The other day, I was laying down in the shower, as I do, thinking. Thinking about my body, as it happens.
You see, I have never really liked my body, as is. I have always wanted smaller thighs, a flatter belly, less jiggle to my upper arms, less pudge in my cheeks. At my highest highs, I felt this way. At the smallest I've ever been in my adult life (lasted all of 2 months in my first year university), I felt this way. I would lay in the bathtub looking at myself, or stand sideways in front of a mirror, sucking in my stomach thinking: if only I were that size, I'd be happier with my body. It's still too big, but that size would be better.
To say that most weight loss in my life hasn't been healthy would be an understatement. I starved myself for a year spanning the end of high school and the begining of university. Or I've lost weight because I've been so damn dizzy and nauseous that I couldn't eat. Even now, if I'm being honest, a large part of my weight loss has been illness-related, though I've also wised up about portion control and balancing meals.
The difference: at my smallest in first year university I looked at my body and said if only I lost 20 more pounds, I would be prettier and more lovable. if I were as small always as I am when I am sucking in my gut, I'd be closer to being thin.
Now? I suck in my gut and I think damn, that would be kind of gross if I got that small. Or, if I lost 10 pounds that would put me right into a healthier weight range for my body size (height, build, etc). Even more than that: If I strengthened my ab muscles, maybe my back would hurt less. Or, I wish that I could do more with my body. When I stop and look in a mirror I think damn, I'm looking kind of hot today. I'll take this.
Here's the thing: my body isn't perfect. At no point has it ever been perfect, nor will it ever be perfect. And that's ok. Do I like enjoying how my body looks? Sure. But being thinner has not magically fixed all the problems in my body: it doesn't stop me from having dark, noticeable arm hair, it doesn't stop the strange shape my belly takes where it looks like I have rolls, even when I'm smaller, it doesn't change the fact that my thighs still rub together or that I don't like my fingers.
Boo fucking hoo.
So what I think I have fat, fugly fingers? They dance across a keyboard quite easily, and I are the biggest part in making my beautiful needlepoint projects. One looks beautiful in my engagement ring.
Those thighs? Help me walk. Look damn hot in demin. Hold my weight.
My belly? Indentations and funny rolls are far less concerning than the nausea that has been plaguing me for months.
Those are just the things that I dislike about my body. That's not speaking about how much I love my ass*, or enjoying my collarbones. I've reached the point where, yes, I still want and need my body to be aesthetically pleasing. Yes, I think it can be pleasing even with flaws.
More importantly, though? I want a body that works. Something that performs what I ask of it. That helps me go where I want to go, physically and mentally. That makes me happy.
*Note: Bunny will (I'm sure) want me to note that that's actually his ass.