Oh hey guys! So my beautiful friend Rosie Red of Rosie Red Corsetry & Couture has written me another incredible post. Take it away gorgeous…

When I sit on the toilet (bear with me) I have a mirrored cabinet directly opposite me. I haven’t yet put it on the wall. As much as I’m good with a needle and thread, I would feel much more comfortable glue gunning it, and I just don’t think it would be strong enough.
Anyway, back to the point… when I am about to get in the bath and I sit on the toilet this mirror is positioned in the exact way that I can see my naked body, hunched over. I have a tummy that sits on my lap, and I have boobs that despite being large and looking gloriously spherical in a bra, realistically sit in uneven melted ice creams down my chest.
When I am naked and looking in this mirror I do see my narrow waist and big hips, but I mainly see all the fat areas that are by all intents and purposes seen by the mass media as ‘bad fat’.
Lets be real, curvy is acceptably attractive. I can pose in a bikini and look the ‘good’ kind of fat. The shaggable kind of fat. It’s only very recently that I have come to realise that someone can find my body beautiful. They don’t just find it acceptable, but truly beautiful at any and every angle.

I don’t know anyone that hasn’t had issues with their body. Mine were far more prominent as a child and teenager. I think as I have grown up I have taken a more f*** you approach to it. My body has had so much rubbish thrown at it, and yet it has achieved amazing things. That said, I’ve always thought in attracting (and keeping) a mate I would have to alter my body. Or, if I decided not to, that someone would have to tolerate it. My body would never be adored, or loved, but tolerated. How grim is that?
But it’s happened. Someone thinks I’m beautiful. Not just beautiful in a tight jumper and high waisted skirt hiding all my ‘flaws’ kind of way, but the hunched-on-the-toilet-belly-roll kind of beautiful. It got to a stage in our relationship where I realised I couldn’t hide my body or just pose flatteringly anymore. This person was going to see me naked. Opening the curtains in broad daylight kind of naked. And guess what? He didn’t run.
When we fall asleep in bed he often holds my tummy. He doesn’t have a weird fetish (or if he does I am yet to discover it), but the facts are that it is soft, and maybe in some ways comforting. If I’m being honest I think the first time he went to hold me there it was a sort of trust test: would I flinch, ask him to stop or move his hand away. I didn’t. He wants me; he deserves the right to be allowed to love every part of me. I don’t ever want our bodies to be off limits from each other because of insecurity.
I am sometimes painfully aware that his ex girlfriends have been far thinner than me. But, they are ex girlfriends for a reason, and are in his past and not his present. It’s odd isn’t it, how we often feel threatened by someone’s past. How odd that we pin all of our concerns over someone’s appearance. It is as though we have been programmed to think this way.
It was during a bath time conversation I dared to ask that dreaded question ‘would you prefer me to be thinner?’ He told me that he loved me. Weight doesn’t play any part in that. The tube in my stomach (you can read all about my type one diabetes here), the bionic implant in my arm, and my ‘chunky bits’. They make me me. Great I thought. But always wanting to pry a bit deeper I then asked, but what if I was to lose weight, or to gain weight? Would you still find me attractive then? Now as some background info, my chap is a very black and white kind of guy, he’s to the point. “Yeahhh”, he said, “Do what you want with your body. It’s your body. I love it when we have sex, I love it when we have days out, I love it when we go for meals and to the cinema and for drinks. I love the experiences your body affords, why change?”
And that was it. That was the turning point for me. Not only did I realise that this guy found me totally attractive, but that my appearance isn’t the only thing he’s attracted to (duuurrrrr obviously). He’s the first man in my life that openly calls me beautiful. Not the teenage boyfriend’s compliments of yeah you’re pretty but kind of weird looking, or later down the line of, yeah you’re kind of hot in your own way… He says that I am beautiful. And it’s not a one off, he tells me frequently.

So this is my simple message to you, and I apologise for getting it to you in a very rambly way: your body deserves to be more than just tolerated. Your body deserves to be loved, adored and worshiped. No buts, or maybes, or after you’ve lost 20lbs, but right now. This instant.
I think I grew up with the concept that to have someone love you (and your body) you had to love yourself and your body first. Well that’s bollocks. I came into this relationship far from content with my naked body. Sometimes it takes someone else to help glue our pieces together, and to teach us that those tummy rolls and those melted ice-cream boobies are loveable, not tolerable.

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