Posts tagged love

I finished re-reading a book the other day called “Feed Me!: Writers Dish About Food, Eating, Weight and Body Image.” I picked this book up years ago and decided to read it again. Sometimes you just need to be reminded of why you’re doing what you’re doing. What I love about the stories in the book, which are all written honestly from the heart, is that they are completely relatable. You’ll laugh with them, cry with them, feel their pain and share their victory.

At the beginning of the book, there is an “I-Love-My-Body Pledge.” The author encourages the reader to print out a copy of this and post it where it can be seen - may it be on your bedside table, vanity mirror or refrigerator door - as a constant reminder of why we’re all fighting the good fight.

I encourage everyone to pick the book and read it, not just once, or twice, but as often as you can. It’s a good read and offers a lot of lessons and insight.

The I-Love-My-Body Pledge

• I pledge to speak kindly about my body.
• I promise not to talk about the size of my thighs or stomach or butt, or how I have to lose 5 or 15 or 50 pounds. I promise not to call myself fat, pig, gross or any other self-loathing, trash-talking phrase.
• I vow to be kind to myself and my body. I will learn to be grateful for its strength and attractiveness, and be compassionate towards its failings.
• I will remind myself that bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and that no matter what shape and size my body is, it’s worthy of kindness, compassion and love.

If you’ve ever been subjected to bullying, abuse, self-harm or an eating disorder, you’ll know how it takes a lot of courage and bravery to look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself, “I love you,” and mean it. It takes a lot of kindness, gentleness and forgiveness to love the way you look or the way you are. All the meanness and cruelty people show us, and that we even show ourselves, find ways to brainwash our minds into thinking we’re completely unworthy and undeserving of all the traits of the heart. 

Yesterday I came across a tumblr called “Stop Hating Your Body.” I cannot tell you how happy I was to find a niche in the community that is all part of the body acceptance movement. The owner of the tumblr states,

“I wanted to create a space where people could express themselves about body image, where all sorts of different body types, age groups, ethnicity, beliefs, can unite over one thing: the desire to be happy, the desire to love themselves completely.”

The more I read their stories, the more I felt a surge of love and pride for each and every one of those beautiful people. As all of you know, for the longest time I’ve struggled with bulimia nervosa and all the nastiness that goes with it - depression, body dysmorphic disorder among other things. The strength that these men and women have fuels my own strength to love and accept myself with all my flaws and imperfections.

Click the link below and open your eyes to the truth - that we are all beautiful. ALL beautiful.

Stop Hating Your Body

It’s June 26th where I am and today is my birthday. Today I am 20 years old.  I woke up quite literally at the crack of dawn, with a smile on face and in my heart. It’s unbelievable but true. If you remember the post I did a while back on birthdays, you would remember what I said about celebrating life:

“I realize now that celebrating a birthday makes all the difference in the world because birthdays are a celebration of who you are. It is the day that celebrates you - all your good, bad, trials and triumphs. Although 19 wasn’t the year I got better, I know that there were moments which were incredibly significant, memorable and worth celebrating. 19 was the year that I decided to fight bulimia. I didn’t want my life to end, and if it did end for some reason then I wanted to go out fighting the good fight. It was the year that I was tired of living in fear of some irrational thing. I wanted to be bold and daring, uninhibited by my eating disorder. It was the year I would stop pushing people away and start letting them in to help me instead. It was the year I started seeing a psychiatrist, and with her help started rebuilding my confidence and self-esteem. 19 was the year I started rebuilding relationships, especially with my family who had supported me through my ordeal for these many years. It was the year that I decided that I wanted my life back and that I would live it abundantly, with more passion and vigour than all the years that I had lost it. If that’s not worth throwing a birthday party for then I don’t know what is.

In fact, I should like to live everyday as if it were my birthday, as a constant reminder of all the good that it represents. Happiness, laughter, smiles. Family, friends, love. Passion, ambition, determination. Life. I should like to live each day as my birthday and your birthday; each day as celebration that you and I exist as a part of this world, and every pound and inch of us matters to it and to the lives of the people we touch.”

I checked my cellphone and facebook, and I have over 40 birthday greetings and counting - some from family, close friends, acquaintances and even people that I’m hardly acquainted with. I see their birthday greetings as an act of gratitude, that in big ways, small ways, little ways or many ways, I have touched each and every one of their lives. I see it as a form of acknowledgement, that I exist as a part of this world, and every pound and inch of matters to it and to the lives that I’ve touched. I am going to celebrate my birthday, not only as a celebration of myself but as a celebration of the people who have influenced, moulded and made me who I am. Without these people, I wouldn’t be me.

If they could hear my heart beat, and today it beats with the strength, courage and braveness of someone who is ready to face the world, they’d hear the words thank-you, thank-you, thank-you.

Some idiot decides to dump the entire bottle of misery and woe into your cup, making it spill over. Okay that was a bit dramatic. I just…Don’t you hate it when you think you’re at your lowest, and then something completely unexpected happens and it just pushes you over the edge? I’m barely hanging onto the fragile branch on the edge of insanity.

Last night I was talking to my honey bunches of oats, who I will now refer to as boy, because well, he’s not my honey bunches of oats anymore. I mean, we haven’t been for a long time.  I wanted to experience singlehood and independence, since for the last 3 years he’s the only man I’d ever dated, ever loved, ever spent so much time with. We broke up months ago but we remained best friends and almost lovers. We were practically together, but without the title. We still kissed, held hands, made love, spent weekends together, shared our secrets and pains. I could still cry to him when I need help or support, and he could still turn to me to turn his day right side up if ever he were feeling down in the dumps. I have a favourite sonnet, which I often dedicated to him. “Where I does not exist, nor You. So close that your hand on my chest in my hand. So close that when my eyes close, you fall asleep.” He and I were so close, and we still are, but it’s different now.

Anyway I was talking to him of my fears and frustrations with the scholarship and recovery. I told him I was so afraid of relapsing, that it’d be another year like last year. I couldn’t bear it, if that were the case. I felt so sad and burdened. He offered me words of advice and the same consolation. I didn’t feel so bad, until he told me that he asked my best friend from high school out. I could feel my heart stop in my chest, and my lungs tighten as if two hands had dug into my chest to constrict them. Tears started welling in my eyes and my nose was stuffy. He asked if I were crying, which I said I was but it was because I was “sad about my bulimia.” Which I was, but it was more of a combination of the two. Him & my best friend from high school. Bulimia. Oh, combination of the THREE, when you count the scholarship dilemma. I have to much on my plate right now (which ironic to say, when you think about it). I’m seeing my psychiatrist, so I’ll see what she has to say about it. Going back to the conversation with boy, I said my good night and I put the phone down. I texted him almost immediately after, asking, “Does you asking A out mean that we’ve finally moved on from each other?” He replied saying, “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Pheeew. He got me there. I took a sleeping pill so I could at least for a while forget and stop feeling.

This morning I cried in the car. I cried out of sadness, frustration, loss, finality. It’s difficult trying not to feel anything when your heart is just burning at the core with pure, unadulterated love. It’s difficult to see the light when shadows keep trying to smother it.