Even though my bra size is average, I was convinced I had oversized boobs. It’s a miracle I didn’t develop an eating disorder. I certainly have great sympathy for young girls who do.
I wanted to like my body, just like Rosy. I joined a gym where a personal trainer told me to throw away my scale and focus instead on how I fit into my clothes and how much energy I had.
Of all the lifestyle factors I began changing—diet, exercise, sleep patterns—the most important was my attitude. Instead of looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, “God, I look horrible!” I tried to accept my body in whatever form it was presenting on any given day and made modifications that helped me feel better. When I was feeling bloated, I wore looser clothes. When I had bags under my eyes, I wore brighter colors. On a bad hair day, I put on a cute hat. I started eating healthier and avoided deprivation diets that I knew I wouldn’t be able to sustain. When I didn’t feel like doing my normal exercise routine, I gave myself permission to only do ten minutes on the treadmill. (Once I got to the gym, I usually ended up working out longer anyway.)
I also decided to adopt a more light-hearted attitude toward my body. On the days I felt worst, I’d wear playful jewelry and outfits that lifted my mood. I didn’t beat myself up over having a little ice cream for dessert every night. I created a playlist of my favorite songs and rocked out on the Stairmaster like I was at a club.
As I continued having a kinder, more fun attitude toward my body, I discovered more parts of myself that I liked. I noticed how my baggy capris showed off my muscled calves, and how my “bad hair day” hat accentuated my light brown eyes. The prettier I felt, the more motivated I became to reach my health goals. My body responded in kind. I didn’t feel good when I ate too much junk food or drank too much booze. I’d start to feel sluggish if I didn’t move my body at least a little. In place of the negative childhood voices, I was now hearing my own voice, which was excited about the healthy, attractive me that was emerging. Within a few months, I dropped four sizes.
Twenty years later, I’m even more fit and down another size. I still struggle with my body image off and on, including my new nemesis of aging. I’m finding that loving my body is a process, as my appearance and health continue to change over time. But by maintaining that same attitude of self-acceptance and fun, the positive voice drowns out the critical one. I continue to make choices that keep me healthy; but even when I make bad choices, I don’t beat myself up. I just get back on track as soon as I can.
I Quit!
Life’s Too Short to Stay in a Crappy Job
Five months into my corporate job in downtown San Francisco, I couldn’t take it anymore. After everyone else in my office had left, I took the elevator down to the lobby and crept into the middle of a cluster of eight-foot tall planters, the closest thing to nature I could find. I slumped onto the floor and leaned back against a potted palm. I’d been doing my best to be a “good” college grad, getting a job and always paying my rent. Looking down at my briefcase and perfect pumps, it all felt so vapid and meaningless. Suddenly, all of my frustration and unhappiness came tumbling out—I hate these stupid clothes. I hate this stupid job. I hate sleeping on that stupid futon in the stupid living room.
Apparently, everything in my life was “stupid.” I’d reverted to the vocabulary of a six-year-old. I started to laugh, just a little at first, then uncontrollably. Then my laughter switched to sobbing. What am I doing here? Is this really how I want to spend my life? I buried my head in my hands and cried.
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