Ode to a chubby tummy

I’ve hated my stomach for as long as I can remember. I wasn’t a fat kid, and for the majority of my life I’ve been average sized to thin. But good lord, my tummy. I don’t remember where my stomach hatred came from. I don’t know why it happened. At night, when I couldn’t sleep o would pinch the skin on my stomach and fantasize about cutting it off. I was 12. I wasn’t even fat. Where did that come from?

Throughout the entirety of my life, I have downgraded my value as a person because I had this one thing… this one problem. And honestly at times it HAS been a problem. I turned 40 this year and overall, things just aren’t looking as… youthful as they once did.

When I cared for the elderly, I saw a lot of bodies. Fat bodies. Thin bodies. All of them were wrinkled bodies. One thing that really baffled me was that it didn’t matter how thin the women became, they always had a bit of a belly. Even the vain ones that got plastic surgery. Everyone had a puffy, poochy belly.

My belly has been stretched big from carrying babies and because I started very young, there was only a short period of time where my body didn’t have stretch marks which only embellished the pooch that I hate so fucking much.

It started in Seattle when I visited my dad. I wore jeans and a crop tank top. It didn’t show anything unless I moved. lol. I don’t know why I convinced myself that I wouldn’t move while I wore this top, but I did. I wondered if I would feel comfortable with my tummy showing. I scanned the limited supply of clothing I brought for the weekend. Nothing seemed “right”. And so I decided to wear the top, even though I knew I was going to struggle. I invited the struggle and told myself that I knew what I was getting myself into for the night but my appearance didn’t matter as much as enjoying my time with my dad. The night wasn’t about being pretty or getting attention, it was purely about building a relationship with my dad. And so I decided I wasn’t going to allow my stomach to rob me from enjoying my time with my dad. Of course, there are photos of my stomach poking out and of course I hate the photos. Of course I do. But I want to get to a point where I can look at those photos and see a magical, healing adventure with my dad.

I’ve aged. It’s a fact of life. I can’t do anything about it. My body is aging too. And while I could spend a bunch of time working out, I’d rather make art. Sorry.

My belly was poking out of the bath water the other night and I squished it together like a cheeseburger. Gross. I sighed. The water slapped my belly. “I should work out”. But then an internal voice cut through the disgust, “you don’t have to give anyone a rock hard body. You don’t owe the world abs. Make your art”.

Immediately, I was soothed.

Today I am wearing another shirt that flashes slivers of my stomach and I feel naked wearing it. But I like it. And my stomach isn’t even poking out as much as it did when I was in Seattle. The mirror began to taunt me and I looked at my stomach “I am SICK of you being my entire personality”.

It felt quiet for a moment.

I said it again to see how it felt. ….and it felt really fuckin good. I am so much more than this bitch.

I am funny, smart, creative, curious; I am a good friend and partner, I work really hard on myself. I am good at cleaning. I am perceptive. I have eyes that are half green and half blue, split down the middle of my iris. Why can’t my eyes take the spotlight for a little bit? I am certain my stomach isn’t the only thing people see when they look at me. (Though it’s funny to imagine people having conversations with my stomach). My boss doesn’t talk to my stomach when we work together on an elevation. He talks to my brain. He talks to my face. My best friend needs to vent about something. She doesn’t see my stomach when I tell her about my broken heart.

The agony I feel over my stomach must end. It’s delusional to live in this kind of hatred. It’s robbed me of valuable experiences because all I could think about was “suck in, suck in, suck in”. My stomach hatred serves no higher purpose. It only holds me back and if I am getting rid of things that hold me back, this is something I really think could go.

….i am sick of my stomach being my personality.