Body Battle

This is not a New Year’s Resolution.  It’s more like a resolution I’ve had since the day I gave birth to my son and only lost the 8 lbs. 9 oz. of his weight.  Yep, the battle of the bulge.  Okay so that’s an exaggeration.
    All my life I’ve been unsure of my body.  Maybe that’s because I started out as a runt, wearing the same size clothes as my little sister.  My mom thought it was cute.  She dressed us like twins whenever possible.  I was a twig, to put it realistically.   Then 7th grade comes along and wham! I have curves, and long legs, and HUGE feet.  And not the coolest clothes in school…but that’s another story.  One I really don’t care to tell as it has no bearing on how I feel about myself. 
    When I look at pictures of me then, I can’t even believe I had a poor body image.  I looked fantastic, really.  I was athletic and outgoing, and never had trouble making friends.  And to tell the truth about it, it would be funny to think about….IF….

    IF I didn’t have a beautiful daughter who is charming and awesome and bound to be curvy and tall, just like her mom.  When I think about the media’s portrayal of the right body (non-existent! This one’s too small, that one’s too fat…) I want to hide her away and protect her from the inevitable judgment of others, and even harsher judgment of herself.  Which leads me to my non-resolution, resolution.  To be happy with myself, and be her first and closest example of a positive body image. 
    Lately, I have been eating healthier and staying active.  These things aren’t all that hard for me to do as it turns out.  I walk the dog, walk to the mailbox, pick up the kids, put down the kids.  I also go to the gym whenever possible.  I’m sure that in time, I will start to see the changes that I’m hoping for, and that will motivate me further.  But the thing that I’ve realized, begrudgingly, is that I am no longer eighteen.  I cannot expect myself to look it or feel it.  What I can do is be my healthiest, happiest self at twenty-six. 
    How do I plan to do this?  Well, one step at a time.  By keeping with my goals and refusing to give up.  I don’t really have a weight in mind.  I have in mind to feel good about myself and to stop using the word ’diet’ so much.  No, I’ll stop using it altogether.  Ultimately my goal is to quit comparing myself to little bitty people who are always going to be little bitty.  I have these things called hips, and as far as I know, they aren’t going away.  So it’s time to get happy with them.  Because my husband seems to be, and well, that’s pretty important.
    In another five or more years from now (Dear Lord, please let it be more) when my daughter starts looking more like a young woman, I only hope that she will know her worth inside and out.  That she will be active and content and love herself for the effort she puts forth. That she could look first to God and then to her family and realize that she is exactly who she is supposed to be.  Big feet or not.  Wouldn’t that be a happy ending?