#Negative Self-Talk

[achubbydumpling]

Could you write something about bucky getting chubby and getting insecure about that. So Steve gains a bit too and they realize they both like it? <3

thank you for this ask, nonnie, idk if this is what you had in mind, but I was inspired, though I did end up asking myself: is this... whump? but if you get through all the hurt there's some saccharine, sappy comfort at the end, I promise! 🤗

Rating: Mature Words: 1763 Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Negative Self-Talk (Self-Worth Connected To Weight), Hurt/Comfort, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Hurt Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Chubby Bucky Barnes, Chubby Steve Rogers

Bucky was painfully aware of how tightly his shirt was stretching over his body. He couldn’t do much to hide it but he still sat slumped over with his arms crossed in front of his body.

He’s been gaining weight. The doctors had assured him it was an expected side effect of his recovery but Bucky felt like a foreigner in his body once more. Everyone could see the change and he feared that they’d use it as proof he wasn’t coping as well as he said. What if they decided to put him back in cryo without asking him this time? What if he wasted too much of their time and resources and they kicked him out? What if—

“Buck?”

He looked up (when had he looked down?) and found Steve looking at him, once again with that concerned crease deep between his eyebrows. Bucky cleared his throat and tried to put on a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything ok?” 

Bucky forced his smile wider.

“Of course,” he looked at his half-empty plate (three-quarters full, did he eat too much again?), “I’m just not that hungry.”

He pushed the chair away from the table and went to get up when Steve finally put his foot down.

“I think we should talk.”

Ice water washed over Bucky’s back. This is it. Steve finally has enough or the King or the doctors. He’d finally overstayed his welcome.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered and to his embarrassment his voice wobbled from the tightness in his throat.

“You don’t have to apologize, Buck. I’m just— I’m worried, ok?”

Bucky lifted his head (when did he look down again?). Steve looked at him intently.

“Your appetite hasn’t been the best lately and if you don’t have enough energy that could make you feel worse throughout the day.”

Bucky’s arms tightened around his body. He could feel the softness of his belly. Nausea swept over him.

“I’m just not that hungry,” Bucky insisted again. What else could he say?

“Ok,” Steve sighed, this clearly wasn’t the right answer. “How about we ask for something that’s easy to stomach and high-calorie at your next doctor’s appointment. Is that ok?”

Bucky’s eyes started burning. Steve simply chose to believe his obvious lies and tried to offer solutions. He didn’t deserve this. He’ll just ruin Steve’s life if he stays here. His ruined body is proof of that.

“I don’t want to.”

“You need to eat.”

Bucky swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice steady despite the threatening tears.

“I don’t need as much as you do.”

Steve’s expression hardened and his mouth drew into a thin line. He’s getting fed up with me.

“You were barely fed enough to survive. Your metabolism might be slower right now but it will only recover if you show your body there is enough food and you’re not just surviving off scraps anymore.”

Bucky was surviving right now. Could it get better than this? His eyes burned harder and tears finally welled up. Despite trying to stay quiet a choked sob escapes him. Why now?

Steve gets up and walks around the table to crouch in front of Bucky. He projects all his movements and slowly lays a hand on Bucky’s leg.

“This isn’t about not being hungry, is it?” Bucky sobbed harder and shook his head. Steve’s hand rubbed in slow circles over Bucky’s leg and he wished desperately he could hug Steve right now.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now, but lets get you to lie down, ok?”

Steve had to treat him like a child, talking him through a crying fit. Fuck, he was pathetic, because Bucky was actually glad that he had Steve to lean on to shuffle the few meters to the living room and then curl into a ball on the soft cushions.

The gasping sobs had quieted down a bit when Steve went back to the kitchen to get a paper towel and a glass of water for Bucky.

“Can I?” Steve asked and pointed to the empty space on the sofa where Bucky was curled up. Like the perfect fucking super soldier he was, he waited until Bucky nodded. 

It was humiliating how good it felt that Steve waited that little second.

Steve didn’t talk for a long time and just ran his hand through Bucky’s hair. When he’d started doing that Bucky’s tears had started again but the longer he kept going the calmer Bucky felt until he was ready to wipe his tears away.

