It’s amazing the pressure we put on ourselves and each other to look a certain way. Especially women. Not to say men are immune from this epidemic, but women tend to internalize general statements or take criticism far too harshly than it is meant. Men are better at filtering the bullshit and telling someone to F off and not thinking twice about it. In fact, they’ll probably meet up at Hooters the next day and act like it never happened. Cause guys are way cool like that. I wish women were more like that.

My struggle with weight has been going on about 10 years. I don’t think it would have been so bad except up until I was 21 or 22 I was a size 0 or 3. When I enlisted in the Air Force [I dropped out before BMT], I had to have a waiver because I went on a crash diet to GAIN weight and got to 98 pounds. 98 was the highest I could go!! Skinny thing but curvy. Always a gap with my shorts because of my juicy booty and never less than a B cup. Looking back, it was pretty sensational. But unfortunately I never saw myself as having a “juicy booty” or a nice rack. I saw hip bones that protruded out into the great wide open and I thought everyone could see them through my clothes. Now? What I’d give to see my hip bones is hysterical and insane. I went from skinny to a perfect 6. Six is a wee bit meaty for a 5’2” girl but nothing really overdone. Was I happy then? No. All I could see is the girl who had to wear glasses and was so short. I never even had a pimple until my mid-20s. But I detested my skin from birth. Albino, vampire, clear, translucent, pigmentless…whatever you want to call it. I can’t get a single ray of sunshine to stick to my skin no matter what I try. A tanning bed on the lowest setting for less than 5 minutes burnt me once and so I (thankfully) never tried that again. And I can tell you where almost every freckle is and the one mole. I remember trying thinking if I got the skin off it might grow back unfreckled so I bled a couple times. And the tiniest birth mark known to man but to me it felt like a giant lump of black coal on a snow white field. This was where my mind was until size 8-10.

It’s not his fault—all the above thoughts were my own and not inspired (terribly much) by others—but around size 8 the ex husband began showing and vocalizing his displeasure in my appearance. Take someone who never had confidence about her body to begin with and add to it his influence and my mind went to a toxic place. Whatever I had seen as beautiful was forgotten. I thought I was a fat pig. And so, I acted like one. And nevermind my marriage was going to hell already, I thought my distastefulness looking reflection in the mirror was to blame. I was young and it wasn’t so obvious then that the toxicity was not injected by me but by someone who didn’t love me [for his benefit let’s say he didn’t know how to love me because I think he really did love me]. At this point in my life I felt like the ugliest person alive. And by the end of it all, I was a size 16 weighing in just at 165lbs. When the marriage crumbled I couldn’t have hated myself—or life—any more I don’t think.

And then, almost magically, depression and freedom and then happiness suddenly put me into an 8 again [one pair of 6s fit for the record]. I maintained that a couple of years and then got comfortable and sedentary and crept back up towards the record again. I began to work out and seriously watch what I ate. I tried Jenny Craig for a month [don’t do it, not worth the money]. Eventually gained control and dropped a few pounds. Then came the dissolution of another relationship and the self-hate was back with a vengeance. Insert break-up. Insert weight loss. Insert uncertainty and other emotional turmoil. Insert a tad bit more of weight loss. And that cycle just keeps on and on and on. Until this week.

I am sick & fucking [sorry for the f bomb, Mom] tired of it. I’m finished.

I had a breakthrough this week and realized for the first time that my battle is not with my weight or the size of my jeans. My issue is my self-image. How I view my body is the problem. And I have a horrible self-image and extremely dependent on others, especially men, to make me feel pretty. I realized it’s literally like I have no ability to do it myself. And that’s some serious bullshit (let’s just call it what it is). After racking my brain and counting calories (or avoiding the app that counts the calories because I was guilty), chastising myself nonstop during every waking hour for one thing or another, and with every bite telling myself I shouldn’t have it I finally discovered that the problem wasn’t what was going in my mouth. The problem is that dialogue inside me telling me all the negative things about myself. It’s the hate that seeps into every bite of food and criticizing the image in the mirror relentlessly until she feels worse about herself than I could ever make anyone else feel. We truly are our own worst enemy.

And so I’m stopping that hate. It is a core belief of mine that anything springing from hate will not be made for the good. If I try to lose weight because I hate myself I’ll surely fail. If I can come from a place of love and feeling good, then more love and feeling better will surely follow. It’s funny how I can apply this philosophy to the way I treat others and the universe in general but it never struck me that as long as I’m angry and disgusted at the image in the mirror I’ll never turn it into something I love. If, however, I can accept me just as I am and love me not in spite of but because I am made uniquely and beautiful no matter what, then I can finally maintain some sort of healthy balance. If I want to love and nurture my body, I think it will love and nurture me right back.

And I wonder if I’m alone. Are other women out there holding themselves to a completely senseless and impossible standard? Are we ever going to look in the mirror and smile no matter what we see? Am I right in saying that I’ll be able to take better care of myself once I learn to love me? According to my universal rule, we get what we give. If I give my body love, my body will love me back. Now, I know there’s a healthy diet and exercise that must come along with it. And I’ve mastered those things before: I gave up soda, french fries, desserts, and candy. I can do that again with no problem. Maybe I’ve been eating more because I refuse to listen to my body fearing what it has to say. I haven’t stopped during a meal to ask, “am I full?” Cutting my portions along with giving up the above items instantly dropped 20 pounds before in my life. But this time I can’t do it because I want back in my jeans or to turn someone on. I must do it because I LOVE ME and because I want the very best of who I am to shine. Because I shine on the inside and my light must come through.

I haven’t figured this all out just yet, but I do believe my reflection has lead to a break through. Anthony Robbins would be so proud. And not until I wrote it all down did I even realize how altered and how outright crazy it is to view myself this way. I would NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS hold another human to the expectations I have for myself. Especially not the ones I love. You know what’s sexy to me Jessica Simpson? The fact you found love and had a baby. Now quit making an ass of yourself in the tabloids and embrace your little one and your man and then rest of the time have a personal trainer come kick your ass. If I had the money, that’s what I would do! If I were Jessica Simpson (and she’s just on my mind because her & her Weight Watchers commercial were the gossip on the radio today), I would be endlessly thankful for the life I get to lead and the baby I get to hold each night. I don’t even like Jessica Simpson…. the love train has gone too far. Just kidding. 😉