I have spent years hating my body, but it never had anything to do with the way it looked. I remember seeing a body-positive quote, ‘Your body is not the enemy’, and laughing out loud, because yea, it was. My body was tirelessly trying to kill me from the inside out, it was the enemy, and I hated it. And while I was focusing on surviving that, I saw the #bopo movement growing on social media, and I just didn’t get it.
I get it now.
I never gave my shape and size a second thought, until I started to get healthier. I was close to 150lbs when I went to prom; I had a wicked butt and spectacular boobs, plus a soft tummy and mega cheeks, but for me it was never an issue. Maybe it’s because I had plenty of other issues, lol, maybe it’s because social media didn’t exist in our little universe, yet. 15 years ago, if we wanted to be bombarded by photos of over photoshopped, too-thin, unattainable models and actresses, we had to sit through TV commercials, or spend $6 on a magazine.
I got sick after graduating, and was under 100lbs before finally being diagnosed with Endometriosis. I was throwing up or shitting constantly, and when I wasn’t, I wasn’t eating because I’d convinced myself I couldn’t be sick if I was empty. At the time, I didn’t think I looked awful, or sickly. I suppose I was too distracted by trying not to have a panic attack, to feel self conscious about being a complete stick of a person. But after spending years getting used to losing weight, gaining weight became a strangely scary concept.
After my diagnostic (and first removal) surgery, I was gifted almost a year of relief; waking up and not having to rush to the bathroom, and an appetite for the first time in years. Well, an appetite means gaining weight, compared to never eating. It wasn’t until the first person complemented my healthier figure, that I looked back at photos and how thin I had been. And it freaked me out. I started worrying that I’d keep gaining weight, if I kept eating the way I was. I never had to actually worry about that, though, because I got sick again. And again, and again.
Cut to now; I am almost 3 years post-hysterectomy, and the heaviest I’ve been since graduating (besides being pregnant). And now I REALLY get the whole #bopo thing. I really get it, and I really fucking appreciate it. 7 months ago I was coming out of a massive Endometriosis flare, and an extremely stressful work season, and I never would have pictured myself needing constant reassurance that my body is perfectly fine just the way it is. Over Christmas, all my pants were too big, and I was forcing myself to eat at least once a day. Only 7 months ago, I never would have thought I’d spend 10 minutes in the mirror every time I have to leave the house, examining all of the angles and questioning my worth based on nothing other then my appearance. But here I am.
I think that body positivity is such a hard thing for women especially, because our bodies are fucking forever changing. I feel like I’ve had to accept and learn to love like, 10 different bodies since puberty started! I had a high school body, like 5 different variations of a sick body, a pre-baby body and a postpartum body, then another sick body, a healthy/ pre-menopause body, and now this. This... I still don’t really know what it is. We’re still getting to know each other, really. Technically, it’s my peri-menopausal body, I guess. And it’s frustrating, because I’m doing nothing different, and yet it’s changing. That’s not fair, right? I’m not eating more or moving less, but my metabolism seems to be dying, as my last ovary dies.
I’m second guessing publishing all of this, because I’m worried I’ll come off like a know-it-all, or another privileged, skinny white girl whining about her cellulite. This is completely new for me, though, and I’m just going through the motions. I’ve come to pride myself on being such an open book on social media, and yet I’ve spent the last few months not posting about all of the fitting rooms I’ve cried in. I typed about surviving panic attacks, but not about cringing over Spring finally starting, because it meant I could no longer keep my knee-length winter coat on when out in public. I shared some mega motherhood struggles, but I haven’t posted about desperately missing my sick-skinny body, even though I know that’s a completely fucked up notion. I’ve storied about the incredible hormonal bloat I’ve been dealing with, how painful and misleading it is, but not about how deeply depressed it’s made me feel, some days.
Exhale.
While I’m working with my doctor to hopefully balance things out a little, I realize that these side effects of menopause are things I will likely be dealing with until ‘normal’ menopause ends..lol, in another 20 years. And I can’t waste the next 20 years hating on a body that’s made it this far, so I want to put in the work. And by ‘work’ I don’t mean diet and exercise. I mean unlearning the boxes and the unnatural norms that society has been slipping into my subconscious all this time.
That’s really what this Beach Body photo shoot was all about, selfishly; surrounding myself with natural beauty and positivity, and this stunning sense of reassurance. Part of me thought it was wishful thinking, but I put out the casting call, and not only did things fall into place with the perfect photographer, but also the perfect cast of models.
It was a little chilly and mosquito-y when we all met, and stripped down. It was kind of revolutionary, for me, being next to all of these different shapes and sizes and colors, none of us built the way Victoria’s Secret says we should be, and yet no one complained even once. There was no mention of her being bloated, or her arms looking too fat, or her boobs looking too flat. No one pointed out their stretch marks, even though we all had them. Instead we immediately complimented each other’s suits, and suggested some super bootylicious poses to get things started. The 7 of us looked nothing alike, but I could tell we all felt the same; powerful, and content, despite our insecurities. (We all have the insecurities, that’s normal and natural and ok, but not letting them steal the spotlight is the key!)
Initially, when we set the date, I told myself I had 20 days to treadmill and stop eating after 8pm. If I’m being honest. How fucked is that? Using a body-positivity photo shoot as motivation to lose weight?! Just a month ago I was still in denial about the fact that I don’t have that sort of control over my body, right now. I was still that unevolved, as far as the body-positive notion goes. For the record, I did power walk while watching Netflix, but only 8 times, not 20. And I still eat after 8pm, because between mothering and running errands and running small businesses, after 8pm is when I end up with time to sit and eat. The day before the shoot I tried on my suits, and cried, and told myself I had enough models, and didn’t need to participate myself. But I woke up the next day, I listened to a lot of Lizzo, I ate a Snickers for dessert after breakfast, and I did it. And I’m so fucking glad that I did.
I know this is just the beginning of some kind of journey, definitely a rollercoaster, and I feel very lucky to have these photos to keep me company.
