Every scar tells a story.

I’m still coming to terms with this new bod.

My focus the last few years was on surviving. One foot in front of the other. I held zero space for vanity, sexuality, or relationships of any kind. I had nothing left to give, even to myself. After my ex moved out last September, I slept for months, literal months. I worked during the day but as soon as I clocked out, it was time to rest, watch movies and sleep. And the weekends, forget about it, zzzzzzzzz. It was so extreme my mom made me go to the doctor! Everything came back clean; I was just physically and emotionally exhausted. This went on for FOUR MONTHS until one day, I started to feel rested. It's amazing how the body can heal itself with rest, more on this another time.

My point being, until recently, I had not paid attention to this new body. How clothes fit me different. How one breast is bigger than the other. How scars poke out of my (former) favorite tops and dresses. How hard it is to find a bathing suit that will conceal the incision that went from hip to hip AND where this skin was sewn to my chest, to form a new breast.

OH! And I have a new belly button.

That’s right, they made me a new belly button. That part cracks me up. I picture an old pile of belly buttons somewhere, next to terrier tails and Pitbull ears.

Where do these severed body parts go??  Don’t answer that.

In the meantime, I’m just observing while also being kind to myself. I know someday I’ll embrace these battle scars because they are the reason I’m alive today.

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It’s time to leave and live.

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Next

I’m not crying, you are.