So I'm losing weight.
No big deal right? Nope, this is big people. This is the first time in at least ten years that my weight loss has nothing to do with underhanded starvation and self-loathing. I’ve tried to pinpoint the moment I stopped feeling totally revolted by my reflection and I can’t. I’m crediting this metamorphosis to a series of positive events and a constant cycle of general happiness. When one rides the merry-go-round of self-absorption and narcissism for so long, grabbing that brass ring becomes ever-challenging and sometimes hopeless. Why bother? Why bother making this life better when I’m quite comfy just feeling sorry for myself as I go ‘round and ‘round on this plastic pony? If I do choose to let go of the pole and reach for the ring, will I fall off? Will somebody catch me? What if I miss and I end up looking stupid? It’s so easy to just sit and ride. Something about the devil you already know……
I don’t actually recall grabbing the ring and yelling “gotcha”. Instead I found myself trying to accept this body, feed this body, and let this body be physically loved. I found myself allowing my body to lactate and retain maternal fat stores for the baby I was sustaining. I found myself saying “hot damn size ten is not so bad on this booty”. I found myself trusting my husband when he would literally drool on me and say “hot damn size ten is sexy on that booty”. This series of positive measures led to something shiny and round appearing in my back pocket one day. Maturing, emerging, surmounting depression and anxiety, living the Dr. Phil way of life, whatever. I’m not living the life of an anorexic this day. The inner conflict between disgust and acceptance will always be part of the me organic. It is what I created those many years ago and it won’t ever just Go.Away. It will only become a softer and less reasonable voice whispering in my ear. I still hear her, she never shuts up. And although she can be so convincing, I just have to continue deflating her rationale. As much as we need theme songs, we also need battle mantras to arm us against ourselves. I’m better off without her…I’m better off without her…I’m better off without her…
The Papoose is mostly weaned during his waking hours and my body has progressively set free ten pounds. And I’m still eating food. My body is comfortably wearing my pre-pregnancy jeans and hating myself has nil to do with it.
Now, to lead my beautiful daughter past the room with the monster under the bed…..
I don’t actually recall grabbing the ring and yelling “gotcha”. Instead I found myself trying to accept this body, feed this body, and let this body be physically loved. I found myself allowing my body to lactate and retain maternal fat stores for the baby I was sustaining. I found myself saying “hot damn size ten is not so bad on this booty”. I found myself trusting my husband when he would literally drool on me and say “hot damn size ten is sexy on that booty”. This series of positive measures led to something shiny and round appearing in my back pocket one day. Maturing, emerging, surmounting depression and anxiety, living the Dr. Phil way of life, whatever. I’m not living the life of an anorexic this day. The inner conflict between disgust and acceptance will always be part of the me organic. It is what I created those many years ago and it won’t ever just Go.Away. It will only become a softer and less reasonable voice whispering in my ear. I still hear her, she never shuts up. And although she can be so convincing, I just have to continue deflating her rationale. As much as we need theme songs, we also need battle mantras to arm us against ourselves. I’m better off without her…I’m better off without her…I’m better off without her…
The Papoose is mostly weaned during his waking hours and my body has progressively set free ten pounds. And I’m still eating food. My body is comfortably wearing my pre-pregnancy jeans and hating myself has nil to do with it.
Now, to lead my beautiful daughter past the room with the monster under the bed…..
posted by Renée at 10:59 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home