My boobs are my favourite thing about myself. I’d like to be modest but I would say they are the best pair of tits I’ve ever seen. A decent handful but not overwhelming; I can not wear bras and run up the stairs without fear of giving myself a black eye. Each nipple embellished with a little steel bar, makes me feel like a punk/ porn star/ goddess.
He says I have wonderful boobs. It’s not that I need validation from a third party – particularly a man – but it feels really nice to have someone say that they think you’re sexy. When he tells me he misses me and my bum it makes me grin like a cheshire cat because I know that he worships every part of me, inside and out; but he really does like my bum.
The raging feminist in me tells me that I should never be objectified and that I am more than my body; but another part of me secretly doesn’t mind when a random man shouts “nice legs” from his Ford Escot in Luton town centre. Does that make me a bad feminist? Maybe, I don’t know, I’m trying my best. I suppose that’s all I can do really – as much feminist literature is available there isn’t a handbook of do’s and dont’s.
Is it really that bad to want validation from others? It’s not that I need it, I would just like it sometimes. I can stand and look in the mirror and tell myself I look beautiful for hours but it doesn’t compare to when he tells me. He gives me this look of true sincerity and says “I am so in love with you, you are perfect” it makes me glow inside, more than hearing it from anyone else. This scares me obviously, I’ve always been told not to rely on others for my happiness but who can really truly say that they don’t – I reckon anyone that says that is lying. I do trust him though, he tells me he’s in this for the long run, whatever that means. All I know is I want him by my side – as my best friend and partner – always.
Soppy ‘oh I’m so in love’ section over – I want to talk about my wobbly bits, or lack of.
I am a slim person, I suppose I could say I have the slight outline of abdominal muscles. I don’t wish to be complain-y but I feel like sometimes I am not allowed to be insecure due to my body type. Sometimes I may mention to my friends that I feel chubby one day or insecure in a crop top and my friends dismiss me because there is ‘nothing’ on me. I often feel my own insecurities about my body are invalid to many people because of my body type. Again, I don’t mean to sound whiny, in general I am OK with my outward appearance but we all have those days.
I remember when I first noticed I’d put on weight. I actually thought I was pregnant as my tummy was squidgier and my thighs more wobbly than usually. Turns out I’d just been eating too many vegan sausage rolls.
I was really surprised to feel a sense of relief and happiness when I realised I had actually put on weight. I felt like a woman – with stretch marks and wobbly bits, when I used to feel like a child with my spindly arms and legs. I’d never actually noticed my body change before (apart from the obvious boob-age), so I found it rather exciting that I too had wobbly bits and stretch marks like all the women I idolise in my life do.
I’m not sure if that makes sense at all. I guess that’s why this is anonymous. I also don’t want to embarass him with an outward display of affection such as a monologue on a feminist writer’s blog.