Hello again!
Whew...it's been a long day. I just put Layla down to sleep for the night and it seems to be as good a time as any to crank out a blog. :)
I have been doing a lot of soul searching lately. A lot of introspection. Which seems to be quite a trend with me as of this year so far. A major part of this soul searching, has been my view on my body image and my view on how much sway it holds over my life. Looking back, from when I was 14 years old and going through puberty, and looking around at the other girls and their changing figures, was about the time I started comparing my body. Throughout middle school and into early high school I was made fun of by some. During that ever awkward transition from chubby pre teen to expanding-in-lots-of-new-ways teenager, with glasses and braces and hand me down clothes. The rich, popular girls picked me apart from my hair down to my shoes. And I didn't realize what a profound impact it had on me until now. Up until that time they way I dressed never crossed my mind as a problem or an offense to the 7th grade population. I had friends, I did well in school, I had fun all the time but I never fit in with the popular crowd. Once I reached high school, about 11th grade I lost the braces, got contacts and a new haircut, I walked into school as confident as I would ever be. I made the cheer leading squad, got voted into Jr. Cotillion ( an organization similar to a sorority minus drunken parties with frat boys, and a lot more themed dancing), and the same girls that had made fun of me wanted to be my best friend or at least they pretended to be to my face. During this time I had several boyfriends, all nothing serious until my junior year I met my husband and the rest is history.
Saying all this and looking back over my cultivated memories, I think of that 14 year old girl with her glasses and braces and never feeling pretty and wishing so badly that she could look like the popular girls but instead she drowned her sorrows in bags of chips ahoy cookies, piles of books, and having fun with her true friends. I wish I knew then what I know now. I wish I could travel back and let her see the beautiful woman that she would turn into, the daughter and husband she would have and how happy she would be. I wish I could wrap her in warm hug and let her know that hard times would come and go but to always hold onto herself. The beautiful light she is on the inside.
I wrote down my resolutions in my journal a little belated this year and one of them was to start the P90X program and complete it, and by Layla's first birthday to be in the best shape of my life. Ever since my cold has knocked me down from working out 6 days a week, I have tried several times to jump back in, but each time I am left hurting, my body shaking and barely finishing workouts that I was able to complete with still moderate energy before my getting sick. It is a goal for myself that I truly want to complete. I told myself I would not quit and to kick myself in the butt if I did because I thought it would pay off in the end. But I feel as if I am trying to be too perfect, and that if I don't do this workout exactly verbatim and push myself so hard that I am left gasping then I am disappointing myself and the others I promised that I would complete it and be an advocate of these "AMAZING" results. But the more and more I feel this pressure to be this or that and meet this quota that these other P90Xers have set ahead of me, the more I feel as if I don't measure up. I'm not gonna lie. I don't like to workout. Not in the traditional sense. I love using my body and being physical, but I want it to be fun! I LOVE TO DANCE, I love to stretch, I love to feel the strength in my muscles, I love the centering of yoga and piece of mind it gives me, I love to swim, I love to ride horses, I love skipping through summer grass and wildflowers, I love rolling around with my daughter, I love kicking a soccer ball around. That said, P90X does not offer those things...lol. But I feel like I am letting myself down if I don't incorporate it somehow into my week and finish at least the first 90 days. I just don't know what to do.
I told my husband of my struggle the other day with my self image and self esteem, describing my guilt of falling of the wagon with P90X and I asked him what should I try and do?? He shook his head, sighing, slighting raising his eyebrows telling me, "Honey, why don't you try being happy?...just as you are...right now? If something is not making you happy then DON'T DO IT." I hate it when he's so logical sometimes...hah. But he's right. Life is too short for me to be letting a workout DVD series beat me up for not enslaving myself to it. But that doesn't mean that I have to give up being active and taking care of my body. Still make healthy choices and get up and get out a few days a week, but let it be something that I look forward to, something that brings me joy. Taking a dance class or just dancing in my room, stretching, yoga, playing with my daughter, running, playing kickball or soccer with my nephew. I am done feeling guilty. Especially to an inanimate object. hahah. If one day I decide to pick it up and do it because it feels good to me the it will be there for me to do so.
I stumbled upon a show over the weekend that I didn't even know existed. "How to Look Good Naked" with Carson Kressley. Now I normally don't watch makeover shows or TV in general, but I was searching for information on "loving yourself" and this popped up. So in curiosity, I watched the first episode. Not but a few moments into it, I realized they were onto something. Carson, took women who had body and self image issues, from sizes ranging petite and thin, to curvy and voluptuous, and showed them how beautiful they truly are, no matter what they looked like. He showed them how skewed their view of themselves and their bodies was, really opening the eyes of every lady on the program. It was truly awe inspiring and made me laugh, cry and want to cheer through watching both season one and two. It made me give myself a really hard look and think about what I had going for me as opposed to my so called "flaws". I feel as if my perspective of myself, although not perfect has begun to shift. I don't want to have that so called "perfect" body. That's boring. I am unique unto myself. And although I want to be healthy. I am healthy. I would like to feel fit and strong and I do. I will no longer feel the pressure to fit into an unrealistic mold. I look in the mirror now and my "flaws" tell a story about myself. The scars on my stomach from my complications as an infant. Being born three months premature, left the doctors with not much hope for my survival, but doing everything they could to save me. Whether that was inserting tubes into my stomach, my heart beating rapidly through my paper thin skin, experimental ointment dropped into my eyes so my eyes would develop as normally as possible and I would not suffer blindness. My post pregnancy, small stretch marks on my lower abdomen and the pooch in my belly tell the tale of the creation and birth of my greatest achievement and joy, my daughter. They are badges of honor. War wounds. And remind me of how lucky I am to be alive when I wasn't given weeks to live and had no idea that one day I would create and birth a life into the world.
I love myself just as I am, "flaws" and all. And when I forget, I will take a look in the mirror and remember who I am and that I am beautiful.
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