my thighs

I live in Texas.  Swimsuit season comes early and stays late.  And here's what I hate about that. My thighs.

I have a horrible dread of anybody seeing my thighs.

I would a million billion times rather go topless at the pool than lose my board shorts.

I feel like the rest of my body is pretty normal, and then there are my thighs.

They balloon out of nowhere, and take over the universe.  Cellulite was invented here.  There's a plaque and everything.

I swear I exercise.  I have my own treadmill.  In my house.  I use it ALL THE FREAKIN TIME.  Come over here and sniff my workout clothes.

I still have these thighs.  Here they are.  I can't justify the necessary plastic surgery to make them go away.

Some part of my brain can be occasionally convinced that I might not be entirely rational and balanced when it comes to my thigh thoughts.  I try to not be so crazy about this.

But here is my default.

Hate.  Hate.  Hate.  Ugly.  Ugly.  Ugly.

Body image is something I talk about with my friends.  Friends who have worked like crazy, lost weight, and still don't feel great about themselves.  Friends who exercise faithfully, have never been overweight, and still worry the teensiest bit if they miss a dayweektwoweeks at the gym.  Friends who are super skinny, and still have to hear about how much the rest of us hate them as a result.

I have no answers, people.  I'm just saying it's a problem.

This morning I ran across some body image exercises at Art Therapy Blog.  I think I need to try some of these.  Anybody want to join me and tell me what you think?

Print Friendly and PDF