The Quest for Comfort

Gratuitous body image discussion after the cut.  Enter at your own risk.

I’ve been down in the dumps about my size lately.  The negativity just keeps knocking no matter how long I wait to answer the door.  I answered it this month.  I cried, I whined, I dined on self-pity for a few days, and I went to see my doctor.  My wonderful, lovely, zaftig doctor who is now much thinner and tanner, and looks older because of it.

I have no wish to be tan, lean, and hard-bodied.  I’m aware of and ok with the fact that my body will always be soft. I’m not ok with its current lack of  strength.  I’m not ok with the bulk.  I can be healthy at a size 12-14.  I can be strong and fit.  I will have muscles.  Long staircases will wither under my glare.  I will still have an ample ass and boobs that are bigger than I’d like, but those will follow me whatever I weigh.  My thighs may always rub together, and my knees may always look a bit thick, but I will climb to the top of Petra and I will be able to run a mile.  I will be able to haul myself onto a ledge to avoid rampaging raccoons.

I will do this, because however atrophied my biceps are right now, I am still strong where it counts.

I’m supposed to come up with a list of ways my body makes me feel uncomfortable, so I can gauge progress.

Bulk that makes yoga poses difficult

Arms that don’t fit into sleeves

Jeans and belts that dig into my waist and rub painful streaks

Boots that won’t zip up my calves

Not fitting into every chair

Unease on packed flights where I can’t sit next to an empty seat

Being the fattest person in every picture

Wheezing at the top of stairs

Difficulty lifting myself up onto ledges and jumping down the rocks at the beach

Not buttoning coats

The weight that settles back on my body when I get out of the pool

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