Lies, Lessons and Self-Love: Getting To The Real Of It
Lying is really easy, disgustingly so at times. But even more than it is a fleeting trick, lying is unhealthy. Especially if you're lying to yourself at the same frequency that you're misleading others with the things you say and the way you behave. So, I'm going to be honest with myself for a change.
My eternal quest is to not just find happiness, but to find it exclusively within myself. You should see all the self-love quotes that decorate all 12 of my journals and occupy the back of my door in Post-It form. My living space literally looks like a scene out of Being Mary Jane. I know that in order to attract love in my life, I must be totally okay and in love with myself first. But honestly, honestly, a huge factor in my self-love quest is my body and loving that. It's... okay. I don't hate it. It could be much worse, but I don't love it. It's functional and, as far as I know, has gotten the technical thumbs up from my doctors, but I don't love it. I have the full activity of my limbs and have no desires to surgically enhance my body (with the exception of a breast reduction if I wasn't so scared I won't be able to breastfeed when motherhood comes knocking). But "love" is not something that comes to mind when I consult my mirror. I'm not blind to my flaws yet. They're right there in neon lights that only I can see. I'm still struggling to take me as I am.
Unfortunately, the body I envision fashionably and try to dress up and shop for is not reflected back to me. My boobs are the lone victims of gravity (and unnecessary attention) in my friend circles, so no strapless garments and braless days for me ever. No nipple can be freed, sorry. There was no turning back from the dreaded Freshman 15, even four years plus post-graduation. I know when and where my second chin shows up, but I can't seem to master that hiding angle—you know, the one I've previously nailed in selfies—in public or in any other photo not taken by my elevated hand. There are back rolls that did not exist a few years ago, and the persistent skinny-fat fupa always interrupts how my jeans fit at the buckle. I'm tall and lean-looking, meaning curveless except for my chest. No sensual or even mildly switchable hips. No shapely, stallion runner thighs. No tight, naturally cinched waist over here. No phatty, no bubble butt, no nada. A capital P, basically. My feet are big and forever ruined from just a handful of years of tap class (damnit!), so I have to be real selective with sandals. RIP to whatever smooth and spotless skin I had before the stress of 2016 hit me like a billion bricks. I'm still trying to overcome some body hyper-pigmentation and scarring issues. I have this stupid bump on my thumb that came from sucking it up until I got braces in fourth grade. The only things I said I loved about my physical self this year were, oddly enough, my quirky bowed legs—I'm so happy that I didn't notice that they were significantly different from other peoples' legs until right before college, no exaggerations here—and my hair. And I still have my insecurities about certain hair things that I cloak very, very well. Hairstyles I still haven't tried out, and probably won't, because of it. It doesn't matter how much my friends sense my funk and try to rope me out of it with a compliment or a scold session or how much I hear, "you're beautiful the way you are," it all means nothing if I don't agree. If I don't believe it for myself. If I'm not at least 90% in love (or hell, at least comfortable) with everything I am bare naked. When you feel good about yourself inside and out, it projects way beyond you. A confident, feel good attitude is like the Midas touch. I feel like I've been maneuvering with fool's gold for quite some time, and I want the real thing now. I know that I personally can't get there until I love this shell that my spirit is in and honor it the way that I should.
So... I pray that this will be a year of increased process and habit development to send me on my way to a body I can be fiercely proud of. For me. I want to feel sexy and bold and unafraid and unstoppable. I want to witness my body at its absolute best. I want to walk up a flight of stairs without heaving and checking my pulse directly afterwards. I want my hair to swing on hoes. I want to say yassssss each and every time I look in the mirror, whether I'm done up, dressed down, still wet from the shower or fresh out of bed with unbrushed teeth, my headtie still on and a hole in my sock for no reason at all other than the fact that I'm happy to be in the skin I'm in. I want that old glow back. And I'm excited to build up the necessary practices to get there, versus just wishing I'd magically morph into [insert Instagram boutique model with luxurious Indique bundles here] overnight.
So with all that out my system, here's to wellness and self-love in all it's many forms, starting with how I treat my "temple." Hopefully these guidelines slash notes-to-self help keep me on track for at least the first half of 2017. And friends, strangers, whoever, feel free to hold me accountable! I'll appreciate it more than you know:
-Buy yourself a motivational water bottle/jug and drink at least one of those per day. Or, get through three Poland Spring bottles. Infuse them sometimes.
-Working out is your friend, because you want abs, a flat stomach, an actual thigh + ass combo and evidence of upper body strength. Grab a pal, or not, and stay active.
-Let's try out a just seafood + veg-based diet. This will require additional income to afford this, so get to pitching.
-Make meal prep your friend during the workweek. Remember, seafood + vegan, so figure it out quick. The more money you save, the more salmon you can afford.
-Lemon juice, not orange juice, for smoothies. Because, sugar intake and the desire to abolish acne. Keep adding ginger and tumeric.
-Yeah, so about that bread... Only every other month, k? #wraplife
-Eat to not-be-hungry, not to be stuffed or just because it tastes good. Stop when you are no longer hungry. Drink a glass of water before to fill you up.
You can do it, self! Be your own cheerleader!
