I had a first message from a man the other day that just said ‘I really like your boobs, they’re so tidy and neat’ and I’ll tell you, after I read it I did immediately have a look at some of my pictures to see if ‘tidy and neat’ is a description I could agree with. On this one particular website I do have some quite revealing lingerie pictures and there are plenty of pictures of my boobs.

And I’m going to say ‘tidy and neat’ sums them up fairly well. It’s amusing to me, but also probably accurate.

It’s been interesting thinking about my body and how I feel about it lately. I feel like I grew up in a family and school situation where there was a war on against my body from all types of people. This is aside from growing up in a time where famous women were being targeted for being overweight who weren’t at all, they just weren’t stick thin.

So I feel like I’ve had an uphill battle to appreciate my body. I still remember the traumas of comments growing up. Someone slapping my thigh when I was in the car next to them and calling out my ‘thunder thighs.’ My dad telling me that all the women in our family ended up in wheelchairs when they’re older due to being overweight (as a thinly veiled hint that I was creeping up on what he felt was an acceptable weight for me).

Boys in school would tell me I’d be ‘almost’ pretty if not for my glasses, my freckles, my hair, my chubbiness.

Ex-lovers who would comment on how my boobs point outwards, that have mentioned the slight size difference. That have voiced their opinions on the size of my nipples, the size of my labia. The skin colour difference in intimate areas.

It felt normalised for awhile that other people could comment on women’s bodies. That nobody was exempt from this. I was told I had love handles, that I should work on my ‘hip dips’ that my ‘problem areas’ were my stomach, hips and thighs.

I don’t know how or when things started to change. I knew that when I started going on dates again after my separation I worried about my appearance. That I’m not pretty enough, that I’m not sexy enough. I worried about the size of my boobs and nipples, my thighs, my stomach. I worried that I wouldn’t be ‘enough’ for my sexual partners. And how sad is that?

After that, I transitioned into a phase where I thought I must look sexy because men are having sex with me. So if other people are attracted to my body then there must be something in that.

I remember having a conversation with my ex before we met? I don’t recall the timeline very well anymore but we talked about things we didn’t feel as confident about ourselves and when he and I did meet and we did end up being naked and having sex with each other that if he didn’t outright say something complimentary about the things I’d mentioned he’d lightly run his fingers over those areas, maybe even kiss them. To show me with actions and sometimes words that all those things I dislike about myself are things that he loved about me.

And somehow here I am. And I think my body is pretty great. It isn’t perfect. I have stretch marks on my ass and a scar that probably only I really notice in between and just below my breasts. My upper thighs rub against each other, I have a stomach, my hips look lumpy from certain angles. And now I don’t think ‘if he likes me, I must be all right.’

Now I think I look pretty great. And it’s my opinion and my thoughts on my own body that matter. Other people can like too, they have good taste. But that’s secondary to what I think about myself.

I take pictures now of my face, of my boobs in scraps of lingerie. I take pictures from different angles that show my belly, my hips, the size of my thighs, the expanse of my ass and it’s been a tough transition into one where I think ‘yes, this is my body and I love it’ but I do.