Flawtastic

I've been a wee bit of a slacker lately.

I guess it's not really "lately" if I haven't really worked out (and by working out I mean pushing myself to my limit) since August.

Yeah. It's been awhile.

But for the past couple of weeks, I've been feeling that NEED to get back at it again. Just kind a slight inkling or little twinge of "Maybe I should give it another go" but a full on OBSESSION with getting back a routine at the gym. And it is sadly not for reasons I am all that proud of.

I still have this annoying little voice in the back of my head, reminding me of all my flaws: I'm not skinny (and never will be). I'm not all that tall. I'm lumpy. My thighs jiggle. My tummy is not flat. I'm uber pale white. And I'm not terribly pretty.

Yes I know.....that voice is the back of my head is my own, repeating all the shitty things I have been told over the years and that my self worth is not based on any of that. Because when you get beyond the surface of the shy, chubby girl who just wants to be liked, there is a whole other, unexpected person. A person who is quite funny, witty, wicked smart, caring, and empathetic. She's just really hard to find.

What does any of that have to do with going back to the gym?!

When I was heading to the gym nearly every day of the week this summer, I felt AMAZING about myself. I don't remember feeling that good about who I was in a long time. Sure I wore a tank top over the top of my bathing suit (fyi: halter tops and keyhole bathing suits do NOT work if you are super busty hence the tank hiding the crazy cleavage), but I WORE a bathing suit while hanging out with friends at their pool and didn't trying to hide. I wore compression pants (a.ka. spandex for life!) while at the gym for running and working out and didn't once care about the sideways glances I was getting. And then I walked from the gym to my car in said spandex and didn't give two shakes about what anyone thought.

But today? None of that would happen.

In fact, this morning when I was getting ready for work, I found myself purposely digging out clothes that hide my lumps and bumps and that help hold in my tummy so I have some curves. And all I wanted to do (and did) was cry.

I cried because I miss who I was three months ago. I miss looking at my closet knowing that I'm about rock the crap out of my favorite dress and boots. I miss not feeling like I look and feel like Jabba the Hut.

But today I'm making my way back. Making my way back to the person I know and love and adore. She is the same person I am today, but a little more sure of herself. She knows she is strong, independent, funny, smart, beautiful and amazing. She knows she is "enough" just as she is and won't compromise herself for a mold someone else created.

Arbitrary Numbers

While putting together this post, another blogger post a link to the following article via Twitter: A 157lb Dissection. It's similar but from a different perspective and definitely well worth the read.

On any given day, any of the following numbers could be used to describe me:
 
They will tell you my age, measurements, for how many years I have been on some kind of a diet, my height (in centimeters), weight and dress/pants size.

But what those numbers won't and can't do is tell you I am: smart, funny, sarcastic, intelligent, caring, thoughtful, shy, independent, loyal, cool, sensual, introspective, moody, carefree, sexy, hard working and artistic (I certainly could have come up with more adjectives to describe myself but I didn't want to over do it).

Despite all of that, we are judged on that set of numbers every day. And for some, at times including myself, our self worth is based on those numbers as well.

I've spent a lot of time hating those numbers. But even more time being ashamed of them. Judging myself when I'd see a number climb when I didn't want it too after failing miserably when trying to make it go down.

I cringe at how much time I have wasted because of those numbers. But because of that time, I  am (shockingly) in a place where I no longer let those numbers define who I am. To be honest, it doesn't really phase me anymore to say I wear between a 16 and 20 depending on the store (XL or XXL for those stores that don't use numbers) or that my weight is somewhere in the area of 230 but can't say for sure (the last time I stepped on a scale was 2 months ago at the doctors office). Not that anyone should really care, but my inseam is between a 30 and a 32, bra size is 42 and I supposed I'm about 5'8".

What does phase me though is the reactions from others when they hear (or read) those numbers. Because when they do and then hear me say "Not all that worried about any of those numbers" (ok.....that is a lie......I'd like to be taller, but I digress), their perception of what I am saying is that I've given up on my myself.

Rest assured the last thing I have done is give up on myself. My realization that I am more than "just a number" and that my happiness and comfort with who I am is far more important than what that list of numbers might say about me. It can't be be measured in the traditional sense.

Instead it's measured by knowing that when I look in the mirror I no longer hate what I see looking back at me. I no longer poke my belly wishing it was flatter or hating the way my hips curve out in that way. I no longer cry over the lumps and bumps I see or the stretch marks and scars I have that never seem to fade. I no longer dread having to pick something out to wear because an article of clothing might go against some arbitrary fashion rule that if you exceed a certain size you can't wear a certain style, print, etc. I am no longer obsessed with trying to hide my flaws or figure out how to draw attention away from them.

It is measured by my ability to let people in to see who I really am and not who they want or think I should be. It is measured by my knowing my depression, which has always been fuel by low self esteem and terrible body image issues is starting to ebb. It is measured by the fact that I smile more and that I laugh more. It is measured by how many mornings I wake up, happy to experience a new day.

Getting to a place where one truly loves who they are is not an easy path to take because it goes against almost everything we are taught by the media, society and sometimes even our friends and family. But I promise you, taking that leap of faith and deciding to that that path is 100% worth it.