I am scared to write these posts I have in my head and need to get down “on paper”. This summer there was an article in the local paper about Olivia and our golf outing and I mentioned this blog. Now a few people in my circle read it, more than before. And I don’t want to edit myself because “they” are reading it. Because it’s my blog about my life and what I’m feeling.
But what I need to write about is so personal and, for a perfectionist like me, is really hard to admit.
So here goes.
I am 34 years old and I don’t like my body.
I obsess over it constantly. I worry about it constantly. I exercise it and feed it or don’t feed it constantly. I dream about it. I have nightmares about it. I wake up in the morning alternately relieved that it doesn’t look as bad as it did in my dream and then upset that it doesn’t look like the way I think it should. I am bummed about my body the minute I wake up every single day.
I need to let this go. I know I would feel so much better if I could just be happy with the way I look.
And if you know me IRL, I know I’m not fat. I know that I look fine. I rationally know that I’m ridiculous…yet I can’t help it. It’s so much more than thinking I’m fat. It’s thinking that I could be better. That my body could look better. That I could look better. That I’m a failure because it’s not model perfect.
And then if I stop obsessing about my body, I start obsessing over the wrinkles on my face or my acne scars that show up when I take my make-up off or the gray hairs that are popping up all over my head.
And again, I need it to stop.
I have a husband who thinks I am truly the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. He will never stop thinking that and will never stop loving me. I don’t know why I can’t just love myself.
I don’t know how.
I’ve been this way since I was 11. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I can pinpoint the exact moment I started obsessing over my body and the way it looked and the fact that it wasn’t good enough. I don’t know how to let go. To let go of the fact that I don’t look like a fitness model and be ok with that. To let go of the fact that I don’t have “abs of steel” or “Brazilian buns” or the best body at the pool. I should just be happy and content that I am who I am. I run 5 miles at a time or do an hour of turbokick every day. I lift weights. I eat healthy with a few treats now and then. I should be proud of who I am, not ashamed.
But I am.
It’s so crazy because I can rationally say “I look good. I am healthy. I am me and I am proud.” but then irrationally I obsess every single day that I’m not good enough. I want to be free of it. But I don’t know how.