Loving Every Body - Even My Body
When I was a little girl, I don't remember thinking much about my body. I woke up in the morning, put on play clothes, wolfed down breakfast (usually Cheerios), and spent most of my day playing outside with the kids on my block. I moved every day, but it wasn't movement directed by grown ups. Kids in my neighborhood didn't go to lessons or participate in organized sports. Sometimes we'd play kickball in an abandoned lot, but mostly we played hide and seek or tag or rode our bikes. I didn't have to be encouraged to get exercise...I don't even know if that was a thing back then...but I moved because that's what we did. The TV didn't have stuff for kids during the day, so our options were to play or be bored. We usually chose to play.
Food also wasn't much I thought about. We would reluctantly take breaks from all the play to eat lunch and dinner and then play until we were called in at night. I have vague memories of my mom going to aerobics classes and fussing about eating more vegetables, but I don't remember hearing about calories or protein or carbs or ketones or any of the nutrition buzz words of today. We didn't have a lot of prepared snacks in our house and never had soda. It might have been for health, but I think it was mostly because at that time, those things were for rich people. My mom made cookies and bought popsicles, bur our snacks were mostly apples or bananas or cheese slices or graham crackers - stuff we got from the food shelf in times that we were extra poor and stuff we could afford when we weren't as poor.
I don't remember anyone admonishing me to eat differently for any reason other than to save money. For example, I went through a cheese loving phase and once went home and ate what was probably half a block of cheddar. My mom gently told me that I could eat three normal slices of cheese that I sliced with our cheese slicer. I don't remember thinking she was critiquing my eating habits, but rather making sure we didn't run out of cheese in two days.
I don't know when it changed, exactly. I suppose, like most things, it was gradual. Our culture moved away from whole foods to prepackaged stuff. Happy Meals were invented. Cartoons could be watched all day long. My mom started to buy fruit snacks and granola bars and we spent more time indoors after school.
I suppose my awareness of my body evolved gradually as well, but I have a distinct memory about really knowing that it wasn't measuring up. We were at a beach and I was wearing what I thought was a really cool swimsuit. It was *sort of* a two piece, but it was connected at the sides. I tried to find a picture on the internet, but apparently even the Google wants to forget that fashion trend. In any event, my tummy was exposed. My mom's friend was sharing some worries about her daughter's eating habits, I think, and my step-dad said, "Yeah. Sara's getting a tummy too." I paused from licking the chip crumbs off of my hands and looked down and realized that I did have a tummy. It every so slightly pooched out over the top of my fake bikini. I pressed down on my abdomen and noticed for the first time that it was soft and gooshy. I don't remember much else about that conversation, but I do remember realizing for the first time that my body was something to be noticed and worried about.
And so it began.. a lifetime of unsuccessfully trying to tame the curves and bulges and softness. I got a Get In Shape Girl set and lifted the 1/2 pound weights thinking it would make curves less curvy. In high school, I would get the school lunch and only eat the entree - I apparently thought that if people only saw me eating that one thing every day, I would win some unspoken contest. Of course, I went home famished and ate whatever was in sight and that was usually not particularly healthy. But, no one saw me do it, so it didn't count, right? Then, I began working at McDonald's and thought that I was being healthy by eating the fajita salad and drinking Sprite. I don't know why I thought Sprite was healthier than other pop, but I did.
I could continue to categorize all of the ways that I've unsuccessfully tried to mold my body into what I thought it was supposed to be. If there was a diet fad to be tried, I have tried it. I've had periods of time when I was more successful than others, but never a time since childhood when I have felt comfortable in my body or happy with how it looked. It was always something that needed attention and work and shame. I've tried running and walking and skiing and yoga. I wish I could tell you that I did those things because I loved how they made me feel, but mostly I wanted them to make my body less gross.
You'd think that with all of that effort and attention I would be fit and healthy, but I'm not. In fact, right now, I am the heaviest I have ever been when I'm not pregnant. #fact (that's for you, Kizzy). I swear that each day will be different, but then I swerve. I eat a cookie or consume bread and then it all falls apart.
And now... I'm sick of it. I'm sick of it all. I'm sick of failing and not measuring up and punishing myself for beingless than, I mean, MORE than what I think I should be.
Only, I don't know where to go from here.
I know that what I'm doing isn't working, but throwing in the towel all together doesn't seem like a good idea either. I mean, I'm all for loving my body no matter what, but I want to be around for awhile and to fit comfortably in my clothes. I don't want to be the next star of "My 600 Pound Life." I'm not saying they're not good people, I'm just saying I don't want to go down that path.
I'm really not sure how to live the life I want to live, which is a healthy life, without having to beat my body into submission in the process. I want to love this body I have and to make peace with some of the curves, but I also want to feel good. *sigh*
I'm not sure there is an answer, but I'm pretty sure whatever it is, the answer is not in the container of cookies on my counter. Dang It.
