Tag Archives: weight loss

Self-Dicipline and Serving My Body

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Yesterday, I had that moment that every woman dreads.

It was warm out for San Francisco. It had been for the last few days. I decided that it was time to dig through my drawers and pull out one of my favorite pairs of shorts. They were longer, dress style, button and zip fly, and I had no worries of chubby chafe with them. I had worn them just fine a year ago when I had gone down to Disneyland with my family for Easter. I hadn’t really touched them since then.

I pulled them up, went to button the fly..and..

Fuck. Fucky fuck. Fucky fucky fuck fuck.

It buttoned. Barely. Uncomfortably. I immediately pulled them of and pulled on my “fat shorts” that always had room in them. They fit perfectly.

FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK.

I have been on and off diets since I was 8 years old. I’ve always been curvy, and my mother, who was 4 ft 6 and 80 lbs soaking wet, never quite understood what to do with me. I was a double digit clothing size when she was a double zero. I’ve never NOT had to work to keep my body in some sort of shape other than round.. and it’s so easy to get lazy.

I had a very poor self-image for a very long time. I saw “FAT” whenever I looked in the mirror. Who on earth would ever want me? I was never going to be the average person’s version of beautiful. I was in my 20’s and I was supposed to be the skinniest I would be in my whole life… and I was pretty fucking heavy. I hated it.

..And then I found out what service was.

Cal, Kane, Smith, Graham.. Every single Dominant man I have known, for however long I’ve known them.. from one-night encounters in a dungeon, to actual romantic relationships that extended outside of the bedroom, made me feel like, in that moment, that I was the most incredible woman in the world. That I was a goddess, even as I was being used for their pleasure. I have never felt more beautiful then when Kane was taking me. Not asking. Not making love. Taking what was his, a hand wrapped around my neck, because he could. Because only I, in that moment, was capable of pleasing him. My body and what it could do pleased him. As is. Not 20lbs lighter. Not 60. As is.

Any time in the past where I have mentioned to Kane that I wanted to lose weight I have always been met with the same response: I think you are beautiful as is, but you need to be happy with you.

It’s amazing how long that message can take to sink in.

It kind of hit me while I was standing there, strained fly in hand, glaring down at my shorts.

I know I am desired by men. I know I am a DAMN good submissive when I am permitted to serve. I know that I am pleasing in both my deeds and actions and I know that I want to make myself better, for myself and as a reflection of who I serve. I want to be better, and that means taking care of my body.

Yes, I am beautiful. Yes, I want to lose weight and get in shape.

Submission has taught me many things and pushed my body to lengths I didn’t think it could go. I have taken lashes, smacks with a riding crop, spankings, and paddles when I thought I just couldn’t do it, but I did it because it was asked of me. Because I wanted to please someone. Because I knew that I could make it through, so long as I grit my teeth and focused.

If I can go through beatings for others, why can’t I go through exercise and diet for myself?

Why can’t I use the discipline and determination I’ve gained in serving others to serve myself for once? If I go into super subby mindset, getting myself in shape does serve others in the long run. I will be more confident in my appearance, and my body will more than likely be able to take more and be bendier (hopefully… Yoga is involved..and being Gumby should be part of a submissive’s job requirements…). I will be more pleasing to the eye, not because I am ugly or fat now, but because I will hold my chin higher, my chest further out. I will smile more and be more open, less likely to hide because of my chub.

So, this submissive is back on Weight Watchers by her own choosing. I like it because it makes me accountable for every single thing I put in my mouth. I have to track, have to write it down, and have to see the consequences when I eat crap. I’m back to using my Fitbit, to see every single step I take towards a little better physical me.

I am beautiful. I am desirable. And if I don’t believe that, no one else will. I could be more confident though, more sure of myself. And I will be.

It helps that I actually LIKE healthy food. The exercise…eh… but there’s always room for improvement.

Bring on the vegetables and yoga classes!!! RAWRR!!!!!

Yours continually trying to better herself,

-Rena

On Top

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I, like many others, struggle with my weight.

It’s taken me a very long time to be able to look in the mirror and think the person looking back is beautiful. It started when I was much, much younger with a mother built completely different than me. She used to get me kids jeans three sizes too small and would tell me I couldn’t wear jeans until I fit into those. I went to a nutritionist for the first time when I was eight years old, started doing Weight Watchers for the first time when I was ten (complete with the meetings), and at this point have it so engrained in my head that I automatically calculate the points of food, and have never seen the single digit side of clothing sizes. I’ve come damn close. At my “skinniest” I was a size 10, and I was fabulous.

I was also bulimic, so that helps, though I am trying to get there again the healthy way. I haven’t slipped with my binging and purging in a whole year. I’ve been more active (though I’ve been far too lazy today and need to go take my walk after I write this..), eating much better food, and slowly watching the scale go down, pound by pound, week by week.

The number still bothers me..but it’s bothering me a little less. I don’t like seeing a 2 in front of my weight. EVER. I’m small, all of 4 ft 11, and I am damn curvy. I am blessed and cursed with a body that hides my weight extremely well..blessed because if I told someone I weight 206.4 as of last weekend they would gawk at me in shock.. cursed because it’s not those annoying five pounds that sneak up on me. It’s those annoying twenty pounds…

I do think I need to lose weight. My goal over time is to get to 150 (at my thinnest I was in the 170s). I don’t think I’m gigantic. I know I’m sexy. I know I look good in a corset and thong, and I know what lingerie makes me look fantastic.

I am confident around Kane, more so than any other man I’ve been with. I know he doesn’t see flaws when he looks at me. I know his perception of beauty is different than most. I know he thinks I’m beautiful.

But I want to curl up in a ball and hide every single time he asks me to get on top.

I’ve NEVER liked the position. Ever. Because I become twenty times more self conscious about my size. I notice my tummy, my thighs; everywhere that I hold weight. I get self conscious about how I’m moving or if I’m keeping a proper pace… or if I look like this slow, sluggish beached wale impaled on top of a man. No one has ever called me that, mind you, and those that have gotten me on top have appreciated it…but my little warped mind sees this disfigured creature in place of myself.

I’ve enjoyed it twice that I can remember, and only twice. Once was with Jason, one night where I actually topped HIM while we were still dating. For some reason it turned both of us on… He was also on his sofas sitting and for some reason that position made me more comfortable than in bed.

It’s the only position that’s a mind fuck for me. Turn me upside down, sideways, lift my legs, spin me around..it doesn’t matter. Ask me to get on top, cowgirl or reverse, and I freeze. Any sexy I have just shrivels and I become this scared little girl… AUGH.

It’s frustrating, because I know it’s one thing Kane very much enjoys. He took me to task about it last night before some very intense (in a very GOOD way) sex, listening to my fears about the position before responding. As far as rhythm and movement, he reminded me that he would be dictating how I moved and how quickly those movements were carried out…and as usually, he assured me about my figure. He likes the position because he gets access to all the parts of myself I want to hide.. my waist, my thighs (he is the only man in the history of EVER to like my legs, which I think are stubby). He loves that it gives him open access to my breasts and free hands… a dangerous combination in all the right was.

Kane isn’t small. My beloved Sir is a sizable man who has picked me up with little effort and tossed me onto the bed before. Logically, I know I won’t squish him. I’m not too big for him to handle. So why does my mind still flinch at the idea when he’s attempted to ease my worries one by one? What is it that his words can’t get through to ease my worries?

AUGH

Looks like I have some mental picking apart to do… case I wanna ride with the best of ’em, dammit!

Yours frustrated.. and not looking forward to the self-imposed psychological evaluation.

-Rena