Cale and I got a new toy this weekend.
All that yoga I’ve done has paid off because my first time I was the ripe old age of 22 (-1 years) and yesterday I was 20 years (-3 years). So while I may not be the slightest of frame, my body sure is working for me. I really enjoy this because all the yoga poses are judged based on your balance giving your instant feedback on how well you are holding the pose, and now Cale and I can compete to beat each others high scores on the aerobic, strength training, balance games, and yoga (well he can try to beat me at yoga). It has a good tracking system for your progress and allows you to enter in outside workouts you participate in (whether it just be cooking or cleaning, or running).
Along with following a more regular exercise program and tracking my progress in a more structured way, I am starting now to work myself and my body image from the inside. The first step for me is to share my story. The story of how my self-image imploded.
Growing up I was never tiny. When I was young, I started playing soccer, swimming, and basically any other sport my dad could get me to join. And I loved it. I thrived on the competition (in some sports more than others), and really worked hard. I was never for a second concerned with my weight because I was healthy and active. And I was a kid! I got teased by my “friends” in sixth grade, but because I gave it little merit, it never affected me. Looking back, I now know that those girls most likely had parents who projected their own body issues onto their children. My mom, however, was wonderful (amazing! my savior! I could go on and on). She understood that having low self esteem was no way to live and never let me even think that there was something wrong with me. Because there wasn’t. I was determined to never let those words hurt me.
I lived like this through high school. I ran cross country, played soccer, and swam. I was never skinny, but never technically overweight. Then college started, and along with overloading myself with classes, I struggled with loneliness and a slew of bad roommates. It was in college that I was finally the five pounds into overweight territory. But I had so much on my plate that worrying about my weight was not something I had time for. Especially because I was still swimming and running. The rest of my life was not balanced, how could I expect my body to be balanced.
Then during my senior year of college, Cale let me know that a proposal was not far in the future. Months of nerves, a few instances with the stomach flu, and a couple diet changes (little to no milk, no beef) led to losing all that college weight and plus a little bit more. I felt great. No more battling lactose stomachaches and just feeling great. I retook a jogging class I had taken my second semester of college, and was running on a regular basis. I felt great about myself.
Then I went to get my wedding dress. Now I have debated whether or not I should discuss this. And I have decided that I had to, based on my own selfish decision that is it time to heal. Around October of 2006, my grandmother-in-law graciously allowed me to come pick out a free dress from several dresses she had received from a closed-down bridal shop up north. To everyone else, this was just picking a dress that maybe someday I might be able to wear because the proposal had not happened yet. But to me this would be my dress. And I held this to be the all important dress choosing event that every bride dreams about. I had woken up that morning to find another big weight loss had happened, and I was now at the lowest weight since I had ever started paying attention to it. Well within the healthy weight limits. And deliriously happy. Upon entering the shop I was informed to only look for dresses size 12 and above, and when my eyes fell upon the dress in a size 8 my heart sunk. I tried on several too big and hideous size 12 dresses before I finally asked to try on the size 8. As I was easily sliding into the size 8 I was informed by my future grandmother-in-law that I was 1) chunky, 2) that maybe it could possibly still be baby fat, and 3) that maybe I could try to do some sit ups before the wedding. The shock in my mother’s, my sister’s, and my faces was probably amusing to see, but the process of getting out of the dress, stuffing it into our car and driving off could not have been faster. My tears welled and poured over on the ride home. Poor Cale witnessed me coming home and in an incoherent mess trying to relay the story to him. And that was the beginning of my current body image issues.
I was so ashamed. And still am. I look in the mirror and now only see the negative. And I feel like I am so alone because I didn’t want to even talk about it. I was mortified. I had the dress altered so much with the hopes of being able to look in the mirror and to see anything other than that dress that caused me so much pain. But by talking about it now I’m taking the power over my self-image back. Yes it hurt me. But I’m not alone anymore. I will no longer be filled with shame over this unspeakable event.
My goal is to be healthy. That has always been my goal. But now that I can start battling my internal voice, I hope that I will be more successful and happier. And the outcome that results will be secondary because regaining my self-esteem and being happy in my body is my main priority.
fyi: this post is not intended as a bash grandma post. she said what she did because that is her experience. I am not making excuses for her; I just have to find ways to deal with the consequences as they have affected me. Because my family does read this blog, I would appreciate any comments to be limited as such.
oh and this was so totally inspired by wishcake and her awesomeness.
Tags: Health, Life
