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Cigarettes and Calpol

Attempting to make sense of parenthood, life, love, and my own mind.

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Body Dismorphia

My Body, Imperfect

Each body is different.
Each body is a map of where the owner has been. Routes taken. Shortcuts gone wrong.
Each body is a book. Chapter after chapter of tales of life.

My body is no different.
My body tells a story.
Of highs and lows.
Of ups and downs.
Of good and bad.
Of pleasure and pain.
Of life. In all its real, awful, hideous, beautiful forms.

Each inch a different chapter, marked and scarred and freckled with life.

Continue reading “My Body, Imperfect”

Sorry, I’m Not Amazonian.

2016 is the year of body confidence. Every other Buzzfeed post is celebrating bodies, no matter what shape or size and parenting blogs everywhere are giving thousands of words to the Amazonian power that giving birth to a child makes you feel. Stretch marks are tiger stripes. The loose skin on your stomach is just proof of what your body can do. Ruined boobs mean you gave your assets to feed your child. Flaws are no longer flaws, they’re something to celebrate and be proud of.

Except I can’t do that.

It’s been five years since I gave birth and I can’t look at the flaws on my body as something to be proud of. I look in the mirror and see a body that I don’t recognise, a body that I don’t want.

Continue reading “Sorry, I’m Not Amazonian.”

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