How could so much love be born inside of so much hate? The love I speak of is for my son, the hate I refer to was for my own body. I had what some would consider a pretty typical experience living in a female body. Most days my relationship to this magnificent abode is one of confusion, resistance and yes, hate. I boldly use “typical,” because the dialogue amongst my peers about body-image, illuminates curiously parallel story lines. Is there a proverbial self-criticism score-card provided as an award for being born with a Y chromosome?
My punch-card came in very handy around 8-years-old. The universal aesthetic (amongst girls my age) in my home town was mostly white, straight hair, petite/skinny, topped with a bow and rooted in glowing, white Keds. As I began to check the boxes on my own score-card, let’s just say I didn’t have enough ink in my 10-color pen. I am not exactly white; my hair is not straight and according to my father; my figure can skew “portly.” I did what any girl who wants to survive would do, I took control of what I could and I plowed ahead. I stocked up on baby doll dresses, straightened my hair and I went to PayLess where my mom bought me knock-off Keds. To say that any of this cultivated self-confidence/love would mean that you wouldn’t be reading what comes next.
What becomes of a girl who spends her whole adolescence and then some chasing acceptance through conformity? I’ll say this, I lived in a great deal of fear; fear of how my body would take form as result of my decisions, fear of being loved, fear that I may never love myself.
My little “bubble-of-sameness,” in suburban America, initially had me thinking that blending in was the safe route. At the ripe age of 6, I decided that the “sheep” mentality was just not by bag. I remember visiting Las Vegas for the first time and dreaming of being a cocktail waitress; they all seemed so happy, walking around half-naked in their sparkly outfits and wild head-dresses!
Instead, I decided to move to New York City at the age of 19. My father had just passed away and it was time for me to start a new. I had an amazing career in advertising, working for the likes of Conde Nast and The New York Times. I learned that being my most authentic self would garner my greatest successes. New York City teaches many lessons, but my favorite is; this planet is made up of billions of brilliantly unique individuals and our differences combined create a oneness in our communities that is stunning.
After a decade of marinating in pure melting-pot bliss, my experiences shifted. I decided to share my life with someone who celebrated my me’ness and made me feel safe. We moved back to the bubble I thought I’d never live in again. When we arrived here on a blistering cold day, I immediately wondered what I’d do, was I the same as before, and why am I here? I was unemployed, for those glamorous advertising jobs just didn’t exist in this place. I spent a lot of time alone avoiding any glimmers of my past life here for fear of that sameness creeping back in. And after a few years of finding my way around this familiar place, an intense love, my baby, started growing inside of me.
A moment came in my pregnancy where I chose to abandon sameness. I quite literally surrendered to the miracle my body was performing. For the first time in my life, I just ate…I worked out because it made me feel strong and alive. And when I gave birth, without intervention, I witness the pure magic that my body was capable of. I don’t, however, stand here today a strong, connected woman as a result of childbirth. I’ve suffered severe pain from postpartum depression, gained 80 lbs in my surrender to food and cultivated some of the strongest self-hate in the process.
As I sit here writing this, drinking my hot, lemon water, I’ve replaced hate with acceptance. I’m in my 30’s, happily living an awakened life of gratitude and self-love. Through my journey into motherhood and a self-development, I’ve forged a strong, albeit winding path to my current state of being. My fitness and body chronicles may enlighten a glimmer of familiarity, some that I hope will inspire anyone who reads it. Self-love is born out of the sincerest acceptance of what currently is, and with that you can harvest your highest form.