My jiggly bits.
I’ve always wanted to be one of those girls who – when standing – had so much space between their thighs a freight train could barrel through my waif-like gams. And I would barely notice.
Much like 99.9% of my very limited and uneventful sexual encounters, my response would be, “Um… did something just happen. Should I turn off the TV? I felt nothing between my legs.”
Why so happily aloof?
Because my thighs never touch. Like ever.
In my head, my existence became a mythical tale of leg gap wonders….
Strong winds would pass through my legs just to say “hello.” And rabbits and fairies visited my cavernous gap just to spread the word throughout my fairy tale kingdom, “All hail! The gap is here. Let there be peace in this unencumbered crotch. Amen.”
And it – life – would be totally rad.
So flippin’ perfect.
Just me and my leg gap and my fully encumbered crotch.
Except it wasn’t the end – ‘cause it didn’t really happen.
Here is what did.
Decades of hating my body. Decades of hating my thighs – and the rest of my jiggly bits. And decades of trying to be something I was not.
I mean that fact is… A unicorn will gallop through my living room long before my sumptuous thighs evaporate.
I am tall. I am muscular as hell. And that is simply – the deal. I am never ever gonna be a waif.
On a good day, I am the most fit version of me. Vibrant. Happy. Mouthy. A little sarcastic. Quick with a lame story. But by no means a waif.
About 3 years ago, I started blogging about my weight loss journey. I lost about 55 pounds and I continued to write until I embraced all of my jiggly bits. That said, this is not a weight loss blog.
Let me say it again – not, not, not.
I have spent decades talking about my weight, obsessing over it, weighing myself to exhaustion. The fact is I am gonna eat well and exercise or not.
Further, I don’t ask people about their weight or food or anything remotely tangential – nor do I give an it-shay. That is their business.
I am entirely overwhelmed just trying to get to work on time every other decade. And that is my business – and I suck it.
I’ve just talked, read and researched it to death – so it is now equivalent to childbirth or marriage to me – “I don’t care if other people do it, but – by all means – leave me out of it.”
So again – this is not a weight loss blog. There are a bazillion people and places where “the numbers” can be discussed in a bazillion different ways. I am just giving my journey some context.
The best way I know to lose some weight is to…
- Drop a boyfriend that shouldn’t be [- 150 lbs.]
- Or finally stop talking to that itch-bay [yes, I am fluent in Pig Latin. Impressed yet?] at work or at Thankgiving dinner or next door that drives you nuts [now, deduct another 150 lbs.]
- Or get rid of all of the it-shay in your house that takes up too much space and is too much work to clean [now, deduct another 20 - 40 lbs.]
And presto magic! [Throw in some Harry Potter spell here...]
And most people will weigh in at -300, at the very least.
Anyway, that’s how it all went down.
Once I accepted my body. And me. I just became less interested in writing about the jiggle of my thighs, cellulite, that soft mound beneath my belly button.
And became more concerned with exorcising and/or accepting life’s REAL jiggly bits. The parts of my life that just hung on my soul, shaking and shaking, every time I wanted to move forward or move at all.
Yes, those jiggly bits. And I’ve had my share…
- Abusive childhood. [So been there, so done that.]
- Sociopath mother. [The itch-bay was - and remains cray cray.]
- Lovers. Walked, walked, walked all over me and my low self-esteem/self-worth [Sigh]
- My voice. I mean the one that spoke my truth, cried my indignation. Didn’t even know I could have one.
The list goes on and on…
But let’s just say speaking up – I mean truly advocating for myself – is firmly in my wheelhouse now.
Demons from the past no longer rule me. Laugh at me. Taunt my soul. Hurt my heart.
I could laugh at them, but who gives an it-shay? That’s when I knew I was truly “fixed” – because every reminder didn’t stop me in my tracks. Fill me with tears. [Boy, there was a time not long ago when I could use 2 boxes of Kleenex on some mom and kid in a Hallmark commercial. For realz.]
But now? Eh. I just feel whole and peaceful [and I wish I could explain it better than that, but that's all I got.]
I say all of that to say being brutally honest about my past – using words – propelled me past it. Yes, I mean blogging. [I know. Right? It’s totally cray cray.]
But it is what it is.
And certainly, my support system and genuine friendships I made at sparkpeople.com saved my life – on so many levels.
No, I don’t work for them. I mean no one in their right mind would want me to be their spokesperson. I curse too much. I have anger issues that scurry right to surface on special occasions [and holidays, of course.] And I say exactly what I mean – making me politically un-savvy, at best.
But as goddess of everything fabulous, RuPaul, would say: “my goal is to always come from a place of love …but sometimes you just have to break it down for a mother[trucker].”
I guess my fairy tale now would be to share and love and laugh so hard it hurts (but in a good way). To be so honest that it if makes just one person feel less lonely, less hopeless for one second, it would be worth it.
And to wake up every day and say, “I love my jiggly bits.”
The ones on the outside and the inside.
That is my new goal.
That is now my mission for life.
I know it’s a lofty goal. But what can’t we accomplish together?
I am pretty sure the answer is nothing.
I’m just sayin’.
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