House

I'm gonna be real for a minute. Not that I've lied about anything that I've written before this, but this is something that I don't usually address. So here it is.

It's about this time every year - when the weather finally starts to warm up, when I leave my winter coat hanging on the back of my chair when I go to class, when I start playing the country station on my radio so I know the words when I fly down the interstate (at a safe speed, of course) with the windows open in a few months - that I realize that extra padding around my middle (which was kinda nice when it was -7 degrees outside and I was buried under four blankets and two sweaters so I wouldn't freeze to death in the middle of the night in my dorm room) will not be so nice when it's 80 degrees and I want to run around in shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. For the past month I've been OK with the scales creeping up - it's inevitable, everybody packs on a little winter weight between November and February. But while I'm not back up to my heaviest, as I was this time last year, I'm nearing that scary number. And I'll be damned if I break my vow to never get that heavy again.

I have struggled with my weight since I was about thirteen. The past nearly-nine years have been a constant battle with how I look and how I want to look (or, more often than not, how I believe I should look). I've done workout routines. I've done diets. I've done My Fitness Pal and Spark People and Weight Watchers and knock-off Atkins. I've done diet pills. I've done those terrible three-day crash diets where you eat beets and green beans and lose seven pounds and rejoice before you gain it all back the week after. And after every one, I watch the scales read higher and higher and eat Special K cereal at 1 in the morning while I watch stupid TV and think, "I'll never have thighs like her." Suddenly the image in my bedroom mirror (which I swear adds ten pounds to my reflection) isn't somebody I want to admit or even acknowledge. I start wearing my sweaters and the black that I've heard called "slimming" and pray that they will distract people from my torso that bows out no matter how much I try to suck it in. I see pictures on Pinterest that cover the spectrum, one side promoting healthy living while the other proclaims "EAT EVERYTHING AND BE LAZY" like that's the new "cool." I stand next to girls who take care of themselves and run endless miles in an effort to stay trim, and as my loathing for my own image grows, so does my admiration and disgust for them.

I heard a quote today: "Would you rather be right or happy?" While I know this isn't the point the speaker was trying to make, I link it to my weight issues. Sometimes I put so much focus on how I think I should look because some TV doctor or fitness guru said it's what I "want" that I do not-very-nice things to my body. I'm not talking binge-and-purse, cutting, anything like that. I mean when I skip meals because I"m convinced it'll accelerate my journey to a "goal weight." I mean when I step on the scales in the morning and decide it's a sweatshirt day because none of my nice clothes fit quite right at the moment. I mean when I focus on my wide middle and ignore the parts of me that are still ravishing: my eyes, my hair, my smile, my hands (I've always thought my hands were really pretty for some reason). I love my freckles because they're adorable. I love the eight studs in my ears because they show that I'm a little rough around the edges. I love the things I think that translate so naturally into really cool handwriting and creativity that I'm really proud of. So when it comes to trying to live up to an image that is not only ridiculous but also biologically impossible (dear advertising companies, you're not fooling anyone - WE'VE ALL HEARD OF PHOTOSHOP) and taking care of myself through eating right, chugging the H2O, and working out because it makes me feel good about myself...seriously, how is this even a question?

It's a question of motivation: am I doing this for someone else to look at me and say "wow, she looks great," or am I doing it for that reflection in the mirror to smile back at me and say "I feel awesome"?

I'm not at that place where I'm cool with how I feel. But I refuse to hide behind excuses and baggy clothes and shame over something that I'm working to improve. Right now there's a little more of me to see. But I'm not done bettering myself. Not even "fixing" - that implies that something is wrong, broken. "Improving," because I am beautiful now, and I"m working my ass off (literally) so I can feel like a knock-out.

For you ladies (and guys - I know you're not exempt from the barrage of "you should be like this") who struggle with similar issues of image and how you think you "should" behave/look/eat/act, take a minute to make a list of the things that you are proud of about yourself. What do you love about yourself? Not in a prideful way - there's a difference between acknowledging your stellar qualities and lording them over somebody else to make them feel like junk. In this world where everything is telling you "you're not good enough, you're behind the times, you're doing something wrong," you need someone to be kind to you and tell you that you are worth it, you are beautiful as you are.

Be kind to yourself today, dear friends. :)