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HetFlexK 51M
155 posts
6/30/2015 12:14 am
Body Acceptance (a punkin post)

I used to look at my body in the mirror on a pretty frequent basis and tell it “I hate you. You are ugly and nobody wants you.” I hated my fat thighs, my chubby tummy, my acne, my unequal boobs, you could name a feature and I could tell you a flaw.

As with most girls, my issues with food started in highschool, but unlike most it was because before that I was homeschooled, relatively sheltered and didn’t need to worry about anyone calling me a jerk, let alone fat. I entered highschool at 14, so you can imagine how well the homeschool girl a full 2 years younger than most of her classmates fit in. The taunts were hardly clever, and don’t bear repeating, but they were enough that within 2 weeks of beginning I stopped eating lunch, and began to hide half my breakfast when my parents weren’t looking. No matter what I did - not the midnight crunchs, not the days of fasting, nothing - made the fat girl I saw in the mirror go away.

Even after the popular lost interest in tormenting me, my acne got better, and I made friends I still continued to refuse food, always claiming I had eaten earlier. Around my 15th birthday I met my first boyfriend; He was older, dangerous, my parents hated him, and he treated me like dirt - exactly what I thought I deserved. He called me a hippo, told me to lose weight or he’d find someone new, all the usual abuse, and I took it. I took it and used it to fuel my resolve so well that I passed out in public twice, and woke up in an ambulance due to my body shutting down from lack of nutrients.

He eventually did dump me, on the eve of my 16th birthday, and that sent me into a tailspin which resulted in me being sent back to the hospital for refusing both food and liquid, and in me missing my graduation ceremony. While in the hospital I resolved that I was done ending up here, I was done seeing the shrinks, I was done letting people know what I felt about myself. So I got “better” and I got sneakier. I ate a little bit at each meal, enough to make them think I was trying, and then I starved myself whenever no one was watching.

This continued for six years. Eating barely enough to keep alive, hating every part of my appearance while projecting self-confidence, praying one day to not care. While I learned to wear clothes to accent my shape, and made an effort (most days) to wear makeup to hide the acne, and worked many a customer service job where my customers wrote reviews about how self-assured and outgoing I was, I was miserable. My self esteem was so fragile that I cried due to the way my shirt looked around my tummy, the way my boobs didn’t fit properly in a bra, and because a customer suggested I try his brothers acne cream for my “unfortunate face”.

Daddy had no idea the extent of my issues when we met; in fact, one of the very first things he talked about was how in love with my tummy he was. He thinks it adds to my young appearance, like I haven’t lost my baby fat yet. I vehemently disagreed with him then, but slowly, bit-by-bit, he consistently said the same things, was so genuinely proud of me for eating well when I did, and never made me feel bad when I didn’t eat enough that I stopped thinking that I needed to lose 20 pounds before I could be pretty. He bought me a giftcard to New Seasons when he found out I didn’t eat lunch so that I would have no excuses. He checked in on me, as Fathers do, to make sure I had eaten properly, and, I thrived, rather than feeling forced to change. My desire to please him was, and still is, so strong that I was willing to do as he instructed, even though my irrational brain told me that I was going to get even fatter.

My brain turned out to be wrong, I did not gain weight, I didn’t lose any either, but that stopped mattering so much when I knew he thought I was perfect. I stopped worrying that I was too fat to wear short shorts, I started looking for midriff tops when Daddy and I shopped, and I eventually stopped thinking negative thoughts 80% of the time. It certainly helped that Daddy couldn’t wait to rip off those tiny tops and bottoms and fuck me because he thought I looked so damn sexy.



It was not an overnight process to change the talk track in my head, and Daddy worked tirelessly to build up my self esteem, make me see myself through his eyes, and to stop judging myself so harshly. He found me beautiful, and eventually I started to step back and see myself as a whole, rather than in individual flawed sections. When I was able to look at my face without zoning in on the scars or the acne, I could appreciate how my eyes light up when I smile, and that I looked quite pretty when I genuinely smiled. Soon I stopped holding my hands over my stomach, and I didn’t feel uncomfortable when Daddy called it sexy, but it wasn’t until about 3 months ago that I genuinely began to like the way my tummy looks. Some of that is due to the changes that have taken place in me since Papa got me my bike and changed our diet, but I think a lot of it is knowing that my Daddy loves me no matter what, and that it’s ok to love myself.


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