With Lamp making a speedy recovery, the second best part of the weekend was walking into J. crew to return a shirt and walking out with the only pair of mint green skinnies left that just happened to be in my size. Did I mention they were on sale? I instagramed the pic above...but not before plenty of scrutinizing....
I reported that I planned on going treat free for a while in preparation for our upcoming summer vacay. And I have. But here's where the frustration comes in... I haven't seen much difference. I've been diligent about my workouts, diligent about my diet and yet...no differences. Perhaps I should have been tracking my calories to make sure that I wasn't still over eating...afterall more healthy calories is still more calories. Maybe I should have been a little more systematic, started with a detox or something... And here's where my second and even bigger frustration comes into play...
I'm frustrated that I care so much.
I have a healthy, fully functional, able body. (No, the irony is not lost on me.) I am very grateful for all it can do. I'm grateful I can just work out in the first place, and I'm grateful that I actually feel stronger. Like most women I have certain parts of my body that just drive me crazy--parts that have really been that way since I was a little and will probably remain that way and yet I continue to obsess over changing these parts of me.
I've been reading The Little House in the Big Woods book with PSP (it's the first book in the Little House on the Prarie series). There was a part in the book about a big dance, and the women getting ready in their beautiful dresses and strapping on their corsets. They were talking about their waists and one of them mentioned Laura's mother's waist being so small that when she was first married her husband could best his hands all the way around her waist...and Laura felt proud because that was her mom.
I wanted to chuck that book across the room...Has a woman's body ever not been subject to analysis and impossible expectations? Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do I do this to myself? I hate that even in the most innocent and beloved children's book the scrutinizing of a woman's body is included. I can look at the picture above and recognize that I'm not overweight, not even slightly. But I also see a body that takes so much more effort than it used to just to maintain my size. A body that started changing without my permission.
Over the weekend I was so frustrated with my lack of results I fell off the bandwagon--I had some ice cream and cookie dough. I'm now rededicating myself to my original goal not because I think those "trouble spots" are going to magically melt away, but because it was a goal and a good, healthy goal at that. Regardless of size, I definitely eat too much sugar.
But I'm also recommitting myself to gratitude for my healthy, able body regardless of size and shape. And for mint green skinnies that fell from the heavens into my blessed arms.
Any thoughts about this in your own life? Have you come to peace with your glorious body, imperfections and all?