My Never Ending Battle With My Gut

“You used to be more defined.”

His words hurt like sharp razors digging into my heart. I had two options: either I shrugged it off and focused more on the chub on his stomach or dwell on it. The thing is, he didn’t say it rudely or condescendingly. He simply just said it and joked about the flab of fat on his stomach.

I’ve noticed that I have a little bit of fat on my stomach, but it’s not like it’s a ton and you can see it through my shirt. It’s a measly amount that if you look closely, you can notice. And, since he’s my boyfriend, of course he would be the first to notice. Since we both have full-time jobs, it can be hard at times to work-out. But, I’m more so the one to exercise regardless of how exhausted I am. And, if I’m unable to work-out because I have plans, I tend to find other ways to exercise like walking up and down my stairs or taking my dog for a walk. No matter what, I try to get some form of exercise. Additionally, I sit on an exercise ball at work so I tighten my abs without even working out.

When it comes to my body, you should never make comments–unless they’re positive. I seem to rip myself a new one when a loved one talks about my stomach, legs or thighs. I’m extremely self-conscious. I have gotten better with not dwelling so much on gaining a few pounds, but it still eats at me. I try to focus on eating better and firming up my stomach.

So, I leave myself with another two options: stop feeling so damn sorry for myself and do something about it or fall into a deep depression. I’ll take my chances with the first option!

Via Thought Catalog

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