It is hard to describe my journey with my body.

I remember shame, guilt, and rejection.

I remember needing to compare myself to others to feel better since I wasn’t as “fat” as others. But then assuming others did that too much took away any comfort that brought.

I remember how purity cultural worked to my advantage, giving me a moral reason to hide so much of myself. If the flesh can’t be trusted, then I shouldn’t pursue feeling good in my body.

I remember viewing my body is a tool, like a practical, dependable, and functional car. Nothing too flashy or self indulgent but also not something to run down that is hard to maintain.

I remember how much I hated trying on clothes. I remember the humiliation I felt when I had to shop in the boys department because I couldn’t fit in the girls jeans.  Jeans squeezed me in all the wrong places reminding me that I was bigger than “normal”. Shorts showed the world the size of my thighs. Dresses and skirts were my safe place. They gave me a place to hide the parts I didn’t like and were the one place I felt pretty.

I remember just 6 months before my wedding, when I was student teaching in Japan, a Japanese women at the school invited me to join her at the local bath house. I rejected her offer because I didn’t know how to be naked around  other women, let alone myself.

Then, I married a person who loved my body when I wasn’t able to. This person, over time, taught me to see myself differently.

My body, she is beautiful. She is sacred. She is not a tool to be used or something that needs to perform to be valued. She is enough. And she has the right to be heard.

Which brings me to last night.  I went to bed with a mix of guilt, gratitude, and hope. I feel so cliché to say or admit that these past few months have been a series of tasty indulgences. And I don’t want to mark those indulgences as bad because I don’t believe there are “bad” foods. But there were times when I made food choices that were harmful to my body. I disregarded the voice of my body saying she didn’t need more fuel.  Those moments were repeated and now my body can’t hide they way she is feeling. She is tired. She doesn’t have as much energy as she did 2 months ago. She can’t keep this pace up. She is crying out to be heard. She knows what it is like to thrive and she can’t stay silent anymore. These past few weeks, I have felt out of balance. No part of me can thrive at the expense of another part of me because they are all me. We can only thrive together.

This realization that I had been overeating was was triggering because it reminded me of the emotional trauma of my struggle with weight from my childhood. It reminded me of viewing my body as a tool that I didn’t really like. But this wasn’t about the number on the scale or even the way I looked in clothes. Maybe outwardly it looks similar but the motivation feels completely different. This is about giving my body a voice so that we could work together to be our best version. It’s about drinking water to stay hydrated. It’s about trusting my craving to tell me what what body needs. It’s about making space for movement that feeds every part of me. It’s about celebrating this beautiful person that I am in every moment of every day. So, here is to a new day of trusting and listening. we can do this and so can you.