Last week a friend and I were chatting and the conversation got around to dieting and working out. She was feeling bad because she missed a workout and there we were—eating. I shrugged and honestly said how I feel about the whole topic, “I don’t care anymore and I’ve never felt more beautiful”.
Health is important to me, don’t get me wrong. Life just started to get way awesome, I intend to hang out in this bod for a long time! I just really don’t care what size I am, I am SO over wishing I was smaller. (96.83479% of the time.)
The times of my life when I was at my thinnest I was also at my unhealthiest – skinny doesn’t equal healthy for everyone. I remember living at the top of a hill when I was super thin (and mega calorie-counting), and how awful I always felt when I finally made it to the top. Totally feeling like I was going to DIIIIIE. I went up it when I was visiting Alaska last month, ’bout thirty pounds heavier, turned and enjoyed the view…then realized I felt friggin’ awesome.
[Edited on 2/8/17 to add: I had taken to both near-daily exercise via my commute and eating whatever I felt like, which at the time involved lots of ice cream bars eaten in conjunction with skittles, croissant sandwiches, and quesadillas. My cravings changed not long after this and I lost 10 pounds that year without trying!]
If it wasn’t about my health, what was my desire to be thin about?
Other peoples’ thoughts, specifically wanting to be thought of as hot. Ugh, barf. (Which I’ve done, routinely, in the name of thin.) I do get hit on less at this weight, that’s true. But I’m looking for the real thing; I’m not into, or good at, dating. It’s the worst. I want a partner in crime. I don’t see that starting because he thought I was totally doable, as long as I kept dieting. Gross.
I was also completely buying into a societal pressure that is so ridiculous it’s inane to even go into it. We all know what I mean. I wanted to be one of them.
All of these things were part of the over-arching issue that was contributing to so many struggles – the need for approval. It took me a very long time to realize that it didn’t matter how skinny I was, or how many boys thought I was hot, or how fancy my job was – because I don’t actually give a shit about any of that stuff. I was doing it because of others’ opinions of me, and those opinions aren’t my concern nor business.
People don’t become happier because they gain the approval of others – we become happier when we truly know who we are, and we fully embrace that person. (Even if she’s far, faaaar, from a sample size.)
Back to the convo with my friend. As I noticed the dude behind the bar nodding with approval at my comment, she said, “you’re the second…uhm, shapely…friend of mine to say something like that this week, it’s making me think”. I was nearly offended, I could feel giving a fuck coming right back at me, it was zoomin’ in my direction…and fast.
I then suddenly recalled saying something like that to a friend right before I stepped into a new version of myself, a happier and much more confident one. I realized that this slightly offensive comment was representative of my accomplishing one of my most favoritest things – helping a homie out. I shoved off the silly offended feelings and said “glad I could help”.