My relationship with my body has always been strenuous. If I were to change my relationship status on facebook, my body and I would definitely fall under ‘it’s complicated.’ I think most people face insecurity at some points in their life, some more regularly than others, and that’s okay. Being okay with who you are and what you see in photographs and mirrors takes time and patience.
I mean seriously, I should know.
The checklist of ‘ways that my body has looked’ is completely ticked off. I’ve been petite, skinny, athletic, curvy and +size. In fact, the only size I can guarantee I’ve never been is tall. I’ve never been tall. A gal can dream.
I’ve seen my body change in front of my eyes from one thing to another, all the time wishing it was something else. If I’m honest, I’ve treated my body like utter shite. I’ve starved it, I’ve made it run for miles and miles on nothing, I’ve prodded and poked it, and filled it with junk in failed attempts to keep it satisfied. You name it.
As I’m writing this right now, I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been. I have no idea how much I weigh so I can’t, and wouldn’t anyway, tell you how heavy that is. It really doesn’t matter. Can I also just say that this, right now, is the happiest I’ve ever been. Again, don’t quote me on that as I can’t be sure, but I feel good.
I’m not going to write some big speech about how maybe this is who I am and what I’m meant to be, because I don’t really care about that. Maybe this is who I am? Maybe this is my body’s nirvana? Couldn’t care less, m8. All I know is that for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not in a huge hurry to change the way I look, and I’m having a nice time just being me and doing whatever.
It’s a luxury, sure. Maybe I’m just having a particularly good day, my sertraline is on a roll, and I just feel chill. Maybe it really is more than that. Either way, there’s no denying that this is the most content I’ve been with who I am in a long time.
And it’s definitely noticeable. I’m posting more and more pictures of myself on here and on instagram, and have fewer worries about doing so. All this when, in the mind of 18 year old me, I should be feeling terrible. I would be feeling terrible.
I’ve grown up a lot since I was 18 and running 10k a day after school (granted I actually really enjoyed running and have started to pick it back up again lately). I’ve started to embrace me. I’ve started to just allow my body to be my body, and to care for it in a way I’ve never done before. In short, I haven’t been trying to change it. Not actively anyway.
I’ve been in and out of the gym, eating healthily and well, and all round enjoying my life. And, regardless of the size in my jeans, I’m happier.
Because, ultimately, the size of your clothes really doesn’t matter. It’s allowed to get you down, of course it is, but it doesn’t define you. It doesn’t define me.
I’m caring for me, properly this time, and having a pretty sweet time doing it.
I think that’s pretty cool. x
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