Updated: Jan 9, 2021
I need to track my progress. I’ve been searching for a One-Step Fix for a decade only to find that if I click my sparkly red heels 3 times and belt out “There’s no place like home,” I’d be exactly where I need to be.
The real “easy way out” is not as advertised.
It’s not a committed gym workout.
It’s not a strict diet plan.
It’s not a pill.
It’s hiding under the covers, asleep in your mind’s wiring.
—If you just replace the “y” with an “e” —
“Ease is the way out”
The journey— the months of reprogramming your brain to bring ease into your day to day, into your first-resort interpretation of the potentially hard-to-swallow moments—
that’s what bestows the magic upon your sparkly red heels – one size fits all.
If you give yourself a little compassion, the belts keeping you intact, the tight shirts and stubborn rules pressuring you, loosen around you. It’s okay to unzip your pants after you eat.
My Before & After Shot might as well look the same — it was never about my body.
It was about my mind not accepting my body.
It was about my mind not accepting itself until it accepted my body.
If you could see into my head throughout my life,
you’d see a 3-year-old looking into the mirror thinking she’s ugly but knowing something I’ve forgotten since: beauty is not my premise. My confidence has nothing to do with my physical features.
You’d see the same 3-year-old looking into that mirror & thinking,
I’m a good person.
That’s not a modest thought.
Modesty is a good quality.
I want to be modest.
I don’t like myself.
Okay, good I grounded my ego – now I’m good again.
No, I just did it again.
I hate myself.
You’d see a 10-year-old who like so many people in different walks of life, saw her friends’ struggles as an outside experience and not quite understanding how to deal with them, did her best. This 10-year-old tried to make her fat friend feel better about herself by settling for solidarity.
“Look, I’m fat too,” she said, squeezing together her skin.
You’d see that 10-year-old loving that when she lay on her bed sideways, her stomach would fall inwards instead of spilling out onto the bed.
After a shower she hated because she didn’t know how to properly shampoo or get the soap out of her hair, she’d strut on her bed in circles, singing and smiling at herself in the mirror, being genuinely energetic and content.
You’d see a 13-year-old having blueberry & chocolate chip Eggo waffle-eating contests with her childhood best friend, winning, and feeling the pressure to live up to this new stigma that she eats a lot because her best friend told a few kids of this competition.