My size has been a sensitive subject since I was very young. I could still tell you exactly where I was when I first heard “you’re fat, sign up for Jenny Craig”. These words have haunted me since grade 3.
Of course I knew this truth before the words left the 6th graders mouth but it was the first time someone had expressed it so bluntly. The fact is I’ve been the same weight since I was in grade 3. 120lbs.
Weight is a sensitive subject for all women. No matter how others truely view you there’s always better in your own mind. No matter how fit you get there’s always a little more waiting to be achieved.
For me these thoughts spiralled into unhealthy habits from a very young age. I remember justifying my size through my horrible posture starting in grade 1. My annual doctor visit where she weighed me on the cold metal scale was a day I dreaded for weeks prior because I knew she’d tell me I was still just slightly over weight. I’d never reach perfection. These are feelings I had all through elementry school. I dreamed of the day she’d look at me with approval after checking the scale. But even when that day came I still didn’t feel like it was enough.
I’d spend hours standing infront of my parents full length mirror checking to see if I could see my hip bones from under the layer of fat. Could I see them yet? Would I ever? Hours of my middle school life were spent planning out the perfect workout routine and pushing myself to, if not past, the limit to see those hip bones. Each time I’d give up for a while after minimal results.
Food habits changed and I’d eat very little throughout the day. Then I’d come home to all of the snacks which I hated myself for just moments later. These habits were an endless cycle of determination and disappointment. I built up so much resentment against myself because I knew I’d never get where I wanted.
All the blame of why the boy didn’t like me fell on my weight. All of the failure of not having all the friends fell on my weight. Everything that went wrong in life I found a way to tie to my self proclaimed unappealing physique.
It all got worse when dance became a part of my life. Because then I was on display daily. Minimal formfitting clothing in a room full of what I considered perfect figures.
My lack of training compared to my classmates had nothing to do with my innability to perform at their level, it was all my weight. Can’t do that triple pirouette? It’s because your core isn’t tight enough. Can’t lift your leg to your head? It’s because your legs aren’t toned enough. Arms don’t look picture perfect? It’s because they’re too big.
In reality I knew it wasn’t true. But my head knowledge wasn’t my heart knowledge. I didn’t believe that I could ever be precieved as small even though I was only 5′ tall with a 26″ waist line. I worked out a lot and ate little. There was never good enough. Progress only meant more lengthly self inspections leading to a longer list of necessary improvements. The harder I worked, the farther I fell from my idea of my perfect self. The more weight I lost in reality, the more my brain showed me I gained. I knew what I saw was morphed. But I didn’t believe it. I was trying to force myself into a body type I wasn’t made for.
I knew it all along too. There was always an internal debate of “stop this it’s unhealthy” and “push harder”. I remember looking in the same full length mirror in grade 9 and literally watching my body change form from what reality was to the overweight girl I saw in my head. To me she was real. She was what the rest of the world saw too. She could never be good enough.
This all progressed to my breaking point. Last April, almost a year ago, I had gotten myself into running. I’d run the neighborhood daily. Even though I hate running and always have. It was the day after Easter and I loathed myself for all the chocolate I had consumed. I went for a run and pushed way too hard. I ended up on the other side of the neighborhood far too close to passing out on the side of the road. I got myself back home to the bathroom where I tried desperately to make all the holiday food come back up.
That’s when I realized I needed to take a serious step back. That’s when I realized I needed to do soul work before I could do more body work. I couldn’t handle it anymore. So I stopped. I didn’t work out for 6 months. I refused to do anything with the intention of altering my body’s appearance. And it was hard.
It was almost harder than all those years of forcing myself through it. I had to slowly convince myself that no matter what I saw, not only did others see me differently, but God saw me differently. He saw His masterpiece morphing itself into some carbon copy version of worldly beauty. It broke His heart because He knew I could never be that. He knew I’d never be able to achieve the worlds idea of beauty because I wasn’t made for it. I was never created to fit into the skin of the girl infront of me on the ballet barre. I wasn’t made to have a thigh gap or rock hard abs. I was made to be a warrior in spirit that fights for His will rather than the will of my flesh.
Achieving outter perfection is impossible. There will never be good enough. But the beauty of being God’s masterpiece is that my inner beauty has already been made perfect through the ultimate sacrifice. I don’t have to sacrifice my love for bread or chocolate to reach my prime with Him.
So here’s the honest body talk. There are days I still wish I was a little slimmer, a little fitter, a little prettier. But it ends there because I know it will never be my reality. It’s no longer something I desperately wish to achieve. My eyes are set higher. On the one who tells me I’m already perfect to Him. And His words have a lot more power than that 6th grader.
