People think you have it all together. What these people don't understand is how exhausting it feels to make it look that way. The pressure to keep it all going is intense. You feel unfulfilled and don't believe you measure up to others. You?re constantly searching for the secret to experience confidence in your own skin. Despite your have-it-all-together life, you can't figure out how to accept or perfect yourself. You?ve tried diets, intense exercise, shopping, and stuffing brownies in your face. Yet nothing fills the hole deep inside, and you worry, Will I ever be enough? You?ve come to the right place. In Letting Go of Leo, Simi Botic gets personal about what she's experienced and learned. She shares stories about eating a jar of peanut butter without choking to death. Stories about her thighs rubbing together. Stories of living a fantasy where she would marry Leo DiCaprio and win an Oscar. Stories of realizing that real life can be better than any fantasy, that she could show up for the good stuff and the hard stuff and, most importantly, for herself. Simi used to freak out about food, her body, and not being perfect enough. She freaks out a lot less now. In Letting Go of Leo, she shares how she broke up with perfection?and how you can too. Letting Go of Leo How I Broke Up With Perfection By Simi Botic, Jessica Turpin Dawson, Joslyn Villapando Balboa Press Copyright © 2017 Simi Botic All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-5043-9270-9 Contents Foreword by Katie Dalebout, ix, A Note on Writing This Book and the Lesson I Had to Learn (Again), xiii, BLISSFULLY UNCONCERNED / I'M GOING TO MARRY LEO, I Think I'll Ride Bikes Instead, 3, Chaffing Wool Shorts, 6, Semi Butt Itch, 9, It's the Puppet Lady, 13, IN THE THICK OF IT / NOT WINNING AN OSCAR, Ross and Rachel Are Meant to Be Together, 19, Divine Intervention via Double Stuffed Oreos, 24, I Bet Beyoncé Doesn't Eat Stale Cookies, 29, Swallow Them Whole Like a Candyconda, 34, I'll Just Run These Two Miles, 40, Slightly Very Embarrassing, But True, 46, THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL / THE ONE TIME I ATE A ROLL OF LAXATIVES, The Dirty F Word, 53, Those Aren't Candy, 59, Eating French Fries and Not Hating Myself., 63, A Stuffed Lace Sausage, 70, Living With a Judgmental Bully, 74, SHEDDING THE SHOULDS / TWO BANANAS, REAL BACON, AND HAIRY ARMPITS, The Other Side of My Goal Weight, 83, F-E-A-R, 91, The Best Watermelon of My Life, 97, Taking Up Space, 103, I Jumped in the Damn Waves, 108, Ditch the Bra to Feel the Feelings, 113, Preach It, Cher!, 117, The Nice Place in Between, 126, SHOWING UP / NAILING IT 23% OF THE TIME, That's a Lot of Pressure for a Pair of Pants, 133, It's So Nice to Have College Simi Back, 137, Who Wears Short Shorts?, 142, I'm Falling Behind According to Instagram, 145, Don't Forget the Coconut Water, 148, You've Got Child-Birthing Hips, 159, Nipple Pads Make Terrible Tissues, 165, Acknowledgments, 171, CHAPTER 1 BLISSFULLY UNCONCERNED / I'M GOING TO MARRY LEO I Think I'll Ride Bikes Instead There were bowls of candy all over my childhood house. In any room where people gathered, you better believe my mom had a beautiful crystal bowl full of mini chocolates. As a kid, we were never told how many pieces we were allowed to have. The chocolate was always available, and as far as we knew, we had permission to eat the treats anytime we wanted. I can remember occasionally unwrapping a mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cup and eating it. There were other candy options, like Hershey's Kisses and dark chocolate squares, but I've never been one to pick anything else when chocolate-wrapped peanut butter is an option. For every time I ate a piece of candy, I can remember even more times when I played next to the bowl of candy and didn't even think about it. There wasn't much to think about really, since it was always there. I could have one, or more, whenever. My mom always cooked dinner for our family. Sit-down meals with green salads and grilled meats and fresh bread. No matter what happened during the day, we always sat down together as a family. It was a time where we never answered the phone, no matter how many times it rang. "The answering machine can get it!" my mom would declare. And we'd go back to fighting over who'd be first to dip a piece of bread in the moca (a Serbian word for the juice left behind from grilled steaks). Moca was a real delicacy in our house. Once in a while, my mom would make dessert. But when she didn't, we were always welcome to help ourselves to the ice cream sandwiches in the freezer and the candy scattered around the house. We weren't told to finish everything on our plate. We weren't told sugar was bad. We weren't told we had to earn a treat. Honestly, food was just food. I don't ever remember thinking it was a big deal or feeling conflicted at all as a kid. My mom loved to cook and she loved to share what she made with us. I loved enjoying everything