My Best Butt

The weather has kept everyone home from work today, so I decided to check out The Daily Post prompt.  Today’s daily prompt is BFF.  The most important lesson I learned from the person I’m closest to.  I love talking about my best friend.

Catie is my best butt.  When we were nine or so we stole my little sister’s diary to read it (I know.  So bad.), and she hadn’t learn to spell well yet, being six and all.  She’d written the following:

“I like Kristen.  Me and her are best butts.”

We got a good laugh, but that’s when the best butts thing was born.  I’ve known Catie since I was five years old.  I forced her to like me, and she’s still my best butt to this day.

Catie is the most beautiful, kindest person that I’ve been blessed to be friends with, and I love her very much.

IMG_0007 

Photo taken when I was convinced I would be a photographer

She puts up with my incessant ramblings, edits my stories, and acts like a little kid with me.   Let me just gush a little bit about her by posting some photos.  🙂

30683_530478006625_3053061_n

We pretty much went to the mall every weekend if we could.  And I can’t imagine how much money we spent in those little photo booths, snapping pictures.

30683_530478191255_4537441_n

During college.
41326_535925973855_2050643_n

 

 

 

 

 

 

247520_1753824884782_6919305_n

I was her maid of honor, and she was mine.  We WERE going to marry Lance Bass and Justin Timberlake in a double wedding, but that plan fell through.

ANYWAY

I’ve learned many life lessons from the people who love me.  My older sister Heather has taught me how to grow thicker skin, how to work hard, and improve myself.  My parents fostered my creativity and helped it grow.  My husband has taught me patience and selflessness.

Catie also taught me one of the most important lessons that has helped me grow as a person.

Self worth

For years I’ve struggled with self worth.  In fact, the majority of my life.  There have been terrible times when I was sobbing in my husbands arms in a deep depression.

“I hate myself.  I hate everything about myself.” I’d cry, and nothing he said would change my mind.  Awful mantras would go through my head.

You’re ugly.
You’re fat.
No one gives a crap about your writing.
One day, this man will get sick of you.
You’re never going to have children.
How will you amount to anything?

This might sound silly, but my opinion changed about myself at a beach house talking to my life long friend.  She’d invited my husband and I to stay at the beach house with several other couples.  There were about ten of us there total.  For weeks I’d told Catie that I was terrified for anyone to see me in a bikini, and she tried to convince me that it would be fine. I wanted to go swimming in the ocean, but I was disgusted by my body.  I had surgery in July and the little purple scars seemed like huge ugly marks.  Not to mention I’m a much heavier than I want to be.  I felt like I was all fat and no sexiness, which is pretty important when you’re showing a lot of skin.

It was the night that we got there and we all sat on the large balcony in beach chairs, watching the black waves roll in and out in the night, drinking mixed drinks.

“Are you going to go swimming?” one of the girls asked, and I cringed.

“I brought a bikini, but I’m not sure I’m going to wear it.  If I do, I brought a cover up.” I confessed, and Catie gave me a patient look.  One of the girls asked why.

“Because I look gross.”  I answered a little inebriated.  Catie laughed.

“She always thinks that and it’s silly.  No matter what size she is, she always has that perfect hourglass shape.” Catie told them.  And from there she and the other girls went on about how they’d all love to have the hourglass shape, and how crazy I was for thinking I was fat.  That no one would ever look at me and think that.  That they all had better things to worry about than how I looked in a bikini.  I hadn’t even thought about it that way.

The next day we were putting on our bikinis in the bathroom together and I was frowning at the mirror.  No matter what I said or where I pointed, she couldn’t see all the flabby parts of me that I was concerned about.  Or at least she said she couldn’t see them.

We went out and played on the beach for hours, and I didn’t feel gross at all.

Not only that but she’s always encouraging my writing.  If I send her a short story, she’ll have it edited for me by the weekend.  The girl even edited my almost 400 page novel, The Sage’s Eye.  She listens when I tell her all of my story ideas.  For Christmas, she framed a copy of my novel cover which hangs above my bed.

How can I not feel self worth when there’s this person who’s rooting for me in every aspect of my life?  Someone who isn’t my husband.  Someone who isn’t related to me by blood.  Someone who could have fallen out of my life years ago but didn’t.

She makes me feel proud of myself, and I’m constantly proud of her.

I’m worth something.  My writing is worth something to someone.  Someone cares about me who doesn’t have to, and that’s a wonderful feeling.

I love you Best Butt.

38788_533752000515_3466679_n

Yeah.

Advertisements

9 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. inspiretheworld2day
    Jan 28, 2014 @ 22:30:52

    What a great story. Wish I had a best butt like yours 😉

    Reply

  2. Trackback: A Speck Of Green – Part 1 (Looking for Dad) | The Jittery Goat
  3. Trackback: I shoulda had a MacBook Air! [Sheri #3] | Rob's Surf Report
  4. Trackback: Daily Prompt: BFFs | The Wandering Poet
  5. Trackback: A Dog and His Bone | Love.Books.Coffee.
  6. Trackback: Just A Little… | Edward Hotspur
  7. Trackback: Daily Prompt: BFFs | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  8. Trackback: In Dedication to A Ray of Sunshine | Pinstripes&Lipgloss

Thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: