It’s ok that you’re getting kinda fat right now.

Hey girl.

It’s ok that you’re getting kinda fat right now. I know I know, it could be better but it could also be worse. You’re fearful of ever straying five pounds one way or the other and that has a lot to do with expectations. Expectations that you hold others to, expectations you hold yourself to. You worry you will be betraying all the promises you’ve made to yourself and falling guilty to all the judgements you’ve made of others. But hey, it’s ok, really. You have permission to change, even if you don’t necessarily like that change, because you have to adapt to current situations. If you expected to stay the same, then you could never grow. Do not let self perception drag down your pride and confidence just because the physical image doesn’t meet the ideal preference; deep down we know we determine how we see ourselves.

It’s ok that you’re getting kinda fat right now. You don’t work out 4 hours a day anymore, nor do you eat perfectly proportioned, well balanced meals every single day. You’re not single and living with people who are also health nuts anymore, life is too complicated for that regimen now.

It’s ok that you’re getting kinda fat right now. It’s 7 days before your period starts and we go through this panic every month where I have to remind you that you’re not getting fat, that it’s just water weight and bloat.

It’s ok that you’re getting kinda fat right now. You’ve taken a dramatic change in lifestyle that is far more sedentary and extremely less physical. You’re not going to burn through calories just by living any more.

It’s ok that you’re getting kinda fat right now. You’ve been sleeping poorly, irregularly, and never quite enough. That happens when you work a varying schedule and so does your husband and you both also share a full size bed with an 80lb dog.

What’s not ok is beating yourself up over it. What’s not ok is thinking you’re a failure because you are not the living example of perfect health. What’s not ok is to train really really hard then completely gorge yourself under the excuse “it’s cheat day”

Time for some real talk. One day you’ll be an expectant mother and undergo some extreme body changes and good luck trying to fit a whole baby under those tightly toned abs. We are going to get over this attachment to physical image because I’m not going to put up with any of this “I’m fat” nonsense. No, you’re pregnant. After that you’ll have a mom body because you spend more time focusing on your family then on yourself. What’s important now is that we just keep incorporating an active lifestyle and reasonable eating habits into our new way of life. What’s important is finding what you need and then letting your husband know how he can help you. Sometimes food isn’t the best way to show love, even if it is an extra helping of macaroni or a smores quesadilla. If I want to have a family and advance my career and pursue my creative passion and also make more time for my friends then I’m going to have to accept that there isn’t time enough for everything.

What’s important is I stay strong enough to do my job, energetic enough to support my family, and calm enough to be the leader I aspire to be. There’s enough stress coming in from the world, why should I generate my own because I no longer look like a fitness model. I enjoy exercise and I will not have you making it into some sort of chore or punishment. I want to be healthy and that comes in all kinds of sizes and flavors.

(PS: Also, don’t be mad when you put off working out or sleeping or meal prepping or chores or anything like because you “got caught up writing”. When the muse comes, you have to listen. But now, go run, because it’s good for you.)

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july the second

Sometimes I worry that my disinterest in the rules of society make me look ignorant of the rules entirely. I exist in this paradoxical state where I just don’t care about superficially impressing others but then I worry someone will see this as ignorant or disrespectful. I don’t want to care about my hair and makeup or my clothes, but because society does I feel pressured to at least make an effort. I don’t want to care if I look provocative or unprofessional but since we continue to insist on being a visually driven animal, then it behooves pride that I strive to fit the image that I want people to see of me.

Pride is going to be what kills me. My last words will most certainly be “It’s the principle of the thing.” I will stubbornly hold out because pride says not to give in. Pride says I don’t need help, that I’ll get it on my own eventually. My steam-engine drive is stoked with pride but throw on too many coals and the whole thing is likely to blow. Pride will feed and pride will starve. Pride demands the best and laments anything less.

Say what you will about pride, however, it’s what’s kept me alive today. Too proud to quit when I want to give up, too proud to settle for less than best. In my darkest hours, it’s been my pride that’s kept me from giving into the voices that say “you can’t”. Pride drives my work ethic, keeps me determined to be the best, no matter how menial the task. The pride I feel over my health keeps maintenance a priority.

Do the western philosophies not recognize the balance and order of the east? Do we not understand that equivalent exchange is in fact a natural law? To appreciate rest, one must work. To experience relief, pain must be applied first. All things rise and swell then release and collapse. Pride in one’s work, one’s accomplishments is not sin because it is not hubristic in nature. Be proud of what you’ve done, not boastful. Be confident, not foolish. The pride that dooms our souls is the kind that pulls us from our path, that tempts us to take more than we give, to claim more than we own. But take pride in a job well done,  a good deed enacted.

I hear by declare that in the one woman nation of me, it is okay to feel proud. Feel good about the good that you do for goodness sake. You are no-where near the limits of “overly confident” and this self sabotaging doubt will not clear your soul. This dismissive modesty is like trying to clean a window with a dirty rag, how will anyone see the beauty on the other side if you keep smearing grime on the glass? Take credit where it is given, no one can take away what you know in your heart what you’ve accomplished.

