If you have been around for a while, you know that I have struggled with my body for years. In fact, I don’t really remember what it’s like to not obsess over my body. I was one of the first girls in my class to get boobs (which, really is just body fat displaced into a specific area) which comes along with the usual teasing. In this situation, girls go one of two ways: You immediately buy a push up bra to maximize your boobs or you wear 2 sports bras at a time to minimize your boobs. I participated in option number 2 until my mom took away my sports bras (she believed it couldn’t be good for you to constantly wear so many sports bras at the same time — she’s probably right). I’ve been 5’6 since I was in 6th grade as well – which was much taller than most of the boys (I am, by no means, a tall person but being 5’6 and 10 years old made everyone think I’d be in the WNBA despite my parents being short). Looking back on that time, I wasn’t really teased for being “fat” by my classmates. Looking back even more, it was because I wasn’t fat and my classmates weren’t assholes. I just grew up in the late 90s/early 2000s when being over 115lbs as a grown woman was seen to be absolutely obese (thank you, America’s Next Top Model) and I had one consistent bully (disclaimer: It wasn’t my mom, which I’d like to make abundantly clear because I realize that a girl’s first bully is often her own mother. My mom was and is a wonderful woman and has never once criticized my body. My early bully story is not one I’m ready to talk about yet).
The amount of things I’ve done to my body to try and be skinny are criminal. I have taken pills that promised to get all the fat out of my body (by making my poop oily). I spent money on teas that promised to “detox” me (they really just gave me diarrhea). I made myself throw up when I thought I had eaten too much. I would starve the day after “eating too much”, despite throwing it all up anyway. I would drink huge glasses of water before every meal in the hopes that I would “fill up” on water. I have done the Cabbage Soup Diet more than I’d like to admit. Calorie counting became addictive (it still haunts me) and eating out became a mathematic nightmare (I would only eat at places that had their menus online so that I could meticulously calculate what I could and could not eat days before we were to meet up). I would only do cardio because muscles weighed too much.
It was miserable. For years. When I wasn’t doing one of the above (or all of them all at once), I would criticize myself for not being able to stick with it. It was an endless cycle. When I was at my smallest, I was still around 152lbs and a size 6. I could not lose more weight. I was eating around 1,000 calories a day and doing at least 2 hours of cardio and that stupid scale would not budge. I had hit my breaking point.
Soon after that, I realized how unrealistic my “goal” was. My body was simply not meant to be 130lbs (my original weight goal). Instead, I learned how to workout for fun/mental health. I went to workout classes after work with my co-workers (say “work” one more time) and would do early morning gym workouts with my now husband. It was fun to spot each other around the gym and became an easy bonding session. I ate what I wanted but found what foods made me feel prepared for a workout versus what didn’t. I steadily gained weight and I desperately tried not to let it bother me (it did). The pandemic made it worse and I’ve been trying to find my footing back with workouts ever since.
Due to my constant body image struggle, I really thought that getting pregnant would wreck me. I hated that I worried over how much weight I would gain or how big I would look. I tried to mentally prepare myself for that and did a lot of work on myself before making the choice to start trying for a baby.
Which. Apparently worked.
When I finally got pregnant, I was just so fascinated with my own body. Who the fuck cared how many calories I ate that day when I was GROWING A FOOT? I was actively making a whole ass human being by using the power of my own body. The body that I’d spent YEARS hating and forcing into a smaller existence. The body that grew weak and tired due to lack of sustenance. The body that I cried over and yelled at and abused. That same body was making a baby (the most perfect baby).
Why the fuck did I care so much about what other people think my body looks like?
And that was it. Kinda. There’s a few dresses in my closet that I’d love to fit back into so that’s always in the back of my mind. But for the most part? I literally don’t care.
A few years ago, I stopped caring so much about shaving my legs (listen, I shave my legs because of that feeling you get when you get into clean sheets after taking a shower and shaving. It’s that feeling and that feeling alone that makes me want to shave my legs). In the past, I would let a little bit of stubble force me not to wear a dress. Now, I don’t care. Because in the end, why the fuck are you looking that closely at my legs and why does my decision of shaving or not shaving bother you? They’re my legs. If you enjoy looking at only shaven legs, shave your own and stare at them all day, idc.
Both the experience about shaving my legs (or not) and what my body fat looks like to other people really has made me understand that far too many people are far too insecure about their own bodies and they project onto others. Their criticism of you is directly tied to their own insecurities. So do what you like! Find a way to move your body that makes you feel something in your soul. Wear whatever you want (finding my style has been really fun). Wear makeup and shave your legs – if you want. Taste all the different foods the world has to offer. Because once you stop caring so much and focusing so much on it, you fall right into place.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I’m 36 years old and I needed to push a baby out of my body in order to figure this shit out.
Writes with Wolves 