Y’know that joke about the middle-aged woman who looks in the mirror and thinks, “Who’s this old lady? Where did she come from?” That’s how I feel when I look in a mirror. Except, I think, “Where did all this fat come from, and why won’t it go away?”
I know I haven’t always made the wisest eating choices, and that’s where quite a bit of the flab has come from. Still, ever since I’ve started trying to be more careful and work out on a more regular basis, I find the mirror a frustrating thing. I want to look in the mirror and at least feel like it looks like I’m trying. Instead, I feel like I’m preparing to audition for The Blob.
I envy other girls. I envy them their long legs, slender waists, and their hair that sometimes does what it’s supposed to do.
Honestly, I feel like a failure as a girl. It seems that the harder I try to be feminine the more epic the failure is.
I’ve been a late bloomer in so many areas of my life, maybe this is just another one. Maybe my awkward teenage years actually hit in my 20’s. Perhaps my 30’s will be for me what the 20’s have been for everyone else.
Pity party now done.