So. My gut? Yeah. It’s a butt. Not the cute Instagram kind that looks good in leggings and makes everyone jealous. Nope. This one is loud, stubborn, and refuses to cooperate with literally anything I try to eat.
Some days I look down and my gut is doing its own thing — split right down the middle, like it’s trying to moon the world. Yep, that’s a butt, all wobbly, rude, and very opinionated.
I sit down after a long day, thinking maybe I’ll relax, maybe watch something nice… and suddenly my stomach is hosting its own percussion section. Gas, rumbling, weird noises —and suddenly, my little alien is trying to get out, only readers who remember this horror scene will truly understand — yes, that means you’re old enough to get me.
Salad: Betrayal in Leaf Form
I thought eating arugula would make me feel virtuous. HA. My gut disagrees. One tiny handful and suddenly I’m a human tuba. I swear I saw my salad smirking at me. It’s a battlefield in there, and the loser is always me.
Coffee: The Frenemy
Coffee is my lifeline. It is my joy. It is the only thing that makes mornings bearable. But my gut? Oh no. My gut sees coffee as a personal attack. Suddenly I’m running for the bathroom like I’m training for the Olympics, and dignity is somewhere back in my bed under a throw blanket, sipping wine I definitely haven’t poured yet.
Learning to Live with It
I could fight it. I could drink fancy teas. Do yoga poses that look like I’m auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. Or… I could just accept it. Laugh at it. Name it. Maybe even give it its own little chair on the sofa next to me while I binge-watch shows that make me ugly-cry.
Because my gut is a butt. But it’s mine, it’s loud, it’s rude — and somehow, that’s comforting.
Do you have a gut-butt of your own? Share your horror stories (and laughs) in the comments. Misery loves company, and so does awkward bodily noise.
