…beautiful and I'm trying really hard to feel that in my soul.
It's not working very well.
And there is a gosh darn WAR waging in my spinning head.
I can tell myself "My body is beautiful" over and over and over and believe it for half a minute.
I can even consciously choose to not diet or "watch what I eat" or count calories or anything that would even RESEMBLE a diet.
I can make a choice and KNOW that setting a firm boundary with myself about no diet is the right thing for me.
I believe food is my friend.
I might even believe that food is for my good.
Yet……
As I scroll through facebook, I scroll slower on random diet ads.
I looked up Noom.
I almost clicked on a Keto Pill.
I pondered looking up The South Beach Diet because that is what my Dad's cardiologist recommended.
I recently considered a fast.
WHY!?!?!?!?!? Why can't I stop the searching and wondering and wishing and glancing and what if-ing?
You might think the above "why" is a loud primal scream that is empowering and full of determination and gosh darn "just stop it already" grit.
But really -- that "why" is over flowing with silent tears. Over flowing.
My head decides and then spins out. Regroups and then veers off. Commits then get lost in a panic.
Maybe the answer lies somewhere in the origin story.
Maybe the answer lies somewhere in the distorted truths I believe.
Both sound scary. Both sound hard. Both look dark and stormy.
I'm going to try both -- I asked God and he directed me here -- I'm going to give him a shot.
******
My first memory of "you have to change your body" or "your body is not ok like it is" or "you've got to lose weight" is when I was 11 and went on my first diet or at least was completely aware that there were now food restrictions for me. Can't eat that, don't eat this, that's too much, choose something else, and that's not for you.
I'll stop right here and say four things:
Yes, this was under my parents direction.
No, it wasn't ok. Not ok at all. Still not ok.
Yes, they were doing the best they knew how.
There is no judgement here, only facts -- don't get them confused.
And from that moment that I was 11 -- every single morsel of food has been debated in my head.
Will it be too much? Is it the right thing? Should I choose differently? I'm sure this isn't the right choice. Is THIS on the diet? Is THAT on the diet? Will this morsel destroy some delicate balance in my body and DESTROY any efforts to shed weight. (Huh -- "delicate balance," I'm going to have to come back to this) This food is definitely BAD for me. This food will hurt me. This food will cause destruction to my body's natural state. You'll pay for that bite. You've promised yourself. You're going to fail if you choose wrong. You'll never win.
I spend a lot of my eating time trying to drown out that noise. Or sometimes I think I try to smother it with the food I'm eating. I think this is where the WAR comes into play. There is a literal, internal fight.
Going back to age 11. I watched myself and my parents go on and go off of diet after diet after diet after diet. Food was restricted. Placed in timeout. Nutrition was confused with diet -- meaning nutritious foods were only diet foods and diet foods were the only nutritious foods.
I don't even I think I know what nutrition is or really how it could possibly be a positive. Aren't nutritionists just fancy taskmasters that control and restrict your food choices. This 49 year old thinks so.
And the dieting -- it had to be perfect. It was either perfection or failure.
Truth - no 11 year old should be put on a diet. Ever. Ever.
Or 13 year old, or 18 year old, or about to be married year old.
Distorted truth - this body I was sent here with is not ok like it is. This body is weak and broken and won't be able to naturally exist.
Confusing truth - I wanted to be just like my Grandma who I'm sure never dieted a day in her life and died being VERY mad that she couldn't have cake when she wanted. We should have just let her have cake!!
My Grandma cooked, served, created, worked, loved, ate potatoes, and shopped. She had a closet full of beautiful clothes and a floor full of shoes. She had a stash of Oreos, cans and cans of Vienna Sausages, and a freezer full of ice cream and frozen Snickers. She had Trix in the cupboard and homegrown tomatoes on the counter. She read, quilted, had parties, visited friends. She traveled all over the world, and had such great, great adventures. Her body did all that. Her body was amazing and absolutely beautiful.
The confusion comes when a little girl wants to do all those things, but is taught that she has to have the right kind of body for that, or that her size will restrict her enjoyment of life. Grandma didn't believe that. Grandma's size never held her back. That is confusing.
This origin story is sad. It really is sad. Sad and scary. If I could go back, I'd let that 11 year old choose for herself what her body needed. She was smart, very smart. She would have figured it out. She would have eaten the food that spoke to her soul. She would have learned. She would have tried it out. She would have been successful.
She was in trauma. She was just trying to survive. So much added pressure of diets, food restrictions, do's and don'ts, good food verses bad food, and perfection/failure.
The distorted truths stuck. Like glue. They laid claim on her soul and they are relentless in their need to occupy.
The truth I want to know in every cell: My body is beautiful exactly like it is. Exactly like it is.
I might be able to see that truth in the distance or at least shadows of it. It calls to me, beckons, but I can't seem to find my way to it. It slips in and out of my view like a vision catching on the wind and rising until it's out of sight.
If I make a place for it in my soul, can I keep it? Can that truth rest here with me?
My body is beautiful.
My heart is open.
Please let it stay.
