Recently, a writer for Everyday Feminism published an article titled “4 Problematic Trends I See on Body Positive Instagrams,” and I have to say I agree with the majority of the article.
But there’s one point I can’t agree with.
In the second problematic trend she lists, she mentions that she doesn’t think that you can accept your size and want to change it, because “the very definition of accepting something is not wanting to change it.”
She goes on to state that the fitness industry holds a major myth: “That you can love your body and change it – or even love it by changing it.”
That is not a myth.
It is possible to be body positive, to love your body, and still try to change. I’m sure there are many people who agree with the writer and her statement here, but I have to wonder if maybe their definition of body positivity is loving the way you look instead of loving your body.
I love my body. All five foot, not-even-an-inch of it. All 165 pounds of it. I admire the fact that every second of everyday it’s working tirelessly to keep me alive, to make my heart beat, to keep my neurons communicating, to let me breathe each day and never ask for anything in return. I appreciate that my body loves me more than anything or anyone else ever could and that nobody in my entire life will have been with me every step of the way, the way my body has. I understand that I’ll only ever get one so I need to treat it with respect.
That’s how it’s possible to be body positive and still to change, and try to change.
But I haven’t always been this way. I haven’t always loved my body, and when I didn’t I believed that I couldn’t love myself until I “got skinny” and lost weight, so I can understand the logic behind the writer’s statement, but it doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to see your self-esteem in black and white, you can love your body and still change, and here’s how it happened for me:
July 13, 2016.
I was leaving for vacation in Florida that afternoon, but before we left for the airport I wanted to workout. Between sets of whatever lift I happened to be doing at the time, I walked to the open part of the gym and as I walked by one of the floor to ceiling mirrors, I saw the line of muscular definition of my quadriceps down the side of my upper leg.
And I stopped.
I walked over to the mirror and turned to see the muscle better. It was the first progress in strength I had been able to see and it made me look in the mirror at my whole body. I felt strong and proud that my muscles were growing. And in a flourish of feelings that are entirely indescribable, and in a matter of only a second, I had the thought in my head that if this was as good as it got (if this was the lowest my body fat would ever be at 28%), I’d be happy.
And I don’t want you to think that I only started to love myself because I saw myself getting skinnier, because I didn’t see that. I saw muscle. I saw power. I saw the results of the work I had put in and I was proud of myself. But mainly I was proud of my body.
I stayed in the mirror and flexed. And in that moment, in a way that is so sudden it shocks you because you never expect it, I loved my body just the way it was. I loved it for allowing me to be able to lift and I loved it for building the muscle.
After my workout I went to my family, interrupted whatever they were doing or talking about, and told them exactly what had just happened to me.
They sort of laughed, but then they started clapping, smiling from ear to ear because they knew what that meant for me. They knew how many years I had wasted hating myself.
7. That’s how old I was when the word “fat” was introduced into my vocabulary as associated with me. From then on, no matter where I was, I’d find myself comparing myself to every other girl in the room.
Sitting in a circle on the dusty gymnasium floor while my P.E. teacher explained what variation of tag we’d be playing that day, looking around at every other little girl in the class and wondering if I was the biggest, thinking I was. I was in elementary school.
From then on I was insecure, a moment never went by where I thought I was skinny. I used to look at the other girls in my grade and wonder what it felt like to look in the mirror and like what you saw.
I tried to lose weight in an unhealthy way. I would run three miles, only drink a smoothie, and then run off to softball practice for two hours in the sun. I’d try to only eat 1,200 calories a day (which I could never maintain, thankfully), but I never thought I was good enough.
20. That’s the age I was that day last summer. That's how old I was when I posted the first ever bathing suit picture of myself on social media, which is the headline photo of this article.
That's when I started lifting more, and after that day, that moment of recognizing that my body and I were in this together, recognizing that I loved myself no matter what I looked like, I started workout out consistently and eating 1,900 calories a day.
Since then, I’ve lost more fat than I ever have in my life, and it’s been in a healthy way. My muscles are growing and getting stronger and I treat my body with respect.
But the point of me telling you all of that, my whole story, is that I didn’t end up changing, and losing fat, because I hated myself. I didn’t think that I would love myself once I got to the weight I wanted to be (because I’ve gained four pounds since then). I changed because I respected my body enough to know that it deserved to be running in tip-top shape, and I knew that exercise was a way to help make that happen.
So, to all of the women out there who are insecure and want to know how to love yourself or who want to know how it’s possible to be body positive but still want to change: the only answer I have for you is to start appreciating your body for what it does for you, not what it looks like.
