You know what? Getting old is weird. Weird and confusing. I’d go as far to say that 28 is even more confusing than 18, if not more. At 18 I knew where I was headed: college. I knew what I wanted: to have a good time, to find a boyfriend, to hang out with my friends, to learn something new.
If someone had asked me when I was 18, what I thought 28 would look like, I’m not sure this would be it. And that’s not a bad thing. Really, I’m pleased as punch with where I’ve landed. I never would have seen Josh coming. A real living and breathing boyfriend. And a husband? What? Or some time spent in a big city. Or even happiness and dare I say contenment in a smaller town than the one I grew up in.
I thought I’d be thin by now. I thought I might have a child or a fancy-pants-high-paying job.
But now, at 28 there aren’t clear-cut paths. There are so many unknowns, second-guesses and doubts that my head starts to spin the second my feet hit the ground in the morning. What will today be? Who will I be tomorrow? What will I look like in five years? Every single decision, step, choice is up to me. I never realized that at 18. I never realized that I was the deciding factor. I am the player in my own life.
At 28 I realize that my life is continually about self-improvement. And that’s where, mentally, I’ve been lately. Some days it’s hard for me to tell the difference between…am I crazy? wrong? right? justified? Or is it everyone else? Am I headed in the right direction? Am I stuck? I’m always evaluated my last steps and planning for the next ones to come.
And I’ve come to finally realize that the big neon letters flashing in my background read: self-esteem. And my bank of self-esteem is low and is has been for a long time. I am understanding that my inner-critic makes life, decisions, relationships, conversations and pretty much everything much more complicated and difficult than it really is. I feel pain on a daily basis. Sometimes I can move forward and go along with the crowd pretending the voice inside me isn’t bringing me down.
The voice, my voice, tells me that I don’t deserve goodness. That I don’t deserve the effort. That I’m flawed. That I make too many mistakes. That I’ll fail again. That I won’t do it perfectly. And if you’ve been here, even for a little while, you’ll know how paralyzing it is. How much effort goes into defense and protection. How often I work to keep people away so they can’t hurt me. How fragile I really am.
And it’s all related. My issues with food and my self-worth go hand in hand. And I’m doing the work. I count my calories, I exercise and good things are happening. But, the elephant in the room is: this won’t last until I seriously work on my insides. Unless I love myself and trust myself. I have a lot of work to do in clearing out the voices, the doubt, the worry and every thought that tells me: you can’t do it.
Because I know, logically, I can. And I will. I just need to feel good enough to believe it. To silence the voice that tells me otherwise. A piece that fears feeling like I’m enough, isn’t going to be enough. There is a lot of love out there for me, I just have to let it in.
I started doing Jillian Michael’s Ripped in 30 and I couldn’t help but stare at the three women in the video (including Jillian, of course) and see bodies that were cared for. Strong, muscular, lean, fit women were staring back at me. And I wanted that. I admitted to wanting what they have. The self love and dedication that they each have for themselves (unapologetically) to feel and look the way they do. The pride they take in their bodies inspired me.
Looking like that does not have to come from self-hate or trying to live up to certain unattainable standards. I always thought it did. But, I’ve cleared out those thoughts enough to realize that it would be very hard to get to that point with negative self-talk. This isn’t about deprivation, thinness from starvation, or skipping meals, it’s about fitness and health. And I can see the difference now.
I can admit now to wanting that for myself. I do really want that. There is a part of me that fears that I will never look like that, and you know what? I won’t. But being fat and fearing never having a perfect body is no reason not to give myself the chance. To show up and give myself the opportunity for health and confidence. It would mean the world times a thousand to get to that point and to help other women just like me do the same. That’s what I really, truly, deep down want.
I save photos of women working out because it inspires me. I clip quotes and read them because they motivate me. I don’t want to be ashamed of this anymore. I don’t want to worry that others will think I’m (dare I say) shallow because I want to be physically fit and feel attractive. To be considered, hot even.
I want to bring that part of me here. The part that shares my inspiration, and is not ashamed to say: damnit, I’m doing this, either get on board or not. But mostly loving myself enough to actually make it happen.
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