Hello everyone! I am so sorry I haven’t blogged in a while. As you may know, I’ve been moving and it’s gobbling up all my time. However, very important things are afoot in Zaftig Land. Very soon my friend Pia and I will be hosting our second community event. Last month we invited women out for Curvy Cocktails and it was so much fun! Now we’ve decided it’s time to take it to the beach!
|If you are in (or can get to) Southern California this is a must attend event!|
I am so very excited to be part of this event. It promises to be loads of fun and, I hope, liberating for those of us who’ve not felt confident enough to don our suits in public. I’ve been oogling suits online for weeks, trying to choose just the right one.
|Could she possibly be more fabulous? No. Not one little bit. She’s amazing!|
Or perhaps this little number from Monif C.?
I fell in LOVE with this one by Sorella Swim the minute I saw it!
Any one of these (or the myriad others I’ve drooled over) would be amazing. I’m not even all that worried about being on the beach in a swimsuit. My body is what it is. It’s a home for the person I am. No more. No less.
Here’s my real concern. I have scars on my leg.
Most people who are familiar with mental illness will instantly know what these are from. These are scars from self inflicted mutilation, or as most of you mights know it, “cutting”.
I have rapid cycling Bi Polar Disorder. This is my big secret. This is the thing I rarely tell anyone, for fear of what they’ll think of me. Those scars are from a particularly bad time a few years ago before I was diagnosed. I hate them. I hate the memory of slicing into my own skin to ease the pain inside my head. I hate that my daughter sees them and asks why Mommy has scratches on her leg. I hate the looks I get when people see them; some pity, some confusion and often disgust and contempt. They are, to me, evidence of my weakest self.
Recently, I’ve seen a few bloggers writing openly about their disorders and it’s been comforting to me. Most memorably, here, on A Curious Fancy I felt a profound connection to her story. So as I’ve been toiling with the dilemma that is my leg, it occurred to me that perhaps I could do for one of you what she did for me. I don’t know that I’ll ever write about my condition again, I prefer this blog to be light and uplifting. Today, however, I’m going down this road. I am sharing my truest self with you. The reason for this is simple. If reading this reaches just one of you on a personal level, this (the most personal and uncomfortable thing I’ve ever written) will be well worth it.
On August 10th, when we gather on the beach in our finest swimwear many of us will be fighting an internal battle. The war between insecurity and self love will be raging inside. For some of us, it might be a fear of back fat or belly jiggle. For others it could be stretch marks or the glare of our pale skin from having not seen the light of day in many years. For me, it will be this leg; this very visible sign I wear proving that I am not like you. I am not “normal”.
But you know what? What’s so fucking great about “normal” anyway?