I posted on Instagram about how several months ago, my scale died. It was honestly nearly 20 years old so I mean, it was due, but how for the longest time not knowing how much I weighed felt freeing.
Until my (newer; smaller) clothes started to not fit quite right.
Now, I was that thin last year because I was sick — like, undergoing radiation to get my thyroid under control sick. I don’t at all want to normalize how I looked then because it wasn’t a healthy weight, as glorified as that waif-look is, for myriad social reasons.
But through that I also couldn’t exercise (too sick and too much stress on my body, then to top it off I tore my left rotator cuff so doing things with my left arm at all sucked) so when I started to get a little rounder in places, it just kind of … happened. Some of my curves returned, some of them didn’t. And some of my insecurity areas came back, and some new ones formed.
Aging, let me tell you something.
Now I’m in the place where I’m doing some light stuff — yoga podcasts, quick little workouts I’ve found on Pinterest, generally just trying to intentionally move my body most days. It’s not glamourous and it’s not always fun, to be honest, but if I’m going to try and keep this body functioning as best as it can for as long as I inhabit it, I can’t take its functionality for granted.
So anyway all of that is to say that I was going to talk about my natural hair texture that I usually don’t let out in the wild but the longer this hair gets the more effort goes into keeping it under control which I don’t have time/patience for more than I’d like to admit but then … well, these photos want to talk about a different part of me entirely so I’m rolling with it.
Pun unintended, but fuck it.
Burgundy peacock feather tank: Speakeasy Yoga
Heathered grey lightweight cotton hoodie: Old Navy
Running capris: Moving Comfort
Violet webbed flip flops: Teva