Fluffy.
That is the word I use to describe her as she is more round than she used to be. I looked down the other day and was aware that my tummy is rounder…my legs are rounder. She is rounder. She used to be flat in places and I was proud of that. I was taught to like her better when she is flatter, thinner, and “prettier.” During the season in my life where I had the most fractured relationship with her and food, I was told often how beautiful I was. I look at those pictures now and don’t recognize her arms.
From about the age of 14 to 32, I was a mild love addict. I didn’t fit the complete definition, but I know what it felt like internally and that fits for me. I used to keep her small by falling quickly and madly in love, then getting my heart “broken,” and then moving into my love addict depression which would take my appetite and keep me “pretty.” One dysfunction fed another (no pun intended). I liked being told I was beautiful. I liked looking in the mirror and feeling like I looked close to what our culture tells me I should look like. It made me feel like I was worth more.
Early in my graduate studies, I started being exposed to women who started teaching me how to love her in all of her different seasons and sizes. I remember the first time I watched, “Killing Us Softly.” I believe I sat through the entire thing with my mouth wide open and my brain expanding. It makes sense to me that they are now in the 4th iteration of that documentary. About that time, I also read, “Reviving Ophelia.” Shakespeare came alive for me and something shook lose in my soul. During those years, I was also exposed to intuitive eating through a guided meditation exercise with a raisin. I think it took me around 5 years to understand the idea that I didn’t have to feel shame for eating. In some seasons, she has to remind me of that.
Last week, I sat across from one of my precious clients and listened to her talk about how much she hates her body. She didn’t say it that way exactly, but that’s what she meant. We women have been taught to only love ourselves if we fit into what society tells us we should be (not all of us, but a lot of us). When I look at my client, I see beauty from the skin to the soul. Truly. I also know that I can’t teach her that. She has to experience it over time. She has to have those moments of understanding how the hatred started and that she is no longer willing to agree with those lies. And the reality of that is that I am still in that process too. I still fight the lies, and sometimes they win. But, I really don’t want the lies to win ever, for me or for any of the amazing souls that I get to walk alongside.
If my journey started with “Killing Us Softly” and deepened with Ophelia and Intuitive Eating, then the current teacher is a woman named Hillary McBride. She is a researcher in British Columbia and the one who led me to calling my physical form, “her.” And, I just love that. My form is amazing. She is strong. She had the honor of bringing our son into this world. She moves me around in this world. She has arms to hold and eyes to cry. She has a mouth that speaks and laughs. She is the conduit for my soul. She protects my brain. She is truly amazing.
I am in a season of no time. There is no extra time. My husband and I are in the middle of a 3 week rolling conversation about how to fit some things into our schedule that are important to us. We haven’t been able to figure out a way to do it yet. I have a Doctorate and he reads Greek. I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard. I want to find time to spend with her. To help her connect her ab muscles that still aren’t the same since our son’s birth. I want her and my brain to be able to sleep better. I want to help her be strong again. Parts of her are. Like her arms. They are so strong thanks to our ginormous toddler. But, she needs more movement, more aerobic activity. More time to stretch and breath and be. I long for that.
In this season of no time, the crappy chorus of the “we” tells me that she is too round. They love to spout lies and shame me for her roundness. I don’t know yet how I will find time to give her the strength, movement and heart rate activity that she needs. I miss that time with her. But, until we have that time together, I am going to honor her. I am going to be grateful for her. I am going to love her where she is, how she is. I am going to practice all of that everyday. So then, the next time I sit across the room from one of my beautiful clients, I can offer them the practice that I am in. And, I can sit with them as we work to silence the chorus of “we.”
REAL LIFE UPDATE…Last night, I helped to lead an evening called, “Mental Health in the Music Industry.” It was so well done. My friend Erin (who is amazing) put it all together and City Winery allowed us to use the most lovely space. I was on stage with two deep and wise men, Miles Adcox (Onsite) and Al Andrews (Porters Call). Both of those men lead organizations that I deeply admire and I was grateful to be with them. I was honored to be there and proud of what we shared with the group. My goal was to encourage people to start to do their work or depend in that process. I truly think that happened. I had some lovely conversations after it was over. It was a great night. THEN…I looked at the pictures after. And, ALL I could see were her rolls as I was sitting on stage. It was and is really hard. After a night of so much community and camaraderie, the chorus of “we” is beating the absolute crap out of me. So, I practiced last night who I want to be. I thanked her for being with me last night. I was gentle with her in the mirror as I got ready for bed. Same this morning. I still don’t know when I will be able to spend that time with her to give her the things she needs. And, I REFUSE to allow the chorus of “we” to tell her and me who and what we are. If you see me today, please be gentle with me. I am spending a lot of energy battling that chorus. And, if you are in a place of wondering where to even start…start with kindness, gentleness and gratitude. She is a gift to you. We are in this together.
Onward.