It’s done nothing wrong except expand beyond the limits of an outfit. I don’t want to starve it in order to fit into the outfit, so may have to wear something else, and I feel sad about that. I feel sad that I sometimes talk the talk and can’t walk the walk around body image stuff, even after all these years.
I try to love it. Sometimes I fail. Sometimes I have to shoot for acceptance. Shoot for acceptance of my childfree woman’s Mummy Tummy, of the fact that sometimes the choices are either starve or improvise a new look, of my goddamn privileged status in a world that genuinely hates genuinely fat people, of whom I am not one.
I’m trying. I’m trying to accept it. I’m giving up on love today. Neutrality will do.