Why do I do it? Why do I embarrass myself, lying on the beach? Whilst others look on, donning expensive bikinis with their perfect bodies? A post holiday glow that I could only dream of adorns them already, day one. Their tummys flat, their hips with just the right amount of curve, their breasts pert. Their judgmental looks of disgust skim my pasty white skin. My cellulite-speckled-thighs, too-flabby-stomach, flat boobs, stretch-mark-covered-hips. They probably don’t even realise what they’re doing.
A chorus of, “Are you sure that you want to eat that bagel? That’s a lot of carbs…” My healthy salads are forgotten, it’s as if I haven’t eaten a single piece of fruit, and they focus on my “bad” choices. “Your muscles are aching? Mine don’t…I do more exercise than you though!” You think I don’t know that?
I shut myself in an air conditioned room, reading, listening to music, pacing avoiding the beaches of the “perfect” body, hiding my awful form away. I stick to deep waters when I swim, hoping to hide myself under the crystal clear ocean. I drape myself in long dresses, towels, shawls, hoping to mask my unattractive figure. Watching the clock. Is it too early to retreat?
Why am I here, anyway? Today I wish I was at home, with Him who always makes me feel better, beautiful. But I’m stuck 5000 miles away in the searing heat. My body, boosting the confidence of everyone else around me. And theirs crushing mine.