So … I wasn’t going to write this tonight, namely because it’s so important, and I’m so tired and really want to go to bed, but I’ll try to do this quickly.
I owe every woman who reads this website a massive apology: I. was. very. very. misguided. when I wrote that stupid post about my “stupid weight.”
Honestly, I realized it almost as I was writing it, which is why, towards the end, I asked rhetorically whether the sentiment was patently ridiculous:
“Although, frankly, part of me thinks this whole thing is really stupid, anyway. Who cares about an extra ten pounds in the scheme of things?? It’s so irrelevant. And almost embarrassing when people have real medical issues.”
Yeah, well, that was the right direction. Although I’m not the first person to say it, I find “rational thinking” embarrassingly difficult in the sea of bodily/diet obsession in which women now unhappily drown.
Here’s the truth: I’M ABSOLUTELY FINE AT 138. If I stayed 138 for the rest of my goddamn life, I’d be more than okay with it. I’m not even remotely fat. My waist measures 26 inches. I wear a size 4/6. Where in the HELL did I get the idea I wasn’t good enough as I am?? Oh, you know … the usual. TV. Movies. Magazines. Other women. And yeah, I guess when people on the internet call you fat, you start to wonder if you are. Well, excuse my language, but that’s bullshit.
I eat quite healthy. I never, ever, EVER drink softdrinks. I don’t eat fast food (Chipotle burrito bowls notwithstanding), I don’t eat meat, and as much as I talk about cupcakes, I probably only consume them once a month. My biggest indulgence is the occasional tuna melt and, of course, my beloved dates. (Not the kind you want to marry, the kind you want to chew.) I rarely drink, and when I do, it’s in moderation. I never smoke. I should probably exercise more, but I’m working on it - and that should have nothing to do with the size of my thighs or my ass. I want to exercise because it makes me FEEL good, because it’s good for my body, and by extension - yeah, yeah, barf, cheese alert - my soul.
And so, you know, if I’m meant to be 138 pounds, then goddamnit, that’s what I’m meant to be.
The (fat) bottom line: I am LITERALLY the only one in the world who really cares. And obsessing over something that matters that little is just pathetic. So I’m - to the best of my ability - going to make a conscious choice NOT to care anymore. Because it’s ridiculous that we - we meaning WOMEN - spend our time, our precious, beautiful moments on this earth, reviling ourselves for what is absolutely and positively IRRELEVANT. A few extra pounds? THAT’S what we want to contemplate endlessly?!?
Are our bodies healthy? Do they bring us joy? Can we walk and run and make love and eventually (dear god, very eventually) have babies? THEN GREAT. Why the hell are we complaining??
Please don’t take this the wrong way: I am absolutely, 1500% in favor of being as healthy as possible. If you can eat tons of veggies and fresh fruit and avoid caffeine and sugar and any sort of processed food, please, please do!! But let’s separate that from this obsession with pounds and weight and inches and sizes and the absolute nonsense crap we feed our souls.
So I owe each of you an apology for - a minute there - buying into The Skinny Industrial Complex. It’s too damn easy, which is no excuse, but I promise you that from today on, I’m going to do my best to keep my mind in a GOOD place, and that place is NOT counting calories. Let’s love ourselves a little more!! We’re all being way, way, WAY too hard on ourselves. If I wouldn’t want my daughter thinking this way, I don’t want me thinking this way.
And believe me, I never thought I’d say this, but even guys care a lot less about the supposed imperfections in our bodies than we do.
Be healthy. Exercise. Make good choices (oh, thanks Mom!). ENJOY DESSERT EVERY NOW AND AGAIN! But for godsakes, let’s stop thinking about our thighs.
Okay, I’m done. And, really, I’m sorry.
Love you all.
