(67) In A Happy Place...

For the first time in I don't know how long, I am actually happy with my body. For me to say this is HUGE. I have always been aware of my body flaws. And really they are all perceived flaws... most of the time, no one else sees what I see. I have a distorted body image. Always have. But something has clicked in my brain.

I am okay in my skin.

I am okay with the size that I am.

And I have fluctuated. When I met my husband, I was a size 9/10 and wasn't really concerned about it. I remember being happy in that size and not really obsessing over my weight. Then I started running and training for a marathon. That is when the weight started coming off. I never intended to lose weight, it just happened. But once it happened, it created a monster. I dropped to a size 4, and almost a 2, at the peak of training and racing. You would have thought I would have been happy. But I wasn't. The more weight I lost, the more I wanted to lose. It was a vicious cycle. I even started going to a personal trainer to tone. I was never happy with my size.

Then I got pregnant and tried running when I could, when fatigue wasn't getting to me. I did pretty well. Even ran a half marathon in the later part of my first trimester. I obsessed, while pregnant, over my weight. I didn't want to gain too much. I freaked out when my clothes got tight (of course, once I bought maternity clothes I wanted to live in them). I really had an unhealthy mindset. Then December 31st came.

Since that day, I have been battling a war with my body. It has been very difficult to get motivated when you feel your body is broken. I have been working out with my trainer twice a week so I have been doing something. Sometimes I run, sometimes I walk. But during this time, I have been obsessed with the number on the scale and the number on my pants. I am up 10 pounds from my peak training and I am in a 6/8 (not a big size by most people's standards). Those two numbers have defined my days. It has been a living hell.

But in the last few weeks something has clicked. Yes, I still look at the number on the scale and focus on the number on my pants. However, I am trying to not let it define me. I have a beautiful body no matter what size I am. I am learning to love my curves again. Sure I have stretch marks and yes, GASP!, some cellulite. But guess what? They aren't the end all, be all of me. They are part of being a woman. They are part of a body that bears children. They are a part of me.

No I am not going to sit on my couch eating bon-bons now and not take care of myself. I am taking care of myself. I am listening to my body more. But I am not going to allow my life to be define by a mirror, a scale, or a jean size.

I am going to allow myself to love me for who I am on the inside and outside.

I am beautiful. Inside. And out.