He stayed in the same position—curled on his side—and didn’t look at Steve when he started talking.

“I’m sorry. I’m a liar. I’m hungry. I’m so fucking hungry all the time.” Bucky could feel Steve gearing up to say something, but Bucky powered through.

“But I can’t really trust my body, can I? I listened for way too long and now I’m—I—”

His voice falters. He tries to fight through the silence but his throat clamps up.

“I gained weight.” 

It’s barely audible from trying to force the syllables through his steel-tight vocal chords.

Steve breathes out hard, but stays quiet. Still, stroke-stroke-stroking his hand through Bucky’s hair. This was the worst kind of confessional. He keeps going. Everything’s ruined now anyway.

“I feel so fucking useless. I just take and take and take. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how you can even stand looking at me. I get it. I’ll understand if you want me to go away, I promise. You don’t have to keep this up. Really, I’m sorry.”

Tears prickled at the corners of Bucky’s eyes again and he bit his bottom lip to keep them at bay this time. He waited for Steve to finally say something and when he stayed quiet for a second and another, he finally dared to look over.

Steve was the one crying now. Silently. While he slowly shook his head.

“You—” Steve’s voice cracked but he kept talking, “—don’t have anything to be sorry for. I should have—”

He stops talking again, shakes his head once and sighs again.

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve…” Bucky recognises the mantra from Steve’s therapist.

“I wish I could take all those thoughts and just make them disappear. You deserve so much. You deserve to be here and I’m glad you’re here. Your weight doesn’t change that. It’s not going to change anything.”

Bucky buried his nose against the cushion he was lying on. His heart clenched tight and didn’t let up.

“I’ll say it until you believe it,” Steve broke off into a teary laugh.

They sat quietly for another moment until Steve quietly asked, “can I give you a hug?”

Bucky froze at the question. As much as he craved the contact and the feeling of Steve’s body against his, that question alone sent his brain into a scramble of panic.

“Give me a second,” he choked out.

His eyes stayed looking at an unfixed point on the floor while he worked through the flare of panic in his brain. He’d—They’d been forcing him to see a therapist and she’d been big on breathing. Breathing deep. In and out. Infuriatingly slowly.

“Do you want—”

“I’ll give you a hug.”

“—some water?”

They looked at each other stunned for a moment.

“Not right now. I can’t—I’m—”

“I get it,” Steve said easily. Bucky’s throated tightened again when he realised Steve actually meant it.

He took the glass of water he was offered and emptied it in one gulp.

They went through the rest of the evening quietly. Steve sent an e-mail to Bucky’s therapist when Bucky couldn’t get his thumbs to type anything. They cleaned up the dishes and put away the leftovers. Bucky had another glass of water and then they headed to their bedrooms.

Steve hesitated for a moment before he turned the door knob and when he looked up Bucky thought they’d turned back time a few decades.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

Bucky dashed forward for the quickest hug in human history before he high-tailed it into the safety of his bedroom. His heart was beating like he’d sprinted a marathon, but the tightness in his chest loosened by a fraction.

+++

Steve stays after that. Just for a bit, he said but days turn into weeks and Steve stays. 

He settled down in a way Bucky didn’t notice Steve hadn’t.

His toothbrush wanders from the kit he’d take on missions into the cup on the sink. The book he’s reading stays upside down on the coffee table instead of bookmarked and carefully placed back into the shelf.

They develop a routine. One that isn’t dictated by missions, mission prep and debriefs. Instead they rise with the sun. The first order of their day is breakfast and time spent outside. Easy companionship. Reading in silence.

It’s on one of those mornings that Bucky notices it.

The way Steve had softened a bit.

The weight.

His breath caught in his throat and he waited for that ugly hatred, the clawing at his throat and vile thoughts that plagued him when he looked in the mirror for too long.

But it never came.

He looked at Steve and saw comfort and warmth. The growing softness made him feel at home. Like tangible proof that Steve was here to stay. Safe and healthy. It took much longer for it to click in Bucky’s mind. 

That’s me, he thought one morning while watching Steve in the bathroom mirror brushing his teeth. 

