Because I am a human being, it should come as no surprise that I have a body. More so, because I am human, I am flawed. Following the Transitive Property, my body, too, is flawed.
I don’t like all it’s flaws. My body’s betrayals against me are numerous. But, the least of which is its tendency to shrink and expand in diameter.
When young, I was a skinny girl. Size 2, big boobs–a teenaged boy’s dream (and a teenaged girl’s nightmare). But, age, genetics, and life kicked in. I still have big boobs, but I hover in the size 16 category now. In my twenties, I mourned the loss of the body I had when I was a young thing–too young to appreciate what I had. Now, not so much. Perhaps body acceptance is easier for me, because it hasn’t been a struggle my whole life. My story doesn’t begin with, “I was an overweight child.”
Yet, I think it has more to do with with my quickly evolving capacity to accept me, period. (Therapy types like to call this “radical acceptance.”) It’s a process I’ve invested a lot of time and tears into as of late. It’s true, I’ve lost a teensy bit of weight recently, and that makes me happy. But, it’s not because each shed pound adds to my self-esteem and self-image. It’s because I’m finally “indulging” in a little self-care. It’s a sign of my physical and mental well-being–I’m not too sick or too depressed to get out of the house, to exercise, or to cook my own food.
So, last week I donned my bathing suit to go to our community pool on the first sunny day in a month. I observed myself in the mirror, mentally stated, “Yeah that’s me,” wished I could afford a suit with bra-sized cups, jiggled my boobs into a suitable configuration, and moved on.
This may not be “the beach body,” (to which I cry Bull Shit!) but it’s my beach body.