Kat Atwell is a freelance writer, blogger & stage presence telling stories that deliver laughs, validation & community.

Mental Health | Wellness & Self Image | Experiential & Reviews

The Plight of the Weight Loser

All bodies are beach bodies. And love the one you’re with. All those things. Easy to say, difficult to accept.

I’ll be honest — looking at myself as I stand naked in front of a mirror doesn’t make me feel proud. I don’t see the “battle scars” of giving birth, I see stretch marks, you guys. I see a weird stomach hang thing that I do not like. I see boobs that … well, I like my boobs. Really, it’s the midsection. It’s that not-anywhere-near-tight abdomen. And I get it, it might never get there.

Oh, if I turn around, my flat butt makes me somewhat irritated. Not the biggest fan of my cellulite, either. Woe.

I signed up for Noom several months ago. My intent was to lose roughly 5–10 pounds a month, and be significantly more confident come summer. Primarily, because shorts. Coming in a close second? Swimsuits.

I’m a normal woman with a normal body. I don’t know a single person (Instagram influencers definitely do not count here) who can look at themselves, and be 100% cool with their appearance. They can get close — a hell of a lot closer than me — but they can’t confidently look me in the eye and say they see themselves as perfect.

BUT. I can see them as perfect. I love their bodies. Generally, I love bodies, period. Why? Maybe it’s because those other bodies are not my body. I’m not sure. My therapist is telling me right now that I’m supposed to treat myself like I treat my friends, which absolutely makes sense. Tell that to my ego, though.

I mean, if we’re not feeling insecure here, then what are we even doing? Can I get a half-hearted, “Hell yeah?” I’d even accept a vague, “Ehhhh.”

Since starting that weight loss program back in February or March, I lost seven pounds. And then I gained back six. I’ve also injured my knee, gone through a bipolar mixed episode, started a new medication that causes significant weight gain, and COME ON NOW.

So, here we are. June. Summertime, when the living should be easy, but instead it’s frustrating. I’m in my forties and would love to say I’ve achieved my “I don’t give a fuck” stage, but I still do. Damn those fucks.

Loving my now-body will definitely set me up for loving my later-body. And I’m not thoroughly repulsed by myself. I’m just disappointed in the weird stomach hang. And the flat butt.

But the boobs, though, you guys….they give me hope.

On Pride.

Afraid.