I woke up from my “routine” cosmetic surgery a confident woman…or so I thought. Listen, don’t get me wrong, the new girls looked great! And the more I healed the better I felt and I was stoked! I was buying all the bras and swimsuits a girl could dream of! Remember, I had been running my ass of (literally) to get my “old body back”, so I was looking pretty damn good. I couldn’t wait to strap on my new Victoria Secret swim suit and show everyone I still had “it” after having two babies. So I did just that.
Because of my surgery I wasnt able to run, but i didn’t care, I hated it, besides, I had perky tits now (that’s all that mattered right)? I remember how good it felt to be complimented by my hubby, my friends and family, and how fierce and sexy I felt in the bedroom. It was intoxicating. I had finally conquered that asshole in my head that was so disgusted by my ever changing body… temporarily.
About 4 months post surgery I started to see my body changing, and not in a good way. As I had completely stopped running, and it showed. My thighs were too big, I had no ass, and THOSE DAMN STRETCH MARKS just glistened in the light! I tried so hard to think positively and give myself grace, but i failed. The novelty of my new “porn star boobs” (that’s what I called them), had started to fade. I no longer walked into a room tits first. I didn’t see that confidence in the mirror as often. Instead I saw every single “flaw”…still. Like here we again… had to start back with running. WHAT. THE. FUCK.
