“Hun?” I said, peering up from over my phone as my boyfriend raised his eyebrows, “we haven’t really taken photos in the last few months. I wonder why that is…”. I sat pondering, then looking through my camera roll I answered my own question.
One of my least favorite aspects of my Latin heritage is the propensity to nickname someone based on their physical appearance. Growing up, my grandma called me “Flaca” (skinny). I learned that my weight was part of my identity, & that if I ever strayed from that identity I risked being ousted. Fast forward a couple of decades & a college degree later & I find myself with a bit more margin in my budget. Gone are the days of fighting over goodies with my little brother—I could suddenly afford to grocery shop at Trader Joes whenever I wanted to. With my unchecked love of snacks plus my newfound nursing stress, my caloric intake skyrocketed. Despite this, I didn’t notice a difference at first because my active lifestyle provided an effective buffer.
Then, COVID happened. Gyms closed, but I had some free weights at home & made it work. I did at-home-yoga every day & ran seven miles along Minnesotan rivers in the summers. When gyms opened back up, I completed 90-minute Orange Theory classes with (semi) ease. Then, I moved back across the country, but I lived close to a nice walking trail that I would frequent almost daily. Then, I moved again. & again. & with each move, each change in schedule, & each difference in gym equipment, it became harder & harder to keep up with my physical activity (& if I can be completely honest, I’m a morning workout type of gal, but cuddling my honey feels waaaayyyyy more appealing than getting a sweat sesh in when I don’t want to leave our warm camita…).
I watched the scale go up & up & up, each increment becoming a new normal that I settled with until suddenly, I found myself in present day: realizing I had almost zero photos of myself over the last few months…because I didn’t like looking at myself in pictures. Woah.
How the heck did I get here?
I, a nurse who has been primarily vegan for almost five years & loves studying longevity, have been struggling with my weight. I have felt so much shame to even admit that to myself, because I am someone who knows what I “should” be doing.
Shame is a caustic & unpredictable emotion, & because of this it felt easier to just not address it. If I didn’t look at myself in photos & barely in the mirror, maybe it wasn’t actually alllll that bad. Besides, my boyfriend still thought I was the hottest thing to ever walk this earth, so did the number on the scale even matter??
Maybe you’re in a similar boat & life has thrown you for a loop. Maybe it was a pregnancy or an autoimmune diagnosis or a serious injury that caused your circumstances to change, creating enough resistance that invited some unwelcome pounds.
If that is you, how are you handling it? What stories are you telling yourself? What are you making this mean about you? Your discipline? Your ability or worthiness to be loved?
I’ve wrestled with how to love myself despite being in a bigger body, & tbh, I’m still working on it. I’ve struggled with recognizing the fact that maybe my childhood nickname no longer fits & maybe–just maybe–that’s okay. But another thing I’ve thought about over & over again is this: what’s the difference between self-acceptance & complacency?
For my day job, I work as a hospice nurse. I’ve had patients a decade younger than my mom pass away from cancer & I’ve realized that I don’t want to spend my days obsessing over the number on the scale or the latest wrinkle cream or fashion trend.
AND.
I cannot deny that it took several breaks for me to trek back up a hill a few weeks ago. My back feels stiffer than it used to. My 2PM energy slump is palpable. Besides the mental energy of wondering do I look okay in this? Am I going to have to dish out hundreds of dollars for a new wardrobe that’s a bigger size?, there’s also the intense awareness that my body just doesn’t feel optimal. & if there’s something I can do to change that, I want to empower myself to focus on what I CAN control versus just getting upset that I have feel sub-par in the first place.
So yes, I’ve gained some pounds. But I’ve gained a heck of a lot more in these last years as well…
Appreciation for My Habits & My Health
When I do workout, I feel gooood. When I eat a salad, I feel full but light. When I get outside, I carry a different energy. Though my physical health might not be where it used to, I’m so grateful for what I can do & the ways in which I can show my body love.
Perspective & Empathy
When you haven’t personally faced an issue, it’s harder to imagine the experience. When I hear people talk about body image issues or undesired weight changes, I now have more empathy for their circumstances. When I hear people talk about insecurities & being afraid people might comment on them, I have an idea of what they may have faced.
Self-Compassion
This last year & a half has been HARD. I ended an engagement, left my “dream” nursing job, moved to two different states, & way more. I grieved shifting identities & family deaths…& something had to give. I did the best I could with what I had. I’ve been tackling financial mindset & nervous system regulation & career changes, & now, I get to refocus on my physical well-being. Rather than hating on my body for what it looks like, I’m going to celebrate it for getting us through this whirlwind of a season.
Self-Awareness
What do I really need? When I reach for a snack, am I actually thirsty? Bored? Do I just want some comfort? How does food or movement make my body feel? What does my body feel like when I don’t have the things it needs? How do I feel about my ever-changing body? How can I love myself in the midst of those changes, while being honest about how my new habits might not be serving me? This season has further left me really curious about the inner workings of my mind & I’ve gotten to know myself more throughout this process.
Mutual Trust in My Partnership
I had never been so raw about these feelings until I told my boyfriend, B. I was afraid he would judge me for the weight I’ve gained or even stop loving me because of it (sidenote: when we’re afraid of someone responding a certain way, we’re normally projecting how we are actually feeling). However, he has done the complete opposite. He loves me so well & eases my insecurities, while also encouraging me to keep my commitments to myself. He is the first to share a cookie with me, but also the first to ask if I reeeally want another one. He asks how he can support me, he cooks so that we eat in, he tells me I’m beautiful while validating my feelings. When you’re vulnerable with a person who is safe & you allow their love to illuminate your shadows, it deepens your bond & cultivates mutual trust.
My body weight is going to fluctuate—I joined a yoga studio I love, we moved into an apartment with a gorgeous gym, & we’re being more mindful with our food. In the future, my metabolism will change, we hope to have kiddos, & my joints & skin & muscles will age. But while the number on the scale might change, those lessons I learned will stand the test of time.
