beautiful, adored, true.



As this week began, I was certain that I knew what I was going to be blogging about for today's post. 

In moving to Flagstaff, I had made a commitment to wellness and had, for the first few months, carved out a sacred daily ritual, dedicated to healthy eating, daily exercise and soaking up every bit of emotional and spiritual inspiration that I could.  Blessed with the temporary gift of unemployment, I had all the time in the world to dedicate to this new passion.  I felt stronger, empowered. 

A few weeks ago, I began in a new position working for a local non-profit working with families in crisis. Honestly, I love it.  Beyond the true blessing of employment, it is challenging, heart-breaking, inspiring, educational and impactful.  Most days, I drive home inspired to learn more, connect deeply, and engage with everyone I meet in a more authentic way.

However, after months of creating daily rituals, I was jolted by the reality that my routine would completely change.  No longer would I have those long afternoons to read.  No longer could I wake up and workout.  No longer could I count on the basic daily rituals that I had fallen so deeply in love with. As my honey can attest, it was a bit of an emotional speed-bump for me, as I tested the waters of this new reality, missing my most beloved routines and forced to create new ones.  I could not figure out how to get past the loss of my much-loved routines and rituals, could not figure out how to move forward and create new habits.

This past weekend, after weeks of unhealthy, convenience-based eating and a complete lack of exercise, I hit a low point.  I found myself staring at my body in the mirror, thinking thoughts that I would not think about my worst enemies (not that I have any), and feeling like a true failure.  Where I had once felt strong and empowered, I now held tightly to the soft skin on my sides, feeling disgusted and discouraged.  My sweetheart held me, whispering softly that he wished that I loved myself as much as he did.

As the days passed and I slowly climbed out of that darkeness, struggling to remember my worth, I thought that I would be writing today about failure, redemption, starting over.

But then...

Victoria's Secret reminded me that I am beautiful, worthy, whole.

Let me explain.

Until Wednesday night, I had never seen the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.  Honestly, I'm not sure that I even really knew that it existed until a few weeks ago, when my sweetheart and I were talking about one of his classroom discussions.  Many of the women had expressed how deeply affected they were each year when watching the VS Fashion Show, the skantily-clad and unrealistically skinny models convincing them year after year that they were less-than-enough, unworthy in comparison to our society's vision of perfection.  As the event approached, I saw similar sentiments expressed through social networks, Facebook statuses and tweets of women preparing themselves for the self-esteem smack-down they expected to receive.

And so, it was with a true psychological interest that I tuned in.  I am not sure what I expected to experience, but all I could think, the models strutting down the runway, was this...

I am beautiful. The women on TV, they too are beautiful. But my worth is not defined by their proportions. Watching the models, decked out in angel wings and lacy lingerie, I was remind that I am real, I am whole. When my sweetheart wraps his arms around me, love-handles and all, it is not my measurements that define his love.  While it's nice to hear, I don't need anyone else to remind me of my worth. My body, while cushioned and curvy, is beautiful, real, authentically me.  And to wish that I was anyone else is to deny that I am beautiful, adored, true.

"love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet
and brother, arm wrapping shoulders, and remember,
this is important:
you are worth more than who you f*ck
you are worth more than a waistline
you are worth more than any naked body could proclaim
in the shadows, more than a man's whim
or your father's mistake
you are no less valuable as a size 16, than a size 4
you are no less valuable as a 32A than a 36C,
your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood;
wisdom."

 

-mary lambert, i know girls (bodylove) -

how lovely.

What a beautiful find from Heidi Bee Designs.

Inspires me to live with an open heart!

a generational illness

Just to be clear, I am not an expert.  In anything.  But, I am a curious soul.

Over the course of the past few years, through conversations, observations and occasional personal research on the subject, I have found a passion in learning more about the culture of dieting and weight loss within our society and the intertwining of weight, self-esteem, diet success and self-worth, particularly when it comes to western women.

I am not immune to this disease of weight-based-self-evaluation.  As the curvy girl in a thin family, I have struggled for years to maintain confidence, to find value in my character rather than in my jeans size.  I have dieted, both on my own and through structured programs, joined gyms, made goals, and lost weight.  And, I have found myself on the other side.  Whether it was true or not (and believe me, 99.99999999% of the time, it wasn't), I have oftentimes felt devoid of self-worth because of my weight, or my diet, or the way those jeans cut into my curves.  I have felt the depths of pain in not measuring up to whatever standard I saw for myself.  Felt pathetic, cursed, incomplete and defeated.

For me, these moments did not and do not inspire me to health.  If I worked out harder, it was to find value in the way my body felt and looked.  If I ate less calories, it was to prove to myself and others that I was worthy.  It wasn't health.  I had bought into our culture of dieting and weight loss.  Whatever our weight, skinny, curvy, muscular and more, we allow it to dictate our daily self-worth, an evaluation that can ebb and flow hourly, daily, weekly (and, let's face it ladies, often coincides with the monthly visit from Mother Nature).

And these ideas, well, they are often passed down like a generational illness of self-hate and self-criticism.  I find my passions ignited when I think about the generations of women who have been affected by our cultural norms, our mothers or our mothers' mothers' mothers both consciously and unintentionally passing down a vision of external perfection and self-worth that continues to influence the deepest recesses of who we deem ourselves to be.  I watch as friends - beautiful, passionate, hilarious and inspirational sisters - doubt, demean and criticize themselves, becoming angry or depressed when they eat the wrong thing or look the wrong way... as if somehow that is all that they are.

I watch as I do the same thing.

And I want to change it.  I would love to hear personal insights -- to learn about your experiences, to learn more about how your family of origin, your culture of origin, has shaped your view of yourself, your body and your self-worth.  This is where my passion lies.  In self-worth.  In strengths-based self-change.  In knowing that we are beautiful, worthy and courageous.