Letting Go

I had an epiphany this week. It's one that I've skirted around and had glimpses of here and there, but one that's never fully stepped into the sun so I can get a good look at it. Sort of like a puzzle box; the ones you can fiddle and fart with forever, getting parts or pieces of it to break free until one day you figure out the magic trigger and voila

I was walking into a class at the gym and the instructor commented on my shape. As in, all of the work I've been doing in her class has started to pay off. I rolled my eyes and made some short reply in the neighborhood of it's not good enough because I don't look EXACTLY like I looked in some imaginary period of time when I was perfectly happy with myself and at peace with my body.

Ya'll. That's literally been never.

Not here:

Not here:

And (this one is really sad) not here:

N.E.V.E.R

As I walked out of the class I thought about that and this right here is the epiphany:

Yes, I developed unhealthy eating habits during a tumultuous childhood. This was when I started food hoarding and eating myself to sleep with the secret stash under my bed. But it wasn't until I was sexually assaulted at 23 that it turned into a full blown eating disorder. I gained 30lbs in 6 months and suddenly my entire life revolved around losing that weight. It was as if everyone could look at my body and see me, agoraphobic and isolated, eating a bucket of Harris Teeter fried chicken by myself on the couch waiting for my then boyfriend to come home so I wouldn't be so scared of being alone. I lost the weight, but I never addressed the coping mechanism, or the root of the issue, and so it never really went away. I never really felt good about my body. The voice of Ed (as we've called it before) slowly became louder and louder until it was all I could hear. But the kicker was it sounded just like me so the criticism and self deprecation became so entwined with my own thinking that there was no separation.

It was 2019 when I finally called it what it was, an eating disorder, and started disengling that voice from my own. I started talking about it, blogging about it it out, but it wasn't until my first pregnancy that suddenly all fell quiet.

Because in the 19 years since my assault, the only truly healthy relationship I've had with food and my body, was when I was pregnant. In a culture that celebrates women for being small and smaller, suddenly I was celebrated for being big and bigger. The bigger I got, the more beautiful I felt.

I felt SO pretty, that I let people take pictures of me NAKED. Matter of fact, I even did a photo shoot with the maternity wear company Kindred Bravely IN MY UNDERWEAR and let them post those pictures online. A GLOBAL COMPANY.

But then I had the babies and hopped right back on the weight loss merry go round.

I'm done.

I will never again put off buying new clothes until I am 10 lbs lighter. I will never again eat to lose weight. I will never again count calories or read cookbooks with names like "Skinny Taste" or concepts like "How to Lose Weight With Keto." Fuck South Beach, fuck Low Carb, fuck 'em. FUCK 'EM ALL!

Never again will I be concerned with what I'm putting in my mouth, be it for nutrition or celebration. I will eat what feels good and makes me happy and I will exercise because it's good for my mental health. Which won't change much, frankly, but it's a mindset. A thought process.

I have spent 19 years criticising my body for what it's not instead of celebrating it for what it's carried me through. Which is a lot, frankly.

Because my body is beautiful, just the weigh it is. '