My First Crop Top (and more importantly how I put it on).

I am without a doubt a plus-sized woman (a title I actually don’t actually like to use, but we can get into that later). It took me years to be able to say that without a cringe on my face, a feeling that I think most people who are lumped into that category will understand. But here I am today proud of my body, and in love with every inch of it. Every lump, every bump, and every stretch mark. I would love to tell you that it started out this way, that I never struggled with body image, but that would be a lie.

My body started to change in my early 20’s, I moved out of my parents house to a new city where I wasn’t as active as I used to be and lived on a diet of pizza, beer and whatever baked goods someone dropped off at the store that week. At first I didn’t really notice the changes but I swear I woke up one morning in a body that wasn’t mine. My pants didn’t fit, I didn’t like how I looked and I had a really bad haircut. I like most 20 year olds I hung out with at the time I was looking for a quick fix for my appearance. I tried it all, weight watchers, diet pills, eating once a day (I mean it was still a large pizza, so in retrospect..) but nothing seemed to work and I just continued to yoyo, gaining and losing mass amounts of weight every six months. I felt depressed, unworthy of love, and looking back on it now I really hated myself. All because of a number on my scale. I wish someone had told me that it would all turn around, and that this didn’t matter (I am not sure I would of believed them, but it probably would of been nice to hear) but instead every time I lost weight people would celebrate me like crazy, and every time I put it back on the compliments would quickly disappear. I was in a self destructive pattern, one that needed to stop, but I honestly just wasn’t strong enough yet, or ready to put the work in.

I would love to tell you that this only lasted for a few years, but no, it lasted until I was 31. When I look back on this now that means I spent 11 years hating who I was because of how I looked. I photo edited pictures for 11 years because I didn’t like the number I saw on the scale. I spent 11 years trying to make myself take up less space in the world so people would tell me I was pretty. 11 years! When I look back on this now its crazy! That is 1/3 of my life spent wanting to be someone else because society says it isn’t okay to hold a couple extra pounds on your midsection, or that you cant wear a pencil skirt if you don’t have a six pack!

Cue my early 30’s - I had enough. I started doing some work on “myself”. You know what I am talking about, looking into the mirror and telling myself one thing I am grateful for. It started off with the simple things: Im grateful for my kind eyes, my big smile, my dimples and so on. I am not going to lie, this didn’t work for me the way it seems to work in self help books. I never once looked at my thighs and believed it when I said I am grateful for my bigger then “normal” thighs. But it was a start (I will come back to this in a different post, but I did find a book that helped change the way I see myself, and I 100% recommend it to anyone that may be struggling) . I had always been inspired by clothes, I grew up in retail so putting an outfit together for someone else was legitimately what I was paid for daily. I was always envious of people that could throw things on and not look like they were a sausage stuffed into a tube because that is how I felt every damn day. This also meant that I had a closet filled with “I will wear these one day” clothes. Things that made me excited about fashion, but things that I simply could not wear, because, well how I looked. I remember waking up one morning and really wanting to wear a crop top. I looked at this damn crop top every single day, I knew it would look amazing with these high waisted leather leggings that I wore religiously with oversized shirts (just so no one could see my actual body shape) so I did it. I just put on the damn crop top, grabbed my purse and left the house. And do you know what happened that day? Absolutely nothing! The world did not cave in on itself, traffic did not stop and gasp, no one said anything mean, and I survived. Did I look in every single mirror I walked by to see how much my FUPA was sticking out? Obviously, but I offended no one, and I actually got a few complements that day.

That is how it happened. The crop top led to shorts, which led to a tight dress, which led to a bikini, and you guys, I honestly have never felt better in my life. I now look in the mirror every morning, look at my belly, my stretch marks, my thighs that rub and I am feeling myself. I am beautiful, I am strong, I deserve to be loved, and I deserve to love my damn self. I guess the moral of this story, is buy the damn dress, put it on, grab your bag and go take over the damn world! Because you hunny, look amazing!