My morning started with a sadness and an understanding.
Maybe not quite in that order.
They were both a bit jumbled up
like feelings tend to be.
(Well, for me.
Maybe you have organized feelings,
but I’m not a chaos mage
because I have no experience with chaos
and want to learn more about it.)
Anyway, the feelings.
It was this understanding
that I can no longer carry with me
the disappointment and sadness
of hating my own body,
of being forever disappointed
by the physical being
that I exist in.
I can’t do it.
Even if I can find joy
in every other part of my life
even if I can extend
and express
love and contentment
in every other area
to all the other parts of my life
I cannot keep carrying that judgement.
I have too many other challenges
sorrows and frustrations
that I cannot put down
without hurting people I care about,
and carrying this one more,
it breaks me every time.
I have to put it down.
I cannot carry
hate and disgust
and hold open hostility
towards myself
and have enough energy
for everything else
that I want to give it to.
I’ve been slowly
for years
letting it go
one bit at a time
after years
of disordered eating
and being hostile towards
the physical representation of me,
with all of the
implications that come with it.
I’m more at peace now,
but sometimes,
it sneaks back up.
When a pair of pants don’t fit
that should have
that I was so looking forward to,
when Steve comments that
maybe they’ll be an incentive to lose weight
when he congratulates me
on being the lowest I’ve been in the last 4 years,
but notes that
I’ve gained since we met.
I have to point out
when we met
I wasn’t eating for days on end.
Three days at a stretch, five.
Of course, I’m healthier now.
My body
is building up what it needs
and learning to be at peace with itself.
You do not easily lift
a 60” tractor
with a 2x4 for leverage
without muscle and mass of your own.
I know the stereotypes
and they hold me back,
which is what they are meant to do.
I cannot give energy,
brain hertz,
or time
to worrying about
if I fit in with the cultural standards
of a culture I am disgusted by.
One more brick in the wall,
one more step forward.
It started almost 20 years ago,
and it gets easier each day.
It still sucks
when you measure with room
and the custom made pants
that you traded work for
don’t fit well.
Another pair for Bri, I guess.
I won’t subject myself
to worrying about
getting smaller
for a pair of pants.
I have things that matter more to me.
It makes me sad though,
to know I have that much to worry about
that I don’t have time
for the worry
of am I thin enough,
a luxury worry
when it’s not about health.
It made me sad
that I wasted so much time on it years ago,
as a way to get closer to someone I loved.
It makes me sad
to know
that I am not quite
strong enough
to be perfect at everything,
but the again
it makes me happy
to know
that I know
that kind of perfect
is bullshit.
What is it they say,
that intelligence is being able to hold
two opposing ideas in your mind at once,
and not lose your mind?
What if you can do three?
¿Soy una genio?
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