Thursday, April 18, 2013
I've spent the majority of my life unhappy. Not with my life, but with myself. You see, at a very young age I bought into mainstream society's ideas of beauty. I believed that at 5'4" inches the only way to have a sexy, desirable body was to weigh 110 pounds. I can remember struggling with anorexia at the age of 12 and basing my entire self worth on the number displayed on the scale and the size of my pants. At 17 I remember forcing myself to throw up a meal in a restaurant bathroom because I was terrified that what I just ate would make me fat.
I believed that the only way to be beautiful was to look like the models I saw on magazine covers.
I remember hoping and wishing that I would break my nose playing sports so that I could convince my parents to pay for a nose job. I remember spending countless hours in tanning beds, causing who knows how much permanent damage to make my fair skin tan.
Society tells me that my body must be tiny and delicate to be beautiful. Society tells me that the nose I was born with and have hated since I was still a child is ugly and I should undergo a potentially dangerous surgery to fix it. Society says that I, ME, my body, has no value if it doesn't match their ideals.
I've spent most of my adult life trying to lose weight. I've cried, rejoiced, screamed and hated myself or loved myself based on numerical data. Nevermind that my husband tells me every day that I'm beautiful, that he loves my body and thinks I am sexy. Instead of listening to the man I love most in the world, I've allowed in inanimate object to determine my self worth. Seems pretty silly now that I see it written down.
My husband asked me a very poignant question a few weeks ago. A simple enough question. When I told him I was trying yet another diet challenge, he asked me "Why?" My answer was, of course, to lose weight. And again he asked me, "Why?"
You know what? I couldn't come up with an answer. Not a single valid reason to why I've been torturing myself for more than a decade. I'm not overweight, I have no health issues that can be solved by losing weight, and quite honestly I'm f*cking exhausted. I'm sick and tired of obsessing over what I can and can't and should or shouldn't eat. I'm so over counting every morsel I put into my mouth and constantly obsessing over some dumb number on a scale which fluctuates every day anyway. And I'm really, really tired of my dresser over flowing with clothes I hope to fit into someday.
I AM DONE. I'm done trying to force my body to be a size that it clearly doesn't need to be. Life is too short to spend one more second obsessing over food. Food is fuel for my body.
I will eat what makes me feel good (and I don't mean emotionally good, I mean healthy-good).
I will focus on fitness for the activities I love and enjoy rather than fitness for weightloss.
I will wear make-up because I want to and it's fun, not because I feel the need to hide my face.
I won't waste any more of whatever precious time has been given to me in this life trying to conform to someone else's standard of beauty.