I’m not sure if it has to do with my age, priorities, genetics, or maybe a lingering lesson (because nothing ever goes away until it teaches us what we need to know), but I really despise that number on my scale these days… Excuse me if I’m plagerising (I’m too lazy to consult google), but I hate the way it taunts me in the morning when I’m naked and haven’t eaten for several hours… I despise the way it roars it’s nasty roar in the evenings after I’ve truly drank a full gallon of water, and refused to eat a morsle from that bag of lime Tostitos that I long for. It nashes its gnarly teeth, and reminds me how out of reach my goal weight is (even when I’m ill informed of the number myself)!
If I’d had a baby when I was 10 years younger would I weigh less now? If I stopped spending that half hour post morning coffee/pre-shower pinteresting ways to connect with the 25+ kids on my caseload, and hit the treadmill; would my ass be any smaller? If I put Molly to bed a half hour early and did crunches would I find abs!?
And simultaneously, I’m all too aware of how I have the power to royally screw up My daughters perception of how perfect her body is… It literally stares me in the face, from my office blow up couch, day after day… I recall an incident in which I was body shaming myself out loud (before my miracle was born), and how a friend had responded to me by saying; “Don’t talk to Molly’s mom like that…” *Pause
What will it take me to learn what I try to teach? Will I ever be able to instill self love and acceptance in this littlest most important being in my life if I don’t eat, sleep, and breathe it in my own body? How is it possible to be so authentically moved by all walks of life and simultaneously set such high expectations for yourself? Are they even attainable?
Should the size, shape, or weight of your vessel be significant at all? No, but I find that they are. We all have demons. Thanks for letting me share mine.