Let’s talk about why I want skin removal surgery. If my explanation isn’t important to any of you, it may one day be important to my daughter. Or a reminder for me. I don’t know. But when a post is in my mind for weeks, I gotta get it out of my mind and onto the web.
So let’s talk about it. Okay, mostly, I’ll talk. You just read. Sound good?
I’ve done so much thinking about this. If I am doing it to change myself, will I ever truly be happy? I want my tummy tucked, my boobs lifted, and my thighs tightened. And the cost of all of that will be some pretty large scars (ya know, plus the ~$20k). So. How am I going to feel about those? Because if I think having this surgery will help me achieve that perfect body I’ve been desiring, I am dead wrong.
So no, I definitely don’t think that.
I’ve also thought about all those women that have lost massive amounts of weight and seem perfectly okay with their extra skin. Why can’t I be like them? Should I be? Should I feel bad because I’m not just accepting of this new body?
No. I definitely shouldn’t feel bad. No. I don’t have to accept it. Would it be fantastic if I could just magically love everything about my new body? Well, hell yes. But I don’t. And that’s totally okay.
I’m 30. I have wrinkles. I have a shitload of stretch marks that won’t be removed with surgery. I’m 5’1″. I have thick legs and man feet. My nose is big. I’m hairy and have the acne of a teenager.
My point is, I will never be a supermodel. And I don’t need to be a supermodel because I’m beautiful just the way I am. Yep, I said it. I’m beautiful. I know this because just yesterday I was staring at my daughter. Sometimes I just look at her and I feel amazed at her beauty. And when I let her know that I thought she was gorgeous, she said to me, “I know Mommy. I got it from you.”
She did. She got her beauty from me.
So even though I have a lot of things that will keep me from gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated’s Swimsuit Edition, I am okay. I am not having this surgery to achieve the perfect body. Because it’s just not possible.
So why am I? Well, I won’t lie. A lot of it is simply aesthetics. But a lot of it is convenience. Having extra skin is a pain in the ass. Same for the droopy boobs. I’ll never be a girl who can go braless (at my thinnest in high school, I was still a 36D!) but that would be awesome. But hell, I’d settle for wearing a strapless bra! Seriously.
Let’s look at some examples of the stomach. These pictures were taken when I weighed 131 pounds. Daaaaang. I was wearing a size 4 jeans here. Daaaaaang. The tummy? It looks flat down to the obvious jean line. But still. Pretty dang slim.
So I felt pretty fantastic in those pictures. Unfortunately, my belly looked like this underneath:
When I pulled my shirt down and my yoga pants up, it looks like this:
Looky there, I can hide it! But you know what that means? I have a perpetual muffin top in anything that isn’t stretchy. I have to buy jeans that go above my belly button or I always have that pooch showing through in my shirts. And that’s not cool.
So that’s my stomach. I want to be able to wear normal jeans, dammit! I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I want to not need these:
They have been super helpful. I am eternally grateful to whoever invented shape wear. But I am ready to move on. They made me look so fantastic in those pictures above. They did! But who wants to go through all that crap when they’ve worked for years to get in shape? I don’t want to wear layers of clothes. I would love to wear a thin shirt. That will happen one day!
Onto the thighs. It’s hard to really show those to you because they don’t look so bad when I’m just standing there.
Sidenote- my stomach looks different only because the lower half is under my undies.
Anyway, obviously the above pic is me at 139 pounds. That’s likely to be my weight when I have surgery. I’m not sure 130 (my lowest) is maintainable for me. So can you see my upper thighs? It’s the jiggliest mess. Am I being picky? Well yeah, duh. And there is definitely a part of me that wonders if those massive groin-to-inner-knee scars are going to suck worse than the jiggly bits. But I think no. I don’t want to wear swim skirts. I don’t want to see the skin hang when I bend over. It’s just not good.
Oh, let’s switch back to the tummy tuck for a sec. I think my butt looks ok in the above pics. Seriously, it’s not bad. But the reason I want to go for the extended tummy tuck has everything to do with the skin that pools out all around me when I sit down. I keep picturing being at the pool on a cruise and my butt just taking up the entire lounge chair when the rest of me only fills the middle. Ick.
Now, the boobs. Well, I probably don’t need to explain these much to any women out there who have had children. I nursed all three and I was a 44F at my largest weight. You can imagine what my boobs look like at 130-140 pounds – at a 36C. I once heard it described as fried eggs hanging on a nail. Yum. My daughter lovingly refers to them as my long boobs. She is absolutely obsessed with my loose skin in general. It’s kind of comical.
Again, I’ll probably never go braless. That’s okay. But I would love them not to extend to the floor when I bend over to pick up something. I’d love to not be assaulted by them when I walk around my own house sans bra. And I want to be able to wear a non-halter type swimsuit. That’s the only kind that don’t make my boobs look ridiculous. And then they still kinda do.
See the boob spillage? Thank youuuuuu extra skin. Sexy. Now, to clarify, I’m not going for an augmentation. I just want what’s already there lifted a bit.
Listen. This post makes me sound like I hate my body. No, I don’t. I accept my nose and my man feet and my hairiness. I even love every new wrinkle I get. Seriously. I just don’t want to deal with the skin. And it doesn’t make me worth anything less because I can’t just love my body exactly as it is. I’ve worked effing hard to feel comfortable in my body and I just still don’t. I don’t want to change the things about me that were supposed to be there. I was made perfectly. I just kind of made some mistakes along the way and I’d like to rectify them.
Now, does that mean everyone else should feel this way about their loose skin? Well, no, of course not! What bothers me may not bother you. And that makes you one lucky duckling. But it does bother me. It bothers me so much that I let myself regain over 30 pounds because I was still so frustrated with my body. That’s not okay and I definitely forgot the principles of being healthy there for a minute. But I’m working on it.
When it comes down to it, I just don’t need to be perfect. Mah man loves me exactly as I am and I actually really do believe that. My loose skin and saggy boobs don’t bother him at all. I’m pretty grateful for that. I’m also grateful that he understands how important this is to me. This isn’t about me wanting to strip down and show my sexy new self off to the world. Nope, not at all. I’m a fairly modest dresser and I probably always will be. That’s just my thang.
I just want to easily wear clothes that fit and not constantly be concerned about the skin. I want to quit fighting my body and just be able to throw on a shirt, jeans and go. I don’t want everything to be a big damn ordeal.
I want to get out of the yoga pants. I love yoga pants. They hide damn near everything! Looky here! This is me at 157 pounds.
Nice, right? But I can’t wear yoga pants every day. Okay, I do pretty much wear them every day. But one day in the future, I’m hoping I won’t.
Let’s recap. I’m curvy and I always will be. I love that about myself. I’ve spent a lot of time staring at different body types trying to decide what my issue was exactly. And I’ve come to the conclusion that they really are all very beautiful. I am not jealous of a certain body type because my curvy body works for me. And it works for J. I just want to clean up the bits that are hanging onto the frame that should be there.
And I’ll never be perfect. I know that. I don’t need to be that. I just need to be a little more refined. And then instead of extra skin, I’ll have my scars as a reminder of my journey.