I used to hate my body until I saw a woman at the gym who was SUPER skinny and I thought "I hate her" (thinking of course that I wanted to look like her) and then I saw her t-shirt - she was a cancer survivor. I had this "whoa!" moment - why do I hate my body just because it doesn't look like some pretty arbitrary standard, instead of loving it because it's healthy and mine all mine, and gets me where I want to go? Why am I so obsessed with looking good instead of just grateful to be healthy? Why am I judging other people the way I DON'T want to be judged? How are my own hangups getting in the way of being compassionate to other people and to myself?
Since then I've been a lot more gentle with myself - I try to exercise because it's good for me and makes me feel good, I try to eat enough healthy food to take care of myself, and enough chocolate to make me happy.
I still have moments when I really wish I looked different - taller, thinner, bigger boobs, smaller thighs, whatever - but then I go look at Boticelli, and Twiggy, and Marilyn Monroe, and Marie Antoinette, and realize that there are all kinds of beautiful, and what's considered beautiful at any given time is pretty damned arbitrary. So why shouldn't I be my own definition of beautiful?
Life's too short to spend so much time trying to be something else. Women used to have to wear corsets. Now our bodies are expected to be their own corsets! I'd rather eat good bread.
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"If ten million people believe a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing."
- Anatole France
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