I wish I could say that I was finally at a place where I was comfortable with my body the way it is now, but I’m not. Some days I feel sexy in my own skin and other days I feel like a busted can of biscuits. It’s the nature of the beast. I’m okay with that battle though, because it reminds me that I’m human.
I have always struggled with body image and weight, even at my thinnest I wasn’t in the mindset of acceptance. I still saw myself needing to be smaller. So to be in a mindset where I am actively working towards change and acceptance of myself, regardless of a number on a scale or a size tag in a pair of jeans, feels great.
I won’t even try to lie though, it is not easy. Food is a comfort…plus it’s usually freaking delicious. In fact, I can’t remember a family gathering where we didn’t have copious amounts of the yummy stuff just lying around. So food equates to happiness for me. I love food. And I used to love the idea of being thin, and being able to wear whatever I wanted. But I am moving past that notion.
I haven’t reached the point where I’m entirely comfortable throwing on a bikini, yet. But I made a decision to give a hypothetical (and sometimes literal) middle finger to those who tell me I don’t look like I should. That includes my own little demon on my shoulder.
So for now, I work hard. I bust my ass. Not to be thin, but to be healthy. I want my boys to see that it’s ok for women to have curves, to eat, to exercise and to enjoy the occasional lazy day eating take-out Mexican food.
I want them to understand that ALL humans are beautiful creatures. I want them to know that society puts unattainable goals out there – not just for women, but for men as well. I want them to look at themselves in the mirror and to accept whatever they see…and to do that, I have to start doing it myself.