I just finished reading my old diaries from the pubescent era of life. It was like reading a very immature Jane Austen in the midst of an existential crises…and with horrible grammar. What stands out for me in my emotional hangover of diary reading, is how much love I cultivated in my heart every day. Love for boys who didn’t even know my name. Love for dysfunctional friendships. Love for hopes and dream that where rooted in fantasy and make believe. The words kept popping up over and over “I love…” this, “I love…” him, “I love…” that!
I realize now, I was desperate to create love in my heart to protect me from the fear and loneliness I was harboring. If I could create an imaginary romance with a person who I’d never be with, it would distract me from my turmoil and self-loathing.
I’m pretty impressed with my teenage self. She was always searching for the light in the depths of the shadows. She was pretty tough and spunky, always clinging to love wherever she could find it. She was also a self-centered brat, like most privileged white girls in suburban America. I can’t blame her, I think a journey through the “ME ME ME” period is necessary for our development and the amusing story telling’s of our adult selves.
But theme remains, how desperately I’ve always wanted to feel love. As I read, my first thought was, “what was wrong with me?” And like a flash, it came to me, I sought love on the outside as it did not live within.
This post is specifically about body love, however, as you’ve learned from my previous stories, the keys usually unlock inner doors. I could/can notlove my body while detesting who I am.
I was loved. My parents adored me. My friends thought I was great. Most of my teachers where charmed by my wit in absence of my homework…I wasn’t some leper who didn’t experience true human bonds. The thing was, I was not amused by myself. I was constantly tap dancing for everyone, even though it was not required. I never thought just being me was enough, because I didn’t know who I was. So that’s it…when you don’t know yourself, how the hell you gonna love yourself? (That’s a play on a RuPaul phrase, look it up).
I didn’t have anything to identify with; I wasn’t an athlete, I wasn’t particularly good in school, I wasn’t the prettiest girl…Without any discernable, marketable skills in adolescence, how does one find themselves? Their place? I still don’t know…It’s taken me close to 38 years to finally know myself.
I learned recently that not having an identity can be quite powerful, because if you can live without the attachment what you think you are (to yourself and others), isn’t that the ultimate freedom? How, as these infinite souls/beings do we live in one little box? That’s not to say you can’t celebrate your strengths and pursue passions of a specific aptitude. But what if we just lived without being so focused on one or a few things; like “I’m a mom, I’m a writer, I’m an amazing memorizer of song lyrics…” YES, those things make up my persona, but my soul is boundless.
How I’ve learned to love myself is by recognizing that my soul’s potential reaches so much further than my abilities or the amounts of people who “approve” of or “accept” me. My path of self-discovery and self-connectedness has lead me to this really peaceful place of just being. I just am…
So back to my body, my health, and those tactical tools I use to care for my temporary vessel. When I am fully connected to my truest self, my body is my beautiful home, no matter what the scale reads. If I am nourishing my soul, I’m also doing so with my body. When I released the stress of needing to look a specific way or weigh a specific number, ironically, my body started to shift; it was no longer carrying the emotional weight of self-hate, self-criticism, self-who-the-fuck-are-you.
When I could fully grasp the miracle of motherhood, of pregnancy, of growing life inside life, how could I hate that? How could I continue to look in the mirror and feel ugly when I look at the life my body helped to create as stunning? I simply cannot!
We live in a society where woman are constantly beating themselves up. I’m not saying anything you haven’t read before…we compare ourselves to the likes of 21-year-old super models and call ourselves fat as a greeting! Our culture of woman has grown accustomed to apologizing for their appearance “Hi, ugh don’t look at my hair, I’m a mess…”
We are the most magical fucking beings! WE ARE! And we are often valued by our youth and hip-to-waste-ratios…I’m so sick of it. I’ve surrendered to my imperfections and I would love to help anyone else find a way to share in that peace.
Now more than ever, we as woman, need to start loving ourselves unconditionally. If we can step into our power without fear, we will rule this world. We will take our future to places that are uncharted and likely pretty magnificent.
Self-love/body-love it’s all rooted in the same thing, connectedness and uncontainable, unconditional love. It’s not an easy place to find, but the first step is just wanting something more than a daily ritual of dissatisfaction. I deserved that, you deserve that. I pray you all find it in some way, and I send you my love.