It’s swimsuit season. Although, I live in Houston, so swimsuit season lasts ten and a half months. This summer is a little, lottle, less comfortable for me.
I’m self conscious. I didn’t wear bikinis much or at all until the summer before I went to college when I was 19. I was always a one piece girl. Partially because of my mom, and partially because that’s what is easiest to dive and jump and slide in.
I was a late bloomer. I didn’t really hit puberty until I was 17. I was also very active and genetically super thin. For a very long time, I was a ballerina and built like it. The majority of my life, I was teeny-weeny. Then, I hit puberty, grew boobs and a butt, and gained weight. The things that happen when a girl becomes a woman. From the time I was 18 to 25, my weight fluctuated a lot. I’ve never been heavy, but when you were a size zero for a decade, anything resembling curvy was rough to wrap my head around. Right before I turned 25, I went through a huge health crisis and almost died. It’s a long story. I ended up losing a decent amount of weight and stayed there for the last three years.
Over the last two months, I have been dealing with a lot of stress. I’m also in the midst of an anxiety induced existential crisis perpetuated by OCD. Kidding, kind of. When I’m stressed, I gain weight. A lot. And quickly. In the span of twelve days, I gained 18 pounds. Believe me, it’s possible. I’ve lost eight of those pounds, but I’m hovering ten pounds over where I’m comfortable. No matter what I do, I’m not dropping them. Ugh.
So it’s swimsuit season. I’m in the midst of an ongoing emotional roller coaster. I know I don’t look bad. I’m still on the thin side of normal for my giantess height status. I’m just not as comfortable with where I’m at in comparison to where I’ve been the last few years. I’m still going to wear swimsuits and bikinis because I’m not going to let ten pounds keep me from the cute suits I’ve spent good money on.
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