The title of this blog was the topic of conversation on the Bobby Bones Show* a few days ago.
After they had moved on to talk about who-knows-what, I couldn’t help but try to figure out the best advice I’d ever been given.
I thought about all the dating, career, and life advice I’d received over the years, and all I could focus on was something that my seventh grade Sex Ed teacher** told me.
We were sitting there, learning about lady parts and man bits, and labeling those awful diagrams, and she said to us:
“The body that you have, is the body that you’re always going to have. You can’t ever change that. So you have to learn to be okay with it.”
Albeit, the woman didn’t factor in things like plastic surgery and liposuction, but she was spot-on. And she said something that struck a chord in this short, gangly, painfully thin, glasses-wearing, uncomfortably awkward 12-year-old.
To this day, I have days where I wake up, look at myself and couldn’t be prouder of my body. And, there are other days where I can’t get over my wine baby (it’s like a food baby, but more permanent … and caused by wine) and I can’t stop scrutinizing whatever number felt like appearing on the scale that day.
Even as I type, I struggle to hold back tears of hating that I even kind of, sort of, hate my body. Because I know I’m stuck with it. And I know I’m too cheap to pay to change it. And more than that, I know it’s awesome, and incredible, something I continuously work hard on, and something to be proud of. I’ve worked my ass off at CrossFit these past two years – and it shows. I’m faster and I’m stronger. I’m tougher and more resilient – inside and outside of the gym. And, let’s be honest – my body has never looked better. It’s something that, if I take the time to not look for the imperfections, is pretty awesome.
You’ll have to forgive me if this blog is a hard-to-follow stream of consciousness but it was bubbling up inside of me. Something I needed to say. Or write. I needed to put it out into the world so that it forces me to stop myself whenever I try to nail down the culprit of the extra pound that showed up on the scale between Wednesday night and Thursday morning. Or, when I poke my stomach to try to to see if it really is sticking out more than it was the day before. Those behaviors, and so many others, are so, so bad for so many reasons.
This 28-year-old has to stop and remember that day in seventh grade Sex Ed when Ms. What’s-Her-Name told me to “just be okay with it.”
*I am a proud, loyal, die-hard fan of the show. If you’re reading this and you work with me — those headphones stuck in my ears are almost certainly streaming the show. Because it’s that good. If you have the urge to laugh, cry, and be shocked while working on work — give it a listen here.
**I’m ashamed to say her name has failed me. Cut me some slack, readers. It’s been 17 years. Holy crap. SEVENTEEN years. That felt like a dagger…