What He See's Isn't What I See & Monday Stats

My husband loves the way I look. If asked to describe me, he would say I have long dark hair that's all over the place but he loves it. He would say I don’t need make-up; my green eyes carry enough secrets and mischief to light up my face. He thinks my waist is small and my belly is slightly rounded in the most attractive way. My breasts are full and round, in perfect proportion to my hips. He'd said I'm voluptuous, soft and beautiful.

He can’t get enough of me. He loves how shapely I am, how my curves fit in his hands. He loves to watch me walk away, and I love to feel his eyes on me.

His perception of me is so compelling that I believe it too. I can conquer the world when he tells me I am beautiful. I am fierce. I am powerful. I am feminine. I walk with grace when I see myself through his eyes. My smile is genuine, and my laugh lines show when I giggle. My hips sway gently and my breasts are proud. The lines of my body are gentle, the slope of my shoulder blends seamlessly with the strength of my biceps. Arms made strong from carrying children.

I am always surprised when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror because I fully expect to see my husband’s fantasy staring back at me. But I don’t see his beautiful wife. Instead, the woman in the mirror is deeply disconnected from the image my husband describes. I’m not sure where the lie lives; in his mind, or in mine?

The mirror makes my chest ache, and I feel something close to shame. Not shame, exactly, but the sinking that happens when you disappoint someone you love. That hot rush gets stuck in my throat when I pass a mirror. The image in front of my eyes is a pale shadow of the temptress in my head. My body has betrayed me.

I don’t see a vibrant powerhouse. I see a mediocre suburban mother. My hair is nice, but thin and lies flat against my head. My eyes are a pretty, but they are framed by wrinkles. My cheeks are cheerful, but full, and my lips are chapped because I forget to moisturize them. My skin is average, but beginning to show my age with a firm, deep line between my eyes.

I am more than voluptuous. I am more than curvy. My waist is swallowed up by my leftover baby weight, which folds over my lap and grazes my thighs when I sit down. My belly is decorated with silvery jagged lines, leftovers from being stretched almost beyond its limits. My breasts are full, but they sag with the weight having four children. My legs are plump and my thighs rub together when I walk.

I don’t know how to reconcile the reality of my body with the fantasy of my lover’s image. I struggle with my physical presence on a daily basis.

I do know I admire the woman that my husband loves. She is the person I want to be. I choose her; I choose the reflection in my husband’s eyes. Fuck the reflection in my mirror.

And that makes me fierce.

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Weight: 

March 12th 173.0 lbs 
(2.2lb lost)

Not a big change but check out this picture👇🏻

Measurements:

Biceps - (R) 12" / (L) 12"

Forearms - (R) 9.5" / (L) 9.5"

Chest - 37"

Stomach (at hip bone) - 37"

Hips - 43"

Thigh - (R) 25" / (L) 25"

Calves - (R) 15.75" / (L) 15.75"

*I will update measurements March 31st*