My eternal quest is to not just find happiness, but to find it exclusively within myself. You should see all the self-love quotes that decorate all 12 of my journals and occupy the back of my door in Post-It form. My living space literally looks like a scene out of Being Mary Jane. I know that in order to attract love in my life, I must be totally okay and in love with myself first. But honestly, honestly, a huge factor in my self-love quest is my body and loving that. It's... okay. I don't hate it. It could be much worse, but I don't love it. It's functional and, as far as I know, has gotten the technical thumbs up from my doctors, but I don't love it. I have the full activity of my limbs and have no desires to surgically enhance my body (with the exception of a breast reduction if I wasn't so scared I won't be able to breastfeed when motherhood comes knocking). But "love" is not something that comes to mind when I consult my mirror. I'm not blind to my flaws yet. They're right there in neon lights that only I can see. I'm still struggling to take me as I am.
Unfortunately, the body I envision fashionably and try to dress up and shop for is not reflected back to me. My boobs are the lone victims of gravity (and unnecessary attention) in my friend circles, so no strapless garments and braless days for me ever. No nipple can be freed, sorry. There was no turning back from the dreaded Freshman 15, even four years plus post-graduation. I know when and where my second chin shows up, but I can't seem to master that hiding angle—you know, the one I've previously nailed in selfies—in public or in any other photo not taken by my elevated hand. There are back rolls that did not exist a few years ago, and the persistent skinny-fat fupa always interrupts how my jeans fit at the buckle. I'm tall and lean-looking, meaning curveless except for my chest. No sensual or even mildly switchable hips. No shapely, stallion runner thighs. No tight, naturally cinched waist over here. No phatty, no bubble butt, no nada. A capital P, basically. My feet are big and forever ruined from just a handful of years of tap class (damnit!), so I have to be real selective with sandals. RIP to whatever smooth and spotless skin I had before the stress of 2016 hit me like a billion bricks. I'm still trying to overcome some body hyper-pigmentation and scarring issues. I have this stupid bump on my thumb that came from sucking it up until I got braces in fourth grade. The only things I said I loved about my physical self this year were, oddly enough, my quirky bowed legs—I'm so happy that I didn't notice that they were significantly different from other peoples' legs until right before college, no exaggerations here—and my hair. And I still have my insecurities about certain hair things that I cloak very, very well. Hairstyles I still haven't tried out, and probably won't, because of it. It doesn't matter how much my friends sense my funk and try to rope me out of it with a compliment or a scold session or how much I hear, "you're beautiful the way you are," it all means nothing if I don't agree. If I don't believe it for myself. If I'm not at least 90% in love (or hell, at least comfortable) with everything I am bare naked. When you feel good about yourself inside and out, it projects way beyond you. A confident, feel good attitude is like the Midas touch. I feel like I've been maneuvering with fool's gold for quite some time, and I want the real thing now. I know that I personally can't get there until I love this shell that my spirit is in and honor it the way that I should.
So... I pray that this will be a year of increased process and habit development to send me on my way to a body I can be fiercely proud of. For me. I want to feel sexy and bold and unafraid and unstoppable. I want to witness my body at its absolute best. I want to walk up a flight of stairs without heaving and checking my pulse directly afterwards. I want my hair to swing on hoes. I want to say yassssss each and every time I look in the mirror, whether I'm done up, dressed down, still wet from the shower or fresh out of bed with unbrushed teeth, my headtie still on and a hole in my sock for no reason at all other than the fact that I'm happy to be in the skin I'm in. I want that old glow back. And I'm excited to build up the necessary practices to get there, versus just wishing I'd magically morph into [insert Instagram boutique model with luxurious Indique bundles here] overnight.
So with all that out my system, here's to wellness and self-love in all it's many forms, starting with how I treat my "temple." Hopefully these guidelines slash notes-to-self help keep me on track for at least the first half of 2017. And friends, strangers, whoever, feel free to hold me accountable! I'll appreciate it more than you know:
-No more sweets and salts, babygirl. Just don't have it. Okay: Multigrain Wheat Thins, Welch's Fruit Snacks, Calorie Oreos, Fruits. Not Okay: Cheez Its, Cookies, Chocolates, Gushers, and everything else.
-You don't need to drink to have fun. Those drinks add to fupas and a false sense of enjoyment. Hiding behind a buzz versus re-finding that pleasant personality. Red wine is cool on rare social occasions because you're a grown up so put the Moscato down and act like it.
-Buy yourself a motivational water bottle/jug and drink at least one of those per day. Or, get through three Poland Spring bottles. Infuse them sometimes.
-Working out is your friend, because you want abs, a flat stomach, an actual thigh + ass combo and evidence of upper body strength. Grab a pal, or not, and stay active.
-Let's try out a just seafood + veg-based diet. This will require additional income to afford this, so get to pitching.
-Make meal prep your friend during the workweek. Remember, seafood + vegan, so figure it out quick. The more money you save, the more salmon you can afford.
-Lemon juice, not orange juice, for smoothies. Because, sugar intake and the desire to abolish acne. Keep adding ginger and tumeric.
-Yeah, so about that bread... Only every other month, k? #wraplife
You can do it, self! Be your own cheerleader!
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