I realized something just recently. I stepped out of the shower one day and had a thought overtake me.
I have never been comfortable with others seeing me without clothes. Even as a child, I was the modest type.
Still am.
My children make fun of me because my shorts go down to my knees. If I wear anything shorter I am constantly pulling them down.
So, as I began to dry off I realized that ever since we moved into our current home (3 years ago) I seem to have become more adept to being comfortable with my body. No. I do not think the house has anything to do with it. It just seems to have worked out that way.
Of course, you would think after 22 years with the same man I would eventually be okay with it, right? But, nope. Good thing it only took about 19 of those years though.
Go figure. I do everything in my own time.
I guess I have discovered after 7 pregnancies and 5 babies… my body is what it is. Stretch marks. Cellulite. Whatever the years have done to me. I get it. It’s fine. Because no matter what, I will always have a man that loves me. No.matter.what.
Nothing else should matter.
I no longer hide my chubby tummy. I don’t care if a cellulite peeks out of my shorts. The stretch marks I bare are a constant reminder that I can… and did… carry 5 babies to term.
Some women do not have that luxury. And although those marks can come from other life experiences, this is the cause of mine. I remember and am grateful. I am blessed to have each and every one.
And Colby? He knows that he helped put them there. He appreciates each and every one.
I know he does.
He has told me so enough that I finally get it. I really do!
And the relief that comes from finally getting it is an incredible release of craziness off my chest. Why did I stress over this so long? Seriously. My marriage is amazing in almost every facet. We have our downs sometimes… but I know that we are solid and will not be wavered. So why the constant doubt in his physical attraction for me?
Or was it simply my own doubt in myself? Society’s rendition of the perfect woman I am certainly not. I am me. You are you. There is no perfect woman. But there is a perfect you. Be happy with you. I am.
Finally.
