I’ve been feeling fat lately.
Now don’t go thinking this is a ploy to get you to be all, “Oh Jen! You’re not fat! You’re perfect just the way you are!” because it’s not. It’s really really not. So please don’t.
Whether my feelings of fatness are accurate or not (and who’s to say they’re not?) they’re real. And one thing I’ve learned is to acknowledge that feelings and emotions are not bad or good. They just are. How we respond to them can be bad or good, but the actual feelings are just part of our reality.
And right now, my reality is that I feel fat.
In interest of full disclosure, I’ll tell you that I wear the same size jeans I did when I graduated from high school. This is one of the benefits of being very tall: you can gain 20 pounds without it making a huge difference, because the weight is distributed over a very large surface area. It’s a blessing, I know. But see, while I still wear the same size as I did nearly 10 years ago, back then I was just barely to big for an 8 and now I’m just barely too small for a 12. And trust me, I can feel the difference.
I know this is largely my fault. Eating giant milkshakes several times a week for several years is bound to catch up to a person sooner or later. And I don’t spend a lot of time “being active.” I knit. I read. I take photos. I blog. These are not exactly cardiovascularly challenging hobbies. These are both things I’m trying to work on. My diet plan involves healthier meal choices and never eating more than David does. My exercise plan involves taking the stairs more at work, and doing sit-ups in the morning, and eventually going on walks when it decides to cool down around here.
Baby steps, my friends. Baby steps.
Yesterday, while perusing sewing blogs (note: I don’t sew, but I kind of wish I did) I found a post that talked about feeling comfortable in our own skin. The author included a quote from Eve Ensler (of The Vagina Monologues fame) in her play The Good Body, which I’d like to share:
Maybe being good isn’t about getting rid of anything.
Maybe being good has to do with living in the mess
in the frailty
in the failures
in the flaws...
Our body is our country,
the only city,
the only village,
the only every
we will ever know…
We live in a good body.
We live in the good body.
Whatever my feelings about Eve Ensler, I like what she’s saying here. Or at least I like what I’m inferring from what she’s saying, since I doubt she’s thinking about this in religions terms at all.
This body is the only one I’ll ever get. Even when I’m resurrected, I’ll still be living in this body. A perfect version thereof, sure, but I only take that to mean I won’t need glasses and my feet won’t hurt anymore. It’ll still be my body. It’s the one God gave me, and I should be–and am–grateful for such a gift. I have lungs that breathe and hands that work and joints that bend and fabulous hair.