Skip to main content

Love made me fat

  I don't look the same from when I started dating white boy. In fact, to me, I am barely recognizable. Love made me fat. It is my excuse and I recognize it as just that...an excuse. White boy doesn't look the same from when I started dating him. In fact, to me, he is barely recognizable. Love made him beautiful.
  I never thought of him as an ugly guy. To be honest, I thought he was one of the the prettiest boys I had ever dated. But, in looks, I was out of his league. I could turn heads and had more than one person turned in my direction. I also had confidence to boot.
  Because of "love" and my "weight gain" I have decreased in confidence, but mostly when it comes to him. I want him to love all parts of me, and because I struggle with loving all parts of myself, I can easily convince myself that I am not the person he met, dated, fell in love with, and married. But, not a day goes by that I am not regarded as beautiful. Granted, white boy isn't stupid. He knows I don't physically have all the same attributes...wait...I have more :-P But, he doesn't focus on them. He doesn't see my more than and count it as a less than.
  It is odd being with a person who doesn't see themselves as good looking. It is odd being with a person who doesn't focus on his physicality unless he is flexing in front of the mirror. Because it is ALWAYS on my mind. My looks and his. I have often asked him if he knows how beautiful he is. Without denial, "No." And I can't seem to understand that concept.
  Growing up, I knew I wasn't anything to look at. My parents and brother and even family always said I was beautiful which gave me enough confidence to not make it a big deal, but when I lost all the weight I had carried for so long, I instantly knew how I looked and how I was perceived. I fell in too much like with the way I was acknowledged. I think, even thought white boy says I look the same, that he and I wouldn't have gotten together if I looked back then as I do now. He states otherwise. Guess there is a little bit of me that is happy I was so obsessed with my weight.
  But anyway...his perception of himself and his perception of me are straight out of a fantasy. He doesn't care or obsess of his looks and is completely in love with mine. Odd isn't it? The scales have tipped. My 7.5 is now a 4 and his 5.5 is now a 15! Perception really is a strange thing.
  I guess why I bring this up, is because based on looks, he should be with someone much prettier than me. I won't deny it. It is a little thing that gives me a tinge of jealousy (hopefully something that doesn't rage into unhealthiness...luckily, with him he won't let it get out of hand.) But according to society pretty people are placed/or should be placed with other pretty people. And I am with him!
  And even so, his spirit and character are even more beautiful than his looks. He is so beautiful it is saccharine! But, I digress...
  Lately, I have seen friends on my FB that are truly beautiful people. They have all the physical attributes that should render them "perfect." But, their life is so far from anything I would consider perfect. And when I see their posts, I scooch a little closer to white boy...I touch him a little longer...I tell him he is beautiful a little more slowly...I kiss him a little more passionately, and I thank God that I have someone whose face gives me butterflies and his soul catches my breath.
 
 
 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Tiger must stay in your backpack...

   I'm not that parent. The one who gloats too much, and shows off all the pictures. The parent who relays every detail of their kid to let others know how incredible I think they are. Perhaps it is a flaw. Who knows. And I also pride myself in not being a helicopter parent. I teach and let go. I discipline and let go.    And I thought I would be ready for this: first day of Pre-K. I have been very positive and uplifting and have wanted my son to be extra ready to go to school. We have talked about it for months! I am ready... Or so I thought.  This morning, as white boy was leaving to take them to daycare, he said to Owen, "You can't take Tiger to school tomorrow or he will have to stay in your backpack, so do you want to take him to daycare today?" I thought little of it, but as Owen threw him down on the ground and turned to head out the door, my throat hitched. "Are you sure you don't want to take him today?" He said no. It was a sense of finality.  ...

A goodbye love letter to you...

  I sat across from my dad at lunch, yesterday, and asked him, "Do you know what tomorrow is?" He said, "Yeah. 1 year." And his eyes grew damp. "I'll never forget walking into that room..." He didn't continue. I didn't ask him to. "I'll never forget the police officer banging on my door at 1130 at night..." I didn't continue. He didn't ask me to.  "This journal was given to me several years ago by my children. I know they wanted me to write down my thoughts to get through the rough times I was going through at the time. I did not start this at that time. Why am I starting it now? Well, I only thought I had been through hell back then, but now I realize I didn't have any idea what heartache was until Aug 15, 2010 -"   This is the beginning of one of my mother's journals. A journal she started a little over a month after Andy died. And she wrote it--to him.  "Dear Mother - Today is the day before Mothe...

Arithmetic of Purpose

   By nature, humans will, at one point in their life, ask the question, "For what purpose? Why am I here? What am I meant to do?" Okay, maybe they will ask themselves more than 1 question...but at least around the same theme. "Who am I, and why am I here?" It is built in our very DNA. Growing up, I didn't ask this often. I had a loving family who went with the current. Who I was and why I was here was bound up in my place in my family of 4. I was comfy. I was loved. I was secure. But alas...the question presented itself.   I first asked myself this question walking down the streets of Rome. I was alone, I was 21, and I was lost. I had just finished AmeriCorps and felt like I wanted something, but wasn't sure what that was. I had found my faith, at last, and realized that perhaps I wanted to be a bigger part of the Church collective. I felt meaning to my nothingness. I went home with direction. I graduated from college, finally, and started grad school to be...