Thick Thighs and Strong Mama Arms
I want to tell you about how I got to the point where I can post a video of myself in a swimming suit. (Video on Instagram @embraceyourunicorn.)
Nearly 4 years ago, I had a major wake up call. My long-time psychologist/spiritual guide/dear friend took his own life after battling depression for many years. This shook me to the core. I will always remember a quote he would often recite in our therapy sessions by Henry David Thoreau: “The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.” This resonated with me and my silent battle against my own body.
After my psychologist’s death, I said enough was enough to living my small, imprisoned life. I was sick of my orthorexia. Of my binging and purging through obsessive exercise and vomiting. I was over meal-planning, macro-calculating, and exercise-logging. Somewhere deep in my bones, I knew that there was more to life than the dark walls of my jail cell.
It was then that I started my journey towards healing. I found a counselor who specialized in eating disorder recovery. I stopped weighing myself. I deleted pictures of when I was at my skinniest that I (somewhat subconsciously) used to look at to motivate me to work out harder and to eat leaner. I slowly learned how to stop obsessing about nutrition and exercise. I immersed myself in the anti-diet world, absorbing podcasts and books and Instagram accounts into my bone-dry soul. I got pissed at our misogynistic society for controlling women by making us small, literally and figuratively. I started eating intuitively. I stopped exercising all together for awhile. I gained weight. I lost muscle mass. I healed.
Learning to accept my body to the point where I can now post a video of myself in a swimming suit took a lot of work.
See video on Instagram @embraceyourunicorn
It wasn't easy. But I'll admit that it was easier for me than for many people because of my different layers of privilege. Even though I'm not a stick, and even though I would have denied it in the past, I am thin-ish. My “thin privilege” made it easier to heal than if I were in a larger body. Our society is more accepting of smaller bodies, and my body is naturally smaller even though I used to think it was huge.
I have white privilege. I am half-Hispanic, but I live with white privilege.
I am economically privileged. I do not struggle to buy fresh produce or whole grains or lean meats. I do not depend on inexpensive, filling meals like McDonald’s like many families depend on because of their financial/life situation. I have resources for psychotherapy. I only work one job so I have time to reflect, practice mindfulness, go to counseling, go to the library, read books, listen to podcasts, and process my healing with friends/family, a privilege I wouldn’t have if I had to work 2+ jobs to make ends meet. With the awareness of my privileges, I also have to acknowledge the hard work I did to release myself from diet culture's grip.
And here I sit on the other side of healing. With a new body after pregnancy. With a new appreciation of what my body has done for me: it created life (with science's help); it grew and birthed my son; it produces life-giving (and chub-packing) food for my baby. It inhales and exhales and beats and moves. It puts on a swimming suit and plunges into the winter-warm pool on her 34th birthday, blissfully unaware of the way her body looks to others, fully aware of the water's hug around her soft skin, capturing the moment as her son dips into the pool for the first time.
A moment captured. A healing snapshot added to her mind's camera roll, replacing the harsh, judgment-filled photos of the past. Presence in the nowness. Only this baby. Only this love. Nothing more.
I wish healing like this for all of you. Life used to feel so small. Now, it is full and expansive like my thick thighs and strong mama arms.
Jiggle joyfully. Take up space without apology.