Please, Love Your Body
Just doing some yoga on vacation
Women, we’ve been lied to. All our lives we have been taught to behave a certain way, look a certain way, talk a certain way, do certain things, all under the guise that these “ways” would make our lives better, us happier, and fulfillment would come in every way. Lies, I tell you.
And although I could go into all of the different lies, I want to focus on the one that has had a big impact on my life, the way my body looks (aka am I thin enough to be loved?)
With the resurgence of ultra-thin people in Hollywood, and GLP-1s taking over the media, this topic is of the utmost importance. We really need to question the messaging that the only good body is a thin one. I’ve been thinner than I am now, and I was not better. I was not loved more. And I was certainly not happier.
In fact, up until a few years ago, I was still obsessed with how my body looked and trying to fit into the mold society told me I had to be. I hated my thighs because of the cellulite. I hated my belly because of the baby stretch marks. I hated the moles on my arms and the fact I couldn’t grow long fingernails. The number of things that I was expected to change about myself was overwhelming.
Somewhere in the overwhelm, I began to question the logic of it all. I wasn’t happy, and between now and dead I very much want to be happy. I started to look for people who seemed comfortable with who they are even though they didn’t fit the societal norms.
Even though I had never actually met them, these teachers that I found through books, social media, and podcasts started to crack open the possibility that maybe my body wasn’t the problem, but society was. The thoughts in my head, the judgements, the insecurities were all tied up in things I believed to be true, but the beliefs were put there through social conditioning and pressure. The Truth was dormant deep inside of me, and I had all the tools I needed to excavate: I am a yogini who meditates.
Being a yogini means I am in my body. I know what it can do, and what it can’t. I know what’s comfortable, and what stretches that comfort level. I am intimately aware of every part of me, my big toe in Warrior, my chest in Down Dog, my hamstrings in Head to Knee Pose. I know how it feels to be in this body. And yoga feels beautiful even if it’s ugly. All the parts of an asana practice makes my body feel happy, and I appreciate my body for its ability to practice yoga.
Being a meditator means I am aware of my thoughts. I am aware of the self-talk. I can separate from the ego briefly, and recognize the Truth of who and what I am. Every day I tap into the Truth of my existence and can recognize that this body is simply a shell for my soul. I AM a soul. I HAVE a body. This distinction is important, because the body is the temporary part. Meditation also gives me the ability to separate out the “mind stuff” from the Truth of Consciousness, which is where the soul resides.
Using the tools of yoga and meditation I have successfully changed my conditioning. It makes me sad thinking about the years I wasted judging myself and others. It makes me sad to this day when I hear people worried about the superficial nature of how they look, or beating themselves up for being too fat/old/jiggly/wrinkled/heavy/bumpy/weird/ugly etc.
The suffering that this judgment caused me and the freedom I now know is stunning.
I just had the very best time of my life on my latest beach vacation. I’m bigger than I have ever been (thanks to perimenopause), but I wore my bikini and didn’t try to hide under a cover up. I ate delicious food that I wanted to eat, and didn’t worry about “working it off” or even thinking about how it might make me gain weight. I watched people walking the beach, and enjoyed people’s style without determining if they “should” be wearing that. Most importantly, I felt GREAT! Seriously, the freedom and space in my mind to simply enjoy is so opposite from how I used to be. And I am truly grateful to be free of it all.
Not that I don’t still have the errant judgement about myself or another. But I can quickly correct myself. “We don’t think that way anymore,” I say to myself. It’s internal gentle parenting, redirecting without judgement or anger.
I thank those who are brave enough to show how real bodies look, and do it unapologetically and joyously. They continue to be my inspiration. The more of us who do it, the more others take note and join in. Real bodies look real. They don’t look like magazines or media. There are red splotches, cellulite, fat, moles, wrinkles, and more. And SO WHAT?!? Why do we have to have an opinion about it? The more we can embrace the realness of real bodies, the happier we will all be.