So, there I am, chatting with my dear friend and co-worker, let's call her Mama K, on Jeans Friday at work. Part of my cushy office job includes casual Fridays. So we were talking about how neither of us has dedicated the time and energy to our casual wardrobe that we have (well, she has, and I'm working on it) to our work wardrobe. So she's criticizing the jeans she's wearing, and describes herself as having fat thighs.
My brain exploded.
This woman is GORGEOUS. She is slender but still has boobs and an ass. She has lovely eyes, nice skin and a beautiful smile. Her posture is excellent. She always looks put together. I could make a list of 20 men and probably half a dozen women who would be happy to drool over her at a moment's notice given the chance, without even trying. And she described herself as fat.
My heart broke. I immediately interrupted her and insisted that she was being absurd, and the next time she said that, I would be forced to smack her, which would get me fired, and I can't afford to lose my job. So she agreed, in the interest of my family's financial well-being, not to say that again. But I doubt I convinced her that she is gorgeous. Perhaps I should make the list and set appointments for each of these people to come describe what they like about her body. I haven't finished my sexual harassment prevention training yet, but I'm pretty sure I can't do that within the confines of our employer's policies.
My heart broke. I immediately interrupted her and insisted that she was being absurd, and the next time she said that, I would be forced to smack her, which would get me fired, and I can't afford to lose my job. So she agreed, in the interest of my family's financial well-being, not to say that again. But I doubt I convinced her that she is gorgeous. Perhaps I should make the list and set appointments for each of these people to come describe what they like about her body. I haven't finished my sexual harassment prevention training yet, but I'm pretty sure I can't do that within the confines of our employer's policies.
This is what we do to ourselves, us women. Sometimes we're half-kidding, trying for self-deprecating humor or maybe fishing for a compliment. But even so, the little girl part of our brain hears "I have fat thighs"and believes it. And we go around with that hurt on our heart, second-guessing every bite of food or moment of not being on a treadmill, feeling bad, lazy, undeserving.
If someone does that to Jackie, I will rip them a new one. But more likely, Jackie will have to fight hard to learn NOT to do that to herself. And her best shot? Me. The best chance Jackie has to love her body, however her body turns out, is to witness me loving mine. I must be proud and confident. I must show her that I feel beautiful and sexy and strong and deserving. Even with cellulite on the back of my thighs. Even if I gain fifty pounds. Even if my hair is grey. Even if I can't take Parkour with her (I'm so going to take martial arts and Parkour with my kids if I can possibly get away with it). I must teach Jackie to love herself by loving myself. Starting right damn now.
So here goes.
I have a really cute ass, and a curvy little waist. I'm strong and adaptable. I have huge, beautiful eyes, and a huge, sparkling smile. I have a strong back and shoulders like a swimmer, and thighs like a yogi. I am beautiful and sexy and strong and deserving.
So are you. Tell me five things you love about your body. Right now. Out loud. And no mitigating statements - "I like my thighs." not "I like my thighs sometimes," or "I like my hair when it cooperates." Just "I have great hair." Say them out loud. See what that feels like. If it's hard, do it again. And again. Until it feels comfortable. Until you are convinced. And extra points for leaving them as a comment.
Believe it. Right now. This bullshit stops with us.
Much love,
Suzi
Believe it. Right now. This bullshit stops with us.
Much love,
Suzi
