For a long time, I hated my body. Here I am, a woman, who is unable to do the very thing my body was created for. Not only that, but no one could tell me why. It was like I was surrounded by women whose bodies were beautiful and mine was dysfunctional. I went through a time where I considered my body as deformed, inadequate, and ugly. I hated my body because of what it could not do.
Over time, I taught myself to be grateful. My body can not (or at least will not) give life, but my body is still a gift. It is not ridden with disease. I can walk, run, and even dance. I get sick sometimes, but I become well. It is a long and continuous process, but I have begun to appreciate and accept my body again. And I am still working on it.
I’ve been trying to treat my body better. I have been taking a ballet class for months now. I have begun increasing my activity and have concentrated on stretching and making my body stronger. I have been eating better with more veggies and fruit. I have switched to organic products as much as (financially) possible. I have been trying to love my body for what it is and take care of it.
There is a person in my life right now who considers me unhealthy. Those words have never been mentioned, but the comments that are made lead me to believe this is the case. I notice this person never “encourages” any one else to do certain things to improve their health, just me. It makes me feel singled out.
Today, a comment was made to me in passing. I was having a problem that really has nothing to do with diet or exercise. In fact, I have had this problem my entire life, including high school when I was dancing six days a week and was the healthiest I had ever been. Today, this person used the situation to, again, point out what I should be doing to be a better, healthier person. When I described what I have been doing, I was told that wasn’t good enough.
Can’t I just love my body for what it is? This exchange of words brought back all those feelings I have been working so hard to let go. I know I am not perfect. I know I could exercise more and eat better. Who couldn’t? But, you know what; at this point I am just trying to get through the day.
I know this person has no idea how the comments affected me. I know he/she would feel badly if they knew they made me sad. There were no ill intentions there; quite the opposite, the comments were probably intended to be "helpful suggestions".
And in another lifetime, these comments wouldn’t bother me at all. The old Michelle might have used them as a motivator. The person I am now just sees it as another reason I don’t measure up.