And it didn’t judge me. As a matter of fact, it’s an appliance, so it can’t.
That’s it. That was my weight as of 7:38 this morning. I just did the unthinkable. I published my weight.
My thighs also touch, but they don’t judge me. They rub together when I walk. If I jog I may start a brush fire so that rules that out as a form of proper exercise. I can’t have that kind of guilt on my head. As woefully thin as I once was, I don’t know that I ever had a thigh gap. A twenty-something told me this weekend that she was proud that she finally had a thigh gap. This statement, this most emphatic statement, was preceded by a refusal to eat. The inner voice in my head wanted to throttle her and tell her to stop being a hero in a lost cause. Don’t be the life raft still tied to the Titanic kiddo. Then I realized the pithiness would have been lost and all she would have heard is Titanic and somehow equate that to her weight and worth.
So here’s the thing.
We are taught to loathe ourselves for imperfections. This scale reading, this lack of thigh gap, this junk in the trunk, this…………..this is me , in all of my imperfect perfection. I put far more value on the fact that I grilled Big Daddy his favorite dinner and took my grandson fishing for the first time. Four generations were gathered together in love and laughter. What about my junky trunk? Oh yeah, self loathing. Mmmmm busy having a life- sorry.
I was taught to want the thigh gap, I was taught that my scale is berating me, but I guess that didn’t stick. I was not taught this by my mother……..but it some ways, the unspoken ways, I was. She, like me, put on a fair amount of weight in her 40’s. She dieted and failed and cried and blamed and tried and failed and blamed and cried and failed and blamed……..herself; as if she were wrong or a failure. Conversely, she also set a wonderful example of breaking herself out of that prison by accepting who she is. Inside. Outside is incidental. But truth be told………my mother was and is beautiful.
Some people feel free to call women fat. It’s not gender specific. So here’s the thing. For the men that do it, how about I douse you with ice water and then have a running commentary on shrinkage? How about that? Can I hit you where you live? No? Then stop. Unless you’ve had five random people run up and declare that you are sheer perfection and they can’t live without you, please go to bed with them posthaste…
Oh! That hasn’t happened to you either? Well then, imagine that. Maybe it’s time to shush. And for the women that do it? Have a sense of respect and compassion and loyalty for your gender. Seriously.
The movie Eat Pray Love has the most succinct and wonderful line about a healthy outlook. Well hell, let’s admit, the book and the movie are pure genius. Liz Gilbert gave strength to so many people with her blunt and so very frighteningly real writing. It’s not easy to write in such a raw, real, and somehow naked fashion. It’s not easy to bare the emotional all. I admire her so deeply for that voice that she gave the rest of us that we are not crazy. Someone else thinks like us, doubts like us, fears like us and can ultimately triumph….like us. There is a point that one lovely, beautiful, stunning woman says to the main character that she can’t fit into her pants. They were eating pizza. You can see the fear and doubt in her eyes. The response is brilliant and can be summed up by saying that no one should count every calorie so they can know how much self-loathing to take into the shower with them.
So I’ll show you what 165 plus looks like.
#damnrightimbeautiful #mommawastoo #soareyou #myhusbandsaidso #betyoursdidtoo #stophatingyourself #youareyourownbeautystandard #checkthefactsaboutanorexia #teachyourchildrentolovethemselves #myscalesawmenakedandclapped
Feel free to contribute a positive hashtag of your own