Plain

They tell you that losing weight won't fix you, but as a girl that's always been fat, I didn't really believe them. [Side note: Have you ever noticed, it's always the skinny people who say stuff like that?]

What's worse than being fat, I thought? What's worse than looking like I do now? What's worse than taking up more space than everyone else, yet still feeling totally invisible?

Lots of things, it turns out. But it's interesting how easy it is to wrap those toxic thoughts up and carry them with you wherever you go.

I have lost forty pounds.

Forty. Pounds.

That's a 5-gallon jug of liquid.

A microwave.

A medium-sized Border Collie.

A toddler.

I thought that losing that weight meant instant confidence would fill me and love would immediately find me and my dream job would fall in my lap and suddenly I'd feel good about myself and look great in everything I wore and my money problems would disappear. How I came to this stupid, skewed logic is unclear, but-- spoiler alert-- that's hardly what has happened.

I am, however, dating an amazing man. He likes me as I am right now, and I'm having a really hard time wrapping my mind around it. He is one of those people who eats mindfully and healthfully, so I find it easy to continue toward my goal of losing forty more pounds when I'm around him. He encourages me to be the best version of myself, but appreciates exactly who I am right now. And he never picks on me for being a vegetarian. Quite the opposite, actually. Having his support has been incredible and invaluable to me as I push forward in my journey.

Still, that tiny voice in my head says that I don't deserve him... because I'm still big. Because my butt isn't big enough. Because my arms are still flabby. Because I have no muscle tone in my thighs. Because my boobs are so big, they make me feel frumpy due to poor posture. None of my clothes fit and I'm breaking out from stress. How could he even want to be seen with me? How could he even look at me without his stomach turning?

These thoughts-- the same thoughts I had when I was forty pounds heavier-- are still there, like ghosts.

In my yoga and meditation practices, I try to practice radical self love and acceptance for where I am in all aspects of my life. I try to honor the journey that has brought me here, and the lessons I'm learning as I walk onward. I think, though, that shedding these inner demons will be significantly harder than shedding the pounds.

Old habits die hard I suppose.


Art by Sophie Rambert

Things I'm not putting out into the universe

You have to be ready for love to come into your life. I am not ready. I am not willing. I am floating happily on my own little raft right now. I have never felt more whole or more excited about the next bend in the road.

This is not a defense mechanism. This is not an excuse for why I am single. This is a manifesto. I sleep well at night-- alone. I work hard and play harder, and I'm not searching. There is nothing I lack.

I heard a fellow artist say the other day that you have to be ready for love, and that when you are, you will find it. When that time comes, speak it into existence, she said.

I'm not ready for love. Not because I'm damaged or grieving or broken, but because for the first time in a long time, I feel entirely in charge of my life. I'm loving every second of this freedom.

I'm living every bit of my life on my own terms, un-apologetically.

So I'm not asking the universe for the love of a lifetime-- not yet. I'm not asking for a warm body next to me or a Christmas sweetheart or a last call of the day. I'm asking for inspiration for my art, for the discipline to work even harder to pay off my debts, for the ability to give more of myself to my friends and family.

And I'm also asking for more tattoos, if I'm honest.