I Hate Botox Bitches.

But it's not what you think.

Welcome to Shame Sandwich, where Megan feels equal parts shame and glee in sharing hilarious personal thought rants every Friday. Sometimes on shame, sometimes shame infused, and other times, nothing to do with shame. Enjoy responsibly.

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Fasten your chin straps.

For I have something to get off my non siliconed chest:

I hate Botox bitches. Vehemently.

Dare I say, with passion? 🌹

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BOTOX BITCHES BRING OUT ALL OF MY INSECURITIES.

😭😭😭😭😭

😭😭😭😭😭

Have you seen their perfect complexions?

Their flawless pouts?

And lest you think I’m talking ONLY about Botox…

NAY. Neeeeeeeeeeigh. 🐴

I’m talking about the WHOLE SHE-BANG-ING PACKAGE.

Lips.

Skin.

Brows.

Teeth.

THE FUCKING TEETH….!

Tits.

Ass.

Hairless legs.

Perfect hair.

Vag surgery.

VAG SURGERY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Etc.

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JESUS H CHRIST DON’T YOU PEOPLE REMEMBER THE ROMANS?!?!?

Those people fucked like wild from what I’ve been told but did they need BOTOX BITCHES to achieve peak desirability????? No!

No they did not!!!!

SO STOP FUCKING SHIT UP FOR THE REST OF US NATURAL HOES, BOTOX BITCHES!!!!!!!!!! MY INSECURITIES CAN’T TAKE IT!!!

Now if you’ll excuse me for one moment, I’m climbing down from my soap box.

It was perched atop the Empire State Building so I’m sure you can understand the time it takes to descend from such a lofty soap box.

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Alllllllllllmost there.

CHRIST’S CROTCH THAT WAS AN ENORMOUS LABORED DECENT I AM NEVER DOING THAT AGAIN!!!!! NEXT TIME I’M TAKING THE ELEVATOR DOWN!!!!

Ok— I’m back. Yikes!

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So, now that I’ve officially stuck my head inside a hornet’s nest (which was already inside a bull’s butt) and am at great risk of offending people— let’s state the obvious.

THIS REALLY ISN’T ABOUT BOTOX BITCHES, IS IT?

Le sigh.

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You see, this post has been brewing inside of me for a couple of weeks now, except I originally was going to title it something else. Something less… controversial.

Softer. Safer.

My original title?

“Dating Brings Out All My Insecurities.”

Except that’s not true.

Well, it is and it isn’t.

More on that in a minute.

The point isn’t about me feeling insecure about dating at the exceptionally ripe old age of 31 and comparing myself to already Botoxed 27-year-olds who then look like a permanently perky 24 year old, the issue is that I don’t love myself enough as is.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

^Not to be confused with the action I’m not getting.

FUCK that is rough to admit out loud.

But it’s true.

And if there’s one thing that Substack has taught me… it’s when I lean into the uncomfortable bits and share them out loud, the shame I’ve laboriously carried seems to… lighten a little bit.

And as I continue to age (coming up on 32…yeeeesh! ← calm down I know I’m still young 😂) I know my knees won’t be able to take the added weight of shame forever.

Which is why I’ve taken it upon myself to tackle this particularly moldy shame sandwich. 🥪🤢

Le sigh.

I really struggle with confidence some days.

It’s like there are two Megan’s.

The Megan who is very confident and loves herself very much.

Then there is the Megan who thinks she’s hideous and disgusting and unworthy of being found attractive.

And now that I’m back in the dating game again, all of my insecurities come rushing in like a monsoon without rainboots or shelter. 🌧

How I got here is not a mystery.

My upbringing was ground zero for ending up here.

But now that the knots are so strongly tangled, how do I untangle them?

Where does my insecurity end and my confidence begin?

How do you self-love what you self-loathe in the mirror?

And shame? I’ve got about 17 semi-trucks of shame baggage on this topic.

Because I know I’m not unattractive.

And that’s the part that brings me the most shame out of all of this.

I feel so ashamed to call myself beautiful. To let myself be beautiful.

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I cannot believe I just typed that.

If you’re reading that, that means I didn’t delete it…

And if I didn’t delete it… holy fucking sacks of balls.

→ I feel ashamed to call myself beautiful.

Not because I don’t think I’m not, but because I don’t think I deserve to take up space and be called beautiful. Does that make sense?

The fact that I acknowledge that I think I have ‘beauty’ makes me feel as vain as a pompous peacock and as shitty as a colossal turd in a toilet.

I’m still really bad about taking up space, and I would rather lick toilets than take up space most of the time even though I really really really really hate the idea of licking a toilet (shudders greatly) but Shame Sandwich is all about shining a light on the shame and shredding it and adding some provolone and pepperjack cheese on top and making it a delicious Shame Sandwich, you know?

So I guess what I’m trying to say is…

Being back in the dating game has inevitably stirred up some shit.

