The year of transformation...
I was determined to make the year I turned 30, the year of great transformation. Part of that transformation was to loose the 50 pounds I've spent my entire adult life obsessing over. If I could only lose the weight... I would be happier, better, stronger, faster, lighter, my life would be.... Perfect.
But it only just occurred to me... it isn't so much my body thats in need of transformation. I have to change the way I see myself. Because until that happens, no matter what I do to change myself physically... It's never going to be enough.
It only makes sense that if I can accept myself as a perfect being as I am now... Then anything I do from this day on to make myself better would be a bonus.
I was never the victim of vicious bullying. Besides the rare trips to Puerto Rico where EVERYONE is considered to be a tub of lard if you can't fit into a size 2 pair of Bongo jeans... I wasn't necessarily tortured about it. Growing up with 2 stick thin sisters, however, you can't help but feel that you're being compared. Most of it I have to admit, i did to myself. And the women that I DID resemble... Bigger than life, voluptuous, curvaceous, smart, beautiful- I watched them chip away at their own image with every diet and pill and negative comment they believed would encourage them to change their figures. I never understood it. How these were the same women I saw walk out the door every morning and put the "average" looking women around them to shame.
On the contrary, I was always told I was beautiful, intelligent and talented. But for some reason beyond my own understanding... I was never good enough for me. I wasn't worthy of those titles because in my mind there was way too much room for improvement. If there was someone out there who can beat me at any of those things... That must mean that I've failed. So I stopped trying and decided to hide instead.
I now realize that this is the mentality that's hindered me in many aspects of my life.
This transformation was a long time coming. I owe it to myself. For every time I looked in the mirror and told myself I was ugly. For covering my mouth, biting my lips and swallowing my laugh because I hated my smile. For the times i stayed quiet because I was afraid of being noticed. The ideas i kept to myself because i knew they weren't good enough. For every party I sat out of because I was too ashamed to dance. For every time I chose to wear black because it made it easier for me to hide. For all the things I haven't done because of my fear of failure. For all the times I said yes when I really wanted to say no. For the times I comforted myself with the hope that I would "grow out of it" or "stretch out" or "change with time" and it never happened. My body deserves this from me. I deserve this from me.
A great big THANK YOU for making me different. I nice pat on the back cause DAMMIT... I'm pretty okay. Down to the arch on my nose that I learned to accept because it gave me "character".
Of me there is only One.
One individual, unique, perfectly imperfect in my own perfect way... Me.
The flappy arms I hate are the ones that comfort and embrace. The pouch below my abdomen that I refer to as a "deformity" is what carried my children for 9+ months- and now is cozy place to rest their heads. My stretch marks are stripes of honor and my veins proof that I once carried the weight of the world. My big legs chase the kids down and get me from point A to point B. They've bounced numerous tushies during games of "horsie" and look good in heels. My hands are the gateway to my soul- they comfort, nurture and create. Then there's this scar. It runs straight down my belly. It's probably the first major source of my insecurities considering I was six years old when I cried because my mother bought me a bikini. That scar is a reminder to me everyday that I was meant to be here.
If God himself decided I was to live... Who am I to allow my insecurities to keep me from living?
No one in the world can duplicate my mind. No one will ever speak my exact words with the voice in which I was given. When I'm gone... No one will ever laugh like me, talk like me, think like me, love like me, move like me, dance like me, touch or feel like me, create like me... No one could ever BE or LOOK like me.
Everyday is a battle when it comes to loving and accepting the body I live in. Especially when I can't recall a day in my life that I didn't wish there wasn't something about me I could change. But today more than ever...for everything my body has given me- it's a battle worth fighting.
But it only just occurred to me... it isn't so much my body thats in need of transformation. I have to change the way I see myself. Because until that happens, no matter what I do to change myself physically... It's never going to be enough.
It only makes sense that if I can accept myself as a perfect being as I am now... Then anything I do from this day on to make myself better would be a bonus.
I was never the victim of vicious bullying. Besides the rare trips to Puerto Rico where EVERYONE is considered to be a tub of lard if you can't fit into a size 2 pair of Bongo jeans... I wasn't necessarily tortured about it. Growing up with 2 stick thin sisters, however, you can't help but feel that you're being compared. Most of it I have to admit, i did to myself. And the women that I DID resemble... Bigger than life, voluptuous, curvaceous, smart, beautiful- I watched them chip away at their own image with every diet and pill and negative comment they believed would encourage them to change their figures. I never understood it. How these were the same women I saw walk out the door every morning and put the "average" looking women around them to shame.
On the contrary, I was always told I was beautiful, intelligent and talented. But for some reason beyond my own understanding... I was never good enough for me. I wasn't worthy of those titles because in my mind there was way too much room for improvement. If there was someone out there who can beat me at any of those things... That must mean that I've failed. So I stopped trying and decided to hide instead.
I now realize that this is the mentality that's hindered me in many aspects of my life.
This transformation was a long time coming. I owe it to myself. For every time I looked in the mirror and told myself I was ugly. For covering my mouth, biting my lips and swallowing my laugh because I hated my smile. For the times i stayed quiet because I was afraid of being noticed. The ideas i kept to myself because i knew they weren't good enough. For every party I sat out of because I was too ashamed to dance. For every time I chose to wear black because it made it easier for me to hide. For all the things I haven't done because of my fear of failure. For all the times I said yes when I really wanted to say no. For the times I comforted myself with the hope that I would "grow out of it" or "stretch out" or "change with time" and it never happened. My body deserves this from me. I deserve this from me.
A great big THANK YOU for making me different. I nice pat on the back cause DAMMIT... I'm pretty okay. Down to the arch on my nose that I learned to accept because it gave me "character".
Of me there is only One.
One individual, unique, perfectly imperfect in my own perfect way... Me.
The flappy arms I hate are the ones that comfort and embrace. The pouch below my abdomen that I refer to as a "deformity" is what carried my children for 9+ months- and now is cozy place to rest their heads. My stretch marks are stripes of honor and my veins proof that I once carried the weight of the world. My big legs chase the kids down and get me from point A to point B. They've bounced numerous tushies during games of "horsie" and look good in heels. My hands are the gateway to my soul- they comfort, nurture and create. Then there's this scar. It runs straight down my belly. It's probably the first major source of my insecurities considering I was six years old when I cried because my mother bought me a bikini. That scar is a reminder to me everyday that I was meant to be here.
If God himself decided I was to live... Who am I to allow my insecurities to keep me from living?
No one in the world can duplicate my mind. No one will ever speak my exact words with the voice in which I was given. When I'm gone... No one will ever laugh like me, talk like me, think like me, love like me, move like me, dance like me, touch or feel like me, create like me... No one could ever BE or LOOK like me.
Everyday is a battle when it comes to loving and accepting the body I live in. Especially when I can't recall a day in my life that I didn't wish there wasn't something about me I could change. But today more than ever...for everything my body has given me- it's a battle worth fighting.
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