We’ve never quite been the best of friends, have we? Always at war over this and that. A bulge here, too many lumps there. Not enough lumps in the right places. Too soft. Too big. Thighs too large. Boobs too small. A wrinkle here, a crow’s foot there. Another line that shows the years we’ve spent together and all that we’ve been through.
Remember how we used to battle the scales every day (sometimes three times or more)? Two kilos on, one kilo off – the ever-shifting tale that had the power to make or break a mood. The quick fix diets we tried, the endless books we read. The fad workouts we sweated through and then discarded. Inches, kilos, pounds, stones. The obsession over needing to meet the magic number.
And what about the endless concern over what to eat or what not to eat? A vicious circle of fodder guiltily scoffed and then over analysed. The comparisons we made (and still make) to glossier, slimmer, fitter versions of the bodies we might like to be. The tears shed over not feeling happy in our own skin.
A broken record in desperate need of a change.
Aren’t you totally bored of it all? I know I certainly am.
After 36 years together, I think we’re finally making some headway. With two pregnancies under our belt, I’m gaining a new appreciation for you. Two (big) babies carried and safely delivered. The aches, the pains, the new lines and curves gained, the unbelievable strength you’ve shown. It’s cliché, I know, but you’ve done a bloody good job. I’m doing my best to appreciate the miracles we’ve both achieved.
Sure, we’re a bit broken. We’re sometimes pretty darn tired. We’d rather a glass of red over a HIIT fix. Our nutribullet is gathering dust. Kale is something we’ve never quite mastered.
Yes, dear body, I still get p*ssed off at you on a regular basis. But you’re doing your best. With two crazy little people in tow, life is less about hour-long yoga practices and more about remembering to breathe in the midst of the chaos. It’s a shift from the physical to the really hard practice of acceptance. It’s a pat on the back for our sheer team effort.
So let’s sit down. Put our feet up. Give ourselves a darn break. Will we ever be “beach body ready”? Maybe. Will we ever wake up to 20K instagram followers lusting after our washboard stomach? Ha! Definitely not. (That would require less cake than we’re willing to muster). Will we ever be happy with our jiggly bits? We’re trying. Geez, we’re really trying.
Most importantly (and excuse the soppy turn, but it’s necessary) – will we be able to teach our friends and children that love begins with ourselves? Will we tell our daughters not to worry as damn much as we did about their beautiful little bodies? Will we try to look at photos and see the happy smiles instead of the extra inch or three we always think we’ve packed on? Can we remind ourselves that life is more about the moments we spend laughing together than the calories we consume?
I blooming well hope so.
So, cheers to you, old bod. Let’s keep working on that ceasefire.*
(*raises G&T, not kettlebell)
Life is too short to spend another day at war with yourself.