologist appointment, but even then…it wasn’t the same.  It’s me, a doctor, and a nurse.  With this, it was upwards of 30,000 people.   It. Was. Mortifying.

But as we started walking, I kept seeing women who are bigger than me walking around with less on – and I don’t care, this isn’t a knock on them or anything like that, but rather, I realized nobody gives a crap.  Why should I care what these strangers think?  Half of them aren’t even thinking about me amidst all these other people, because they’re dealing with screaming kids or lost shoes or talking about how sweet that next ride looks.  Nobody I care about should care, and I realized the people I was with didn’t care, so why the hell should I?  So I straightened up and enjoyed myself, and for the rest of the day, I truly did not care about my body shape or the troublesome thunder thighs or anything but my sunburn and enjoying my friends’ company.  WHO. CARES.

I can say all day how I am confident with my body, and I can even make a post about it.  But when it boils down to it, I really am not.  I feel huge in my work uniform (which would probably be helped if I had pants that didn’t slightly flood, but I haven’t been able to look for any lately so…one day), and even in fitting dresses I think “oh my god when did I get so big” even though I haven’t changed sizes and I haven’t really gained any weight.  I do like that I have curves – I like my figure and especially my small waist.  But this past weekend was certainly an exercise in self-confidence, or at least self-not-caring-about-other-people’s-opinions.  I put myself and my thunder thighs out there, and I did fine.

In summary, the moral of the story is: “fuck the shorts,” and learn to love your body (or at the very least, learn to not be ashamed in order to be comfortable).

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One thought on ““You’re another person, so of course you look different. What do you need to be ashamed for?” -Ciel Phantomhive

  1. It’s funny but to your point I think. Maybe it would have been weird if I HAD noticed, but I couldn’t tell you what in the world you were wearing Sunday. I certainly couldn’t tell you when you had shorts on and when you didn’t. And, I think you are right. I think most people don’t care or maybe are too busy feeling self-conscious themselves to even begin to actively make you aware of your own self-doubt. In all seriousness, I hope that whatever you felt Sunday can translate over the long term. If someone cares what you look like (removed from if they are worried about your health…which you don’t have to worry about), they have bigger problems than you do. Yay for Limbo! And YAY for “fuck the shorts”!

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