A bit of pudge underneath his chin that isn’t completely hidden underneath his beard anymore. Chubby cheeks that make his eyes crinkle when he smiles. Soft, wide arms that looked too inviting for Bucky to resist the urge to hug Steve in that moment.

A startled laugh and then Bucky was enveloped in a full-body hug. The sharp smell of mint made his nose wrinkle, but Steve’s scent took over just a few moment later. Big, wide shoulders and a chubby belly, warmth bubbles up into Bucky’s chest and he can’t do anything but hug Steve even tighter.

And in that moment he doesn’t even mind his own belly pressing against Steve’s.

“What’s this for?” Steve asks eventually when he tries to go back to brushing his teeth and Bucky whines until he keeps hugging him.

“Being here.” Bucky shrugged, “loving me the way I am when I couldn’t.”

“Oh, Buck.” Steve couldn’t say anything more after that, he swallowed hard and tried a few times but then he just tightened his arms even further and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

[skyler10fic]

Rewiring: uncover the "why"

A difficult thing in trying to rewire negative self-talk is that we don't want to be ignorant of reality. "Let go of thoughts that are no longer serving you," the helpers say, but we have this fear that if we let go, we will be caught out again as we once were, unaware of how [insert negative thought here] we came off to others. The shame moment. The moment someone pointed out or we realized ourselves that we were Bad or Defective or Embarrassing in some way. Worthy of shame and ridicule. Maybe we even still hear the laughter or the looks of disgust or the tone of voice that pitied us, "oh. Oh. You don't know. You're [insert word here]."

And that identity-shaping ghost haunts us into adulthood, years or decades even later. Letting go of that self-talk is a risk, because it was a defense mechanism. We need to be aware, we need to be informed, we need to be in on the joke... so no one can surprise us with that pain again.

So we walk around into our 20s and 30s and 40s and older and older with that one person or group or community's voice in our heads as the one true self-assessment of our identity. All the while, we're changing and growing and evolving into different people ourselves, and it may not have been accurate in the first place.

But "just stop thinking that" will never get us there, not until we and our helpers become trauma-informed to root out that defense mechanism and thank it for protecting us but, with respect, we don't need it anymore.

Like KonMari for our brains, we don't just recognize that it doesn't give us joy, we don't just realize it isn't serving us anymore, but we recognize in gratitude the role it played to keep us safe once. Even as we clean it out, dispose of it, and close the bag so it doesn't end up back in our minds.

Healing comes through empathy and gentleness and self-compassion, but that isn't solely others-focused or a regimen or strict cognitive-behavioral discipline. It's respecting our past selves' logic and needs and dignity. Even as we form healthier patterns and ways of moving through our thoughts and emotions and, externally, through our community and world today and in the future.

[draftscyrus777]

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[loveandscience]

my go-to sad song when I need to cry and have a release

it got it flowing, and that helped. all the thoughts of like, if i do have a serious health condition that's going to kill me, and if it was caused by taking testosterone... i would feel so guilty for depriving my child of two parents. that i couldn't just suck it up and suppress who i was. Why does being myself have to come with such a high cost, if this is what is happening? maybe it would have been better to just keep masking forever so at least i'd be around longer. why wasn't i strong enough to just suck it up and deal with it. i should have been able to handle the depression and SI i had before transitioning, why couldn't i have been stronger, then maybe i would live longer

but who the fuck knows, maybe this won't kill me.

[lnk-and-lnspiration]

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[dhyzenmedia]

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[skelptonblogs]

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[hachama]

If you use self-deprecating humor, that's fine. It's not my cup of tea, but it's fine.

If you use self-deprecating humor AND you're depressed or have a poor self image, I strongly suggest switching to hyperbolic self-aggrandizing humor. I truly believe it's 100000% healthier long term AND I think it's much, much funnier.

For example

*trips over a speck of dust*

Option 1: haha, I'm such a klutz, I'll probably break my neck opening a jar of pickles someday

Option 2: I AM THE MOST GRACEFUL PERSON WHO EVER LIVED YOU SAW NOTHING

[rosydraws]

Actively working to correct my negative self talk. It’s not hurting anyone but me.