 

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I am really really really over the restrictions society wants to place on my breasts. I considered myself inferior for far too long because I can’t fill an A-cup. I stopped doing anything that required me to “get dressed” which was the category of everything that involves wearing anything more substantial than a sports bra. I got rid of otherwise fantastic clothing because I didn’t like the way it made my boobs look. I feel embarrassed or self-conscious is people could see too much of my breasts or even if my nipples were visible. I didn’t like my breasts simply because they didn’t fit the standard. I have focused too much energy into how to improve my breasts.

well, I’m fucking over it. Society, you can have these fears back, I don’t want them. My tits are fucking spectacular, functional, and I can sleep on my stomach. One day milk will come put of my nipples and give sustenance and nutrition to my child and I don’t give a good god damn if that bothers you. I am also married as fuck. He loves my boobs, and is secure enough to not worry about who else sees them. I do not have any interest in finding a new man or attracting any other attention and my husband is not worried about any man trying to steal me away. He knows that any one who dares to insert themselves between us should fear the fury and wrath of an annoyed goddess.

So I’m going to stop giving a fuck what the opinions of others are about my breasts. I may still have to abide hypocritical and oppressive decency laws, but not in the privacy of my own home. I’m going to wear what I want to wear, be comfortable and just stop giving two fucks about who might see a nip slip. If you’re someone who knows where I live and comes in frequently, then clearly I trust you and find you non-threatening, but be warned you will see my boobs at some point.

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I am really really really over the restrictions society wants to place on my breasts. I considered myself inferior for far too long because I can’t fill an A-cup. I stopped doing anything that required me to “get dressed” which was the category of everything that involves wearing anything more substantial than a sports bra. I got rid of otherwise fantastic clothing because I didn’t like the way it made my boobs look. I feel embarrassed or self-conscious is people could see too much of my breasts or even if my nipples were visible. I didn’t like my breasts simply because they didn’t fit the standard. I have focused too much energy into how to improve my breasts.

well, I’m fucking over it. Society, you can have these fears back, I don’t want them. My tits are fucking spectacular, functional, and I can sleep on my stomach. One day milk will come put of my nipples and give sustenance and nutrition to my child and I don’t give a good god damn if that bothers you. I am also married as fuck. He loves my boobs, and is secure enough to not worry about who else sees them. I do not have any interest in finding a new man or attracting any other attention and my husband is not worried about any man trying to steal me away. He knows that any one who dares to insert themselves between us should fear the fury and wrath of an annoyed goddess.

So I’m going to stop giving a fuck what the opinions of others are about my breasts. I may still have to abide hypocritical and oppressive decency laws, but not in the privacy of my own home. I’m going to wear what I want to wear, be comfortable and just stop giving two fucks about who might see a nip slip. If you’re someone who knows where I live and comes in frequently, then clearly I trust you and find you non-threatening, but be warned you will see my boobs at some point.

Skinny Girl Bragging Rights

So unlike my amphibious brother, I was not born with a useful metabolism. I’ve been 5’5 since 1999 but at one point I weighed up to 130lbs. For the past few years I’ve been at an average of 120, a feat I feel deserves just as much recognition as weight loss. The will power and dedication to maintenance is too often overshadowed by the “Biggest Loser” style stories of sacrifice and struggle.

Which is why I did not even hesitate tonight when I walked into the grocery story, by myself, at 7:30 at night, bought a single pint of ice cream, paid cash, and walked out with no bag. The cashier gave me a look that was both judgmental and envious. That’s right, the skinny girl is going to go eat all of this in one sitting. Why should I be bashful about this? When I put on my size 3 jeggings in the morning, they’re still going to fit loose. I work hard to have the right to splurge. Want to know how much my two hour, 13’08” per mile jog burned on Saturday? 1251 calories. I know girls for whom that’s their entire intake for the day. My typical daily work out still averages between 300-500 calories, plus I work a physically strenuous job. So my caloric needs are usually around 2500 a day to maintain. At 5’5 and 118lbs, that’s a lot of food. Most of it comes lean proteins and vegetable fats but at least once a week I like a day to live like Hedonism-bot. Even on a daily basis you gotta leave a little wiggle room to have fun, but it’s still important to be mindful of what you’re eating. My new favorite trick is to cut up a bunch of apples, put them in a single serving sized baking dish, mix a little honey or peanut butter, top with granola and cook for 10 mins. It’s easier than baking a whole damn pie, but tastes more like on than one of those silly yogurts.

That’s why it burns me up so much when I hear people say “Go eat a cheeseburger”. I do eat the cheeseburger, and the fries, and the beer, and hell probably some cookies if they’re around. I’m also in the healthy BMI range and I make sure I stay there, the body does require some fat otherwise you’re one flu away from disaster. It’s also very annoying when my less fit friends dismiss me as “having it easy”. No, I work fucking hard to be this fit and if you stop focusing on things that are out of bounds you can be too. I’m going to complain about having trouble keeping up with the amount of food I need to eat. I am going to be frustrated when my favorite little black dress no longer fits because it’s too big. And you know what, yes big girls I am sure the back pain from a DD must be awful but at least you can find bras that fit just about anywhere.

I am also going to continue to enjoy eating massive meals in public, knowing that somewhere on the other side of the room there is a girl that’s going hungry by choice. I know, I’m a terrible person, but I get such schadenfreude from catching the eye of an jealous dieter. There’s a very wrong sense of satisfaction in being an object of envy. But I’ve earned it. I may not have conquered a personal mountain of weight loss to get where I am today but I am running the ultra race of balance that takes just as much perseverance and dedication and I think that’s worth something. So skinny girls, be proud! And to those still overcoming their mountains, don’t worry you’ll have bragging rights soon enough.