(Mostly) Positive Body Talk

I have body issues. Not the make yourself puke kind, or the only eat five almonds a day kind or the have to go to rehab kind—the normal kind. The living in a perpetual state of wanting to lose five-to-10 pounds kind, the "I couldn't wear that" kind, the counting calories kind. You know, the kind most women (and a fair amount of men) have. 

I've tried to flatten my stomach by sheer force of will. I've scrubbed my face raw trying to stave off the acne my period brings. I've stuffed my boobs into bras that lift, separate, provide a more pleasing silhouette. But I don't hate my body. Actually, I generally feel pretty all right about it. Sometimes I just wish I could blink and change a bunch of things about it. You know, normal stuff. 

Everyone should feel good about their body, I believe that. Still I find myself judging another person (usually another woman) based on their physical appearance. (Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned.) Is it because I'm really just a superficial bitch?  Or worse—is this my internalized misogyny speaking? 

Best case scenario: I am just too cynical for the body positivity movement. While it's unrealistic to hold any woman—or even any person—to the photoshopped, Uncanny Valley-esque images we're confronted with daily, it's equally unrealistic for a person to wake up, every single day, and go about their day, not wishing something about their physicality was different. It's unrealistic to never make snap judgements about people based on how they look, no matter how much we tell ourselves it's what's on the inside that counts. (Sorry, but anyone wearing an Affliction shirt will never not come off as a douche, no matter how great they may actually be.) 

My possible internalized misogyny and definite cynicism aside: I feel mostly good about my body, most days, and I want other people to feel that way about themselves. We can't control what other people think about us. We can't even always control what we think about us, but I think if we can just cool it when it comes to our own appearances, we can also be less bitchy about other peoples'. I'm not really into "the power of positive self talk", personally, but there are two key, less cheesy things that have greatly improved my body acceptance, if not given me total body positivity. 

The first thing came in college, which is somewhat ironic, since I probably gained around 20 pounds during undergrad. (On my 5'1" frame, I might add.) Despite my flab exponentially increasing due to a diet primarily consisting of gin and DeLeon's, I spent my four years at Doane College becoming more and more comfortable in my own skin. Contrary to what popular media may indicate about Greek life, I credit this increase in body acceptance to joining a sorority. 

You might expect that I'm about to reveal that sororities at liberal arts colleges in small-town Nebraska are secret hotbeds of radical feminism. Not really. You might think that this body acceptance came from learning about myself through the power of sisterhood. Maybe a little. But the real reason joining a sorority helped me stop giving so much of a shit about my muffin top is that I was just really exposed to naked chicks, like, all the time. I lived with seven of my sisters in close quarters, and we were often casually nude. There were No Pants Sundays and team showers and times when we stayed up too late and just thought it was funny to sit around in the common area butt-ass naked. There was plenty of nudity as a larger group, too. Girls got hot during long meetings and took their shirts off. They got drunk at parties and decided to go streaking. As sexy as I may be making this sound, this was never the stuff of a frat guy fantasy; it was just a buncha ladies being comfortable around each other, with body types ranging from fashion model to BBW.

It didn't really matter if I felt like, objectively, one of my sisters had a "better" body than me or not. Just existing around another person while both of you are in a state of undress and feeling utterly relaxed about it is freeing. Like, fuck it! Who cares that society thinks one of us can pull off a bikini better than the other? We're sitting naked on the futon. (Which is disgusting, because Things Have Happened on this futon.) 

The second thing that's helped me come to terms with the sack of flesh and bones I inhabit every day is actually taking care of it. About six months after I graduated, I gradually began weaning myself off booze and late night Tex-Mex. I didn't really do this for health, but for the same reason most people "get healthy": Losing weight. 

I started running. A lot. I started working towards a half marathon, and with all the hours I spent running, there was less and less time to go out and drink. I was more and more inclined to eat things that wouldn't cause explosive diarrhea mid-run. I started going to yoga classes regularly, because it was a good way to stretch out my hips, the mobility of which had begun to resemble that of an 80-year-old. And now I've lost most of that college weight, and, since I was always much more of a theater kid than an athlete, I'm in the best shape of my life. (Which is admittedly only relatively impressive.) 

The cool part about this, though, is what started off as "I need to stop being so Goddamn fat" has transformed into "I need to keep getting stronger." I have never even though of myself as capable of being physically fit, but somewhere in between all the frigid runs and the hot yoga, physical fitness has taken priority over skinniness. When it's hot, I run outside in nothing but a sports bra, even though I'm aware some passersby might think I'm not skinny enough to pull that look off. They can suck it, it's hot and I'm on mile six of eight. Fellow ladies, your fitness is more important than your appearance, and the latter is not necessarily a reflection of the former. I will not judge you for wearing something that is comfortable for you to do your thing in, even if it doesn't accentuate your curves or hide your "problem areas." 

And if I do, shame on me. Because while I'm pretty accepting (and these days even sometimes adoring) of my body, those issues don't just disappear after an inspirational training montage, and the shittiest thing about our own insecurity is the way we project it on others. Do I still want to lose five pounds? It wouldn't suck. I'll never stop wanting a flat stomach, but as long as I can run for miles or hold a plank, I can deal with what I've got. Besides, I've started to notice something that might be the beginning of a visible ab.