herlucidlife

I’ve really been struggling with body image. Outside of organized sports, I’ve always worked out to look a certain way. My belly has always been a source of discomfort. Growing up I was super fit, had great muscle tone and definition. Even at my most fit, loving my body was a foreign concept. I only looked at my body with favor because of what it looked like never for whom she was and what she could do. My junior year of college my weight began to yoyo. I no longer felt confident in my skin, my body began doing things I didn’t like…she began gaining weight. 

Making decisions that hindered my body from having sex, to using drugs, and overeating with sporadic exercise in between. Out of school, I worked out only to look good in the mirror. The only time I’d reach the skinny weight I liked was when I was depressed eating nothing at all. I’d drop ten pounds, maybe more in a couple days. Losing weight was difficult. My metabolism has changed. My body does so much for me throughout the day. I’m still learning to look at her passed something nice to look at. Though my views of my body have been warped it’s never stood in the way of receiving attention from men. 

Wanting their attention has also fueled the sole purpose of what my body is for…eye candy and sex appeal. This perspective shifts the way I see my inner beauty. Regardless of my weight I’ve always been attractive to the opposite sex, the issue is I have a hard time being attractive to myself. Piddling around at work, making good use of my body parts. I couldn’t help but notice the different bodies that pass by. Some tall or short, some slender or thick, some balled or full or hair, some female or male. What they seemed to have in common was the confidence they had to showcase their bodies in whatever they chose to wear. No concern to a little belly being exposed or thick thighs being on display. I was raised to be modest but today my modesty is rooted in shame for how my body does not look. 

My main concern is the size of my belly. Insecurity in the gut. I cover it with big t-shirts. Wearing oversized clothing granted I know those things do not help. I look at other women not covering up their belly. I look at them with admiration because I want that level of confidence. I judge women for dressing a little more revealing because I’m envious of the confidence they have in themselves. Whether a little pooch or hanger, the eyes I look at my body have a ray of comparison, not appreciation. Looking at others has helped me understand the depths of myself. Because of others I know my body is okay, she is just as divine as all the others. 

My body is strong, capable and ridiculously resilient. She speaks to me, sharing what she needs. Thirty years old, my little belly sits comfortably. My legs and thighs are strong and sturdy, holding me up for eight hours including a workout after work. My arms are welcoming and free, hugging all the new friends in my life and letting go of what no longer feeds. My shoulders hold my head high because I have nothing to be ashamed of anymore. My feet walk in purpose, led by God they are faithful to the journey of moving forward. My hands create works of art flowing from my soul, what they touch turns to honey. 

My body, this God given body for this human existence holding together physical and soul. She is magnificent. She is healthy. She is growing. She is mine.