The following is the monologue that I prepared and shared with the group:
Her nose is perfect. She has
great hair. She has amazing abs. She is
really tall. Look how strong her arms
are. I wish my boobs were firmer, my
butt was bigger, my hair longer, my feet smaller, my legs skinnier. I hate being short. I hate being tall. I want, I hate, I need, look at her, look at her. Just look.
Nobody is perfect. No one goes
through life completely satisfied with how they feel every day, how they look
in the mirror or how their clothes fit. But we are all perfect. Our bodies are marvelous creations that have
been formed by the choices we have made and the circumstances we have been
presented with. As women, our bodies are
beautiful and strong, miracles of nature that we far too often take for
granted.
I hate to admit that I spent years torturing my body and in the end I
achieved nothing but self-destruction, depression and misery. Sure I was
skinny, but I was miserable and half dead inside. From the age of 14 until 23 I struggled with
anorexia, sometimes acutely when I needed hospitalization and sometimes more in
my head than in my outward appearance or actions. I was never heavy, never
suffered from abuse; honestly I had nothing to complain about. My life was “perfect”. I should have been ok. I was one of the
“lucky” ones. And yet even I was not
safe from my own mind. I understand more
fully the reasons now for why I suffered so much back then, but I can’t change
the past, nor do I wish to. I only have
control over what I do today and how I restructure my thoughts whenever I begin
to falter.
There may have been a lot of reasons why I fell prey to an eating
disorder and later to a strong bout of alcohol abuse, but I know one main
reason why I survived. At the age of 23,
I got pregnant. Obviously this could
look like just another bump in a road to disaster and I would not recommend
this path to anyone. Having a child is
usually the worst thing you can add to an already shaky life. But it worked for me. For years I had been searching for my purpose
in life, my passion, a way to focus all my strengths without the need to be
perfect. And the only consistent answer
I had ever given when asked what I wanted to be when I "grew up," was "a
mom." So getting pregnant, and having an
amazing man by my side through it all, saved me. My son, saved me. I know that in my heart and
honestly believe that if it wasn’t for him, I may not be standing here in front
of all of you today.
This is not to say that every day since I heard the words “you are
pregnant” my life has been easy or all my problems have been solved. But it forced me to look outside of myself
while learning to absolutely love all that my body is capable of doing. I had something and someone to focus my
energy on, and I started to be kinder to myself. I began to really grasp the concept that what
I put in my body really mattered, not just as far as how many calories it had
and what it would do to my shape, but in regards to the simple fact that “we
are what we eat.” If I want to feel strong
and healthy, I need to eat properly, and focus on a diet rich in fruits,
vegetables, whole grains, proteins, vitamins and minerals. I need to trust that my body knows what it
needs and to give into my cravings whether it be a piece of fruit, a bar of
chocolate or a jar of pickles. My body
knows what it needs if I quiet my mind long enough to listen.
Of course I still slip up, both in action and in thought. In the past year alone I have found myself
working out too much, eating too much or too little at times, drinking too many
beers on a Saturday night, or not letting myself rest when all I really need to
do is breathe. But I don’t punish myself because of it. I am kind.
I look at myself in the mirror as others would (sometimes by not
focusing on my face and looking solely at my body as if it was someone else’s-
that really can work!) and I try to find things I love about myself. Every day. If I feel the demons of my past
creeping up, I close my eyes, and just let myself feel. Feel my breath enter and exit my body and
just be. Think of the feeling of extreme
relaxation I experience before drifting off to sleep, the sweet complex taste
of a simple strawberry against my tongue, the complete exhaustion of my muscles
after running for 3 miles, aching for breath and relief but bursting with
adrenaline and pride. My body can do all
those things; this one body that I have been given, that I have tortured,
scrutinized, bullied and finally learned to love.
This body made life. That is really cool. And it is the only vessel I have been given
to get through this life of mine. So I need to treat it well. All I have to do is look into the eyes of my
two marvelous children and I know what I have to keep fighting for, who I have
to be an example for, and what I have to be proud of. But I am also proud of me, who I am, with all
my flaws, mistakes, bumps and bruises. I
have the ability with this imperfect body of mine to offer comfort and security
to my children, express my love for my husband of almost ten years, prove my
own strength by running for 30 minutes without stopping, and running a 200m
race in a little over 30 seconds even though I know my athletic prime is long
gone. I keep on trying, because what do
I have to lose, except everything? I am
here now, I am alive, and for that, I am thankful.
I am not perfect, I will never be perfect, but I am perfect just the way
I am.