It’s brought my insecurities glaringly to the forefront of my mirror mind.

And I think it comes down to a deep lack of true self-love and feeling unworthy of receiving.

And so I pick apart my appearance.

I dissect my beauty until all that’s left is a heap of insecurity.

I stand in the mirror and I am endlessly horrified by my pore size. Hell, a legally blind parakeet could make out my pore size no problem. Sobs softly.

Not to mention the generally shitty complexion I was birthed with. Just sprinkle red pepper over my face why don’t you, it wouldn’t make a difference to my ruddy undertoned complexion.

Or my Grand Canyon gorged smile lines. THIS IS WHAT MY EXCESSIVE SMILING AND LAUGHING HAS LEFT ME WITH?! Cruel and unusual punishment, I scream to the void.

And then there’s my resting bitch face. Why do I resemble an un-happy Karen on her worst PMS day after a night of no sleep and she just found out her vagina was also drooping ← to be clear my vagina does not droop thank goodness. Haaaaaaaate my RBF. Thankfully I smile and laugh a lot but STILL. I don’t smile at the grocery store! Who smiles while adding sauerkraut and almonds to their shopping cart? I’m quite certain I’m at peak ugly while RBF grocery shopping.

But worse of all I despise my teeth. Even though they’re “fine”. I’m 79.32% convinced that if I had perfectly straight white teeth, like Hollywood fake-level perfect teeth, my life would be 1,007% better. Out of all the fake shit one can do, that is the one thing that I sometimes fantasize about fantasizing about really doing.

the teeth i waaaaaaaaaant 😭

And this is the point where I ask myself… how the Venus fly trap did I end up writing to you about all of this?!?! 😅

What a moldy shame sandwich this topic turned out to be indeed!!! I thought I might just liiiiiightly wade into the whole I hate BB’s because they make me feel insecure but nope.

I feel like I just spilled over a milk jug of vulnerable words onto your screen making a massive mess and I don’t know how to clean it all up. Heeeeeeeeelp. 😅

deep breaths

Ok, 3 things:

#1

If you are a BB I STILL LOVE YOU!!!!!! For reals. Just know my ugly ego will probs still hate on you just a lil bit ok? 💕 And if you have naturally gorgeous genetics I actually hate you ← JK. sort of. 😂 I know I can’t be too high on my high horse because I do occasionally slap on makeup and call myself a baddie but I just hate the extreme beauty standards of this day and age, and the angst it’s causing me. 😂 I just want the playing field leveled and no more fake-fake so I can genuinely hate the naturally stunning people fair and square ok?????? That is all!!!! 😂

#2

I already knew I had a very complicated relationship read: Megan Fox and MGK level complicated with acknowledging whether I am ‘beautiful’ or not. But it wasn’t until I started finger fucking the keyboard today and the words started tumbling out that I realized just how hard of a topic this is for me to talk about. I can look in the mirror and say the words “I am beautiful” and mostly mean them. But when it comes to actually believing + accepting that I am beautiful, wholly beautiful, independent of whatever Beautiful Botoxed bitch I’m standing next to? TIT’S FULL OF TICKS I AM NOT THERE YET. 😭

#3

Clearly, I need to work on my self-love and self-acceptance. Which is disheartening because I’m muuuuch better at self-loathing. 😂 If you have any self-love sageful solutions pls share them with me in the comments. 🥹

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Aaaaaaand, that’s what I wanted to write about today. 😅

And now for one last thing I don’t want to admit but will do so anyways:

I reallllllly want to go through this newsletter and squirt softening sanitizer over the entire thing until it’s much cleaner. Softer. Filtered.

→ Who titles a newsletter I Hate Botox Bitches???

→ Don’t you know using the word ‘Hate’ and ‘Bitches’ goes down as easily as glass shards and cyanide for most people?

→ How do you not understand that people are going to LEAVE YOU if you talk like that???

Le sigh.

Here’s the thing… this is who I am.

I’m vulgar.

I swear. Often.

I crack jokes some people might find offensive.

But I know my heart. And this is simply how I express my feels.

And at the end of the day, I’d rather stay true to myself than squirt softening sanitizer over my words, even if doing so comes with its fair share of rejection, perceived or real.

Maybe one day, I’ll get to simply just be myself, instead of fighting to be myself.

That is my ultimate goal.

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Here’s to loving ourselves a whole fuckton more.

We are all so uniquely beautiful. 🫶

And honestly, is there anything sexier than seeing someone confidently rock what they’ve got? #goals

HAVE THE BESTEST WEEKEND!!!

-M

p.s. - In case I didn’t make this clear already, I reallllllly hope I didn’t offend anyone who gets Botox or otherwise! This is about me and my insecurity shit, talking about it in the only way that’s true to me… shame-y, full blast, unfiltered. 🫣 ILY. 💕

p.p.s. - If you can relate to what I’ve wrote, I hope you feel seen, and less alone. 🙏

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