Orion’s Belt-Kinda-Face

Pulling up my stretchy pants I bought from Old Navy years ago (you know, the kind with the thick waistband that nearly covers your belly button, but always rolls back down if you bend over too far), and I watch my stomach get caught on the waistband.

A muffin top that sends me criticizing everything about my body.

Wow, maybe I should stop eating so many snacks.

How much weight have I put on eating more carbs lately?

Gross.

Christ, look at my thighs. Why are they so fat?

Ugh, cottage cheese ass.

Rather than simply stopping, which is hard to do as I stare down, around, and across all my insecurities, I try to rephrase what I just said to be neutral.

I’m not at a point where I can say something positive about the way I look. I can only make neutral statements.

This morning, when I pulled up my pants and caught my stomach on the waistband, my first thought was, “ugh, I’m such a fatass.” I realized I was being an asshole to myself and rephrased it to, “You have a body. You have a stomach. You have an ass.”

Did it make me feel better? Fuck no. But did it get me to stop saying mean things about the extra pudge around my waist? Also, fuck no, but it did give me a brief respite from…