If you frequent my blog, you know I'm fairly candid about my relationship with food. Eating disorders are neatly tucked away in the baggage of my past, but I still struggle with accepting my body. I think it speaks to me as a person--head hits the pillow at the end of the day and I recount all the things I didn't do. Exercise is usually on that list.
This weekend I will be 36 years old.
And last weekend I stumbled upon something that might've finally convinced me that being "small" isn't the only acceptable option.
Her name is Lizzie Miller.
I know what you're thinking. How on earth is this beautiful woman going to make you feel better about yourself? Don't beautiful women usually have the opposite effect on us?
Not this one. And I can't believe I'm just now discovering her.
A couple of years ago, Glamour Magazine ran this photo:
If you google her, the photo will show up bigger, but I don't feel right putting it on my blog since you know, she's nude-like.
But here's the thing. They didn't airbrush her tummy. Or her thighs. And guess what? She is still gorgeous.
In a world that's teaching our young girls that this is what they should strive for...
I was thrilled to see Lizzie, a so-called "plus-size" model (size 12-14), visibly comfortable in her own skin.
It's something I think we all strive for...and in many ways this kind of self-acceptance is like "the ungettable get." But it wasn't the photo that converted me. It was this:
Listening to her talk about herself with complete acceptance, knowing that she, like so many of us had struggled, but settled upon the realization that some people are small and that's great for them...but that's not everyone's reality. It's certainly not mine.
Does that mean I should beat myself up every time I yank on a pair of jeans or pass by a mirror?
Heading into the second half of my thirties, I'm just done worrying about it. It doesn't mean I don't want to be healthy. It doesn't mean I throw in the towel. It means that I dig my heels in and find my confidence in something other than the number on a scale. It means I get a revelation of what God thinks about me and stop caring so much what other people think. Most of them are too caught up in their own lives to concern themselves with my clothing size anyway.
When do we truly accept our differences, embrace them as the gift they are?
Moving forward, this is my goal: Be healthy. Be honest. Be kind.
What about you? What stands in the way of you fully accepting yourself--physically or otherwise?