Some Thoughts on Summer & Body Issues









It's crazy to think that in about two months I will be 33. I never feel 33. Sometimes I feel 21, sometimes I feel 1,000 years old, but never 33. What does 33 even feel like? Who knows anymore. Teenagers play 30 year olds on TV and 30 year olds play teenagers and skincare has gotten so good nobody can tell the difference anymore. Everyone has acne and wrinkles. As far as I can tell the only difference between being in my 20s and being in my 30s is that I'm more grateful for everything I have.

My body has been through a lot. That's the big glaring duh of this story. It's been filled with poison, cut open and sewn back together and stretched out and all kinds of other things that belong in a horror film, not a rom com. Should I care what size jeans I wear anymore? Shouldn't I just be grateful to get up and get out of bed everyday blah blah blah healthy.

Here's the truth. Healthy is hard to measure. I don't feel 33, and I don't feel like I have cancer either. How my clothes fit, how high I can lift my leg in barre class or how long I can keep up with those damn step-ups in bootcamp, those are things I can measure. So is what size pants I wear. I am no longer desirous to somehow transform into a lithesome petite creature. I know that's not possible, but I do want to be the best possibly version of myself, and that version is toned.  Does that mean I am not happy with my body? Because I work on it, hard, because I am thoughtful in what I consume and sometimes a little controlled and restrictive.

I don't know the answer to these questions. I do know my body was effortlessly much better than it is right now when I was 22 but I have no pictures of it because I hated it. I thought my little belly was repulsive. Thought I was too tall, all limbs and teeth and freckles and boobs. I hated my wavy hair, my too small bum (thank you exercise for fixing that) and just the whole way that everything was put together. In every picture I do have I am hunched into myself unflatteringly, hands clasped over my belly in a way that only draws attention to the roundness there, hair tortured into styles that I am glad are not preserved in the amber of the internet for all eternity.

Or maybe it's just that in my 30s I know (and can afford) to dress myself better. Who knows. If you know the answer to these questions please tell me.

Sometimes I don't have all the answers (insert husband gasping) I just have more questions.  Enjoy some fun pictures of me in bathing suits romping unselfconsciously around in the heat of the long weekend. If only my 22 year old self could see me now.

Solid & Striped Gingham One Piece | Striped Bikini (similar) | Paisley Linen Shirt (currently 30% off) | Hair 

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