I have fat in places that I didn’t before, I get spots and zits and blackheads galore. I’m constantly tired, and sleep as soon as my feet leave the floor, and I’m fully aware of how loud I can snore.
My bra size changes as fast as my moods, down to the time of the month and my poor choice in foods.
I have days when I’m happy, and smile ear to ear, and days when I cry constantly, full of anxiety and fear.
I don’t keep up with my brows, or even my roots, but I don’t claim to be too big for my boots.
I do want a child, and can’t conceive without help,
But I’m slowly accepting that’s just the card I’ve been dealt.
I have scars all over me, inside and out, externally I’m quiet, but internally I shout.
I have a drawer of old outfits, that I class as thinspiration, and scroll through fitness instagrams craving more inspiration.
My body aches, and no one ever understands my pain, and explaining it repeatedly just becomes a drain.
I have fuzz on my cheeks, and body hair galore, and constant pelvic problems that I can’t control anymore.
I’m claiming back my life, these set backs don’t make me, these bumps in my path were intended to help shape me.
My journey isn’t over, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come, but I’m not where near the end goal, no where near done.