I also don't think it's about counting calories, or consuming superfood shakes, or giving up carbs forever. I am honestly not sure what to do. Double Dang It.
This was Day 1 of loving the body I have. Maybe Day 2 will reveal some answers.
Food also wasn't much I thought about. We would reluctantly take breaks from all the play to eat lunch and dinner and then play until we were called in at night. I have vague memories of my mom going to aerobics classes and fussing about eating more vegetables, but I don't remember hearing about calories or protein or carbs or ketones or any of the nutrition buzz words of today. We didn't have a lot of prepared snacks in our house and never had soda. It might have been for health, but I think it was mostly because at that time, those things were for rich people. My mom made cookies and bought popsicles, bur our snacks were mostly apples or bananas or cheese slices or graham crackers - stuff we got from the food shelf in times that we were extra poor and stuff we could afford when we weren't as poor.
I don't remember anyone admonishing me to eat differently for any reason other than to save money. For example, I went through a cheese loving phase and once went home and ate what was probably half a block of cheddar. My mom gently told me that I could eat three normal slices of cheese that I sliced with our cheese slicer. I don't remember thinking she was critiquing my eating habits, but rather making sure we didn't run out of cheese in two days.
I don't know when it changed, exactly. I suppose, like most things, it was gradual. Our culture moved away from whole foods to prepackaged stuff. Happy Meals were invented. Cartoons could be watched all day long. My mom started to buy fruit snacks and granola bars and we spent more time indoors after school.
I suppose my awareness of my body evolved gradually as well, but I have a distinct memory about really knowing that it wasn't measuring up. We were at a beach and I was wearing what I thought was a really cool swimsuit. It was *sort of* a two piece, but it was connected at the sides. I tried to find a picture on the internet, but apparently even the Google wants to forget that fashion trend. In any event, my tummy was exposed. My mom's friend was sharing some worries about her daughter's eating habits, I think, and my step-dad said, "Yeah. Sara's getting a tummy too." I paused from licking the chip crumbs off of my hands and looked down and realized that I did have a tummy. It every so slightly pooched out over the top of my fake bikini. I pressed down on my abdomen and noticed for the first time that it was soft and gooshy. I don't remember much else about that conversation, but I do remember realizing for the first time that my body was something to be noticed and worried about.
And so it began.. a lifetime of unsuccessfully trying to tame the curves and bulges and softness. I got a Get In Shape Girl set and lifted the 1/2 pound weights thinking it would make curves less curvy. In high school, I would get the school lunch and only eat the entree - I apparently thought that if people only saw me eating that one thing every day, I would win some unspoken contest. Of course, I went home famished and ate whatever was in sight and that was usually not particularly healthy. But, no one saw me do it, so it didn't count, right? Then, I began working at McDonald's and thought that I was being healthy by eating the fajita salad and drinking Sprite. I don't know why I thought Sprite was healthier than other pop, but I did.
I could continue to categorize all of the ways that I've unsuccessfully tried to mold my body into what I thought it was supposed to be. If there was a diet fad to be tried, I have tried it. I've had periods of time when I was more successful than others, but never a time since childhood when I have felt comfortable in my body or happy with how it looked. It was always something that needed attention and work and shame. I've tried running and walking and skiing and yoga. I wish I could tell you that I did those things because I loved how they made me feel, but mostly I wanted them to make my body less gross.
You'd think that with all of that effort and attention I would be fit and healthy, but I'm not. In fact, right now, I am the heaviest I have ever been when I'm not pregnant. #fact (that's for you, Kizzy). I swear that each day will be different, but then I swerve. I eat a cookie or consume bread and then it all falls apart.
And now... I'm sick of it. I'm sick of it all. I'm sick of failing and not measuring up and punishing myself for being
Only, I don't know where to go from here.
I know that what I'm doing isn't working, but throwing in the towel all together doesn't seem like a good idea either. I mean, I'm all for loving my body no matter what, but I want to be around for awhile and to fit comfortably in my clothes. I don't want to be the next star of "My 600 Pound Life." I'm not saying they're not good people, I'm just saying I don't want to go down that path.
I'm really not sure how to live the life I want to live, which is a healthy life, without having to beat my body into submission in the process. I want to love this body I have and to make peace with some of the curves, but I also want to feel good. *sigh*
I'm not sure there is an answer, but I'm pretty sure whatever it is, the answer is not in the container of cookies on my counter. Dang It.
I also don't think it's about counting calories, or consuming superfood shakes, or giving up carbs forever. I am honestly not sure what to do. Double Dang It.
This was Day 1 of loving the body I have. Maybe Day 2 will reveal some answers.
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