#ThisBodyIsntStupidAndGross

       I often argue away compliments I'm given.  I might have said this before on here, but the one thing I do agree with when people tell me is that I'm a good friend.  I am. terrible at picking men; great at girlfriends.  I have walked grief with my friends.  Loss of parents, infant nieces, miscarriages, I have been privileged to be allowed to walk beside people as they face all the emotions that loss brings.  One thing I have repeated over and over is "Grief isn't a race.  You won't just be done with it one day. It's now a part of you and you have to realize that moving forward".  I gently remind them that some days will be great and some days they'll be a weepy mess. 

       I have come to have similar feelings regarding body image and need to incorporate that in my moving forward.  Now, here me loudly: I am in no way saying that having a poor or ill conceived body image isjustlike losing a loved one.  Not even a little bit.  But the feeling of never being "there" is the same.  

       I'm beginning to understand that if I lose all the weight I want, I still don't think I'll feel absolutely fabulous about how I look.  It's so ingrained in who I am that how I look is wrong.  Those feelings won't go away over night, even if the weight did and it's silly to think weight loss would be the answer to all my ills.  

       Even now, some days I am confident and strong and feel pretty great about myself because I'm pretty great.  And the very next day (or hell, even sometime a few hours later) something will switch and I'll just want to go to bed.  It could be that I saw more than my face in a mirror (something I go through great lengths to avoid), the poor fit of a piece of clothing, just FEELING gross.  And that strength and confidence just goes away.  I simply don't have it anymore.  While I strive for those feelings to become less and less, it is foolish and irresponsible to assume they will go away forever and not prepare for how to cope when they come up.  

       Last weekend, I was lamenting to some friends about clothing and texted one "I just want to cancel my plans and not go".  And her response was spot on: Well, you can't just go to bed and not exist.  Clothes are gross and stupid, bodies aren't.  And she's so right.

       With this one body I have been blessed with I do a lot of things.  I laugh.  I live.  I enjoy the simple things.  I friend.  I aunt.  I help heal.  This body worships its creator and savior. It isn't stupid and gross.  I AM NOT STUPID AND GROSS.  Period.  

         When those feelings occur in the future, I want to remind myself of that saying and focus instead on all the things I am.  And that are good and honorable about me.  I am flawed, certainly, but I am worthy.  This race is worth running. 

        

Am I truly sorry?

     Am I the only one who apologizes over things that need no apology? Perhaps you all saw the meme going around earlier this year mentioning they were going to strive to say "thank you" more than "I'm sorry".  It went on to give the example of saying "Thanks for waiting 10 extra minutes for me" instead of saying "I'm sorry I'm late".  That got me to thinking about the amount I apologize for stupid shit.
     I'm a pretty social person.  Don't get me wrong, I love my alone time and crave it, but I am blessed with a lot of friends and (I suppose) an active social life.  That to say that it's not uncommon I meet people for dinner, drinks, walks, sporting events, concerts, etc.  And never once have I thought to myself "Man, I wish they would have stayed home instead of coming like that".  Meet up after your run?  Cool.  Wearing your work uniform?  Fine.  I don't ever judge or care when that happens, yet I often found myself apologizing for showing up, just being myself.
      "Sure!  I can do dinner at 6, but I've gotta warn you, I'm in yoga pants!  Sorry!"
                   "Yes, let's go to the 1130 church service, but I don't have on makeup.  Sorry!"
                               "Drinks at 4 on a Monday?  Sure, but I didn't wash my hair today.  Sorry!"
       Friends.  This is so me.  Correction: was  so me.  Why do I feel my presence is something that needs to be apologized for? Why am I judging myself by such a strict standard that I'd never impose it on my those I care about? I do that so often it bears repeating"Why am I judging myself by such a strict standard that I'd never impose it on those I care about?"
     It's not as if I'm showing up at weddings or anything remotely formal.  This is most often spur of the moment plans.  So I am making efforts to stop flippantly apologizing.  How will anybody really know I'm truly sorry about something if I "stupid apologize".  It's not as if those I'm meeting up with don't know what I look like.  I am no longer going to apologize for being me.
        I always find it awkward and uncomfortable when people mention positive attributes in me.  I can argue any compliment away (which is a post for another time), but I do agree with the statement that I am a good friend.  That has nothing to do with the size clothes I'm wearing or how much I weigh.  I am a good friend; it comes easily to me.  I'm terrible at picking men, but girlfriends? I got that down.  It is high time I start being a friend to myself.  I need to #LookAt my attributes and see the good things, quit apologizing for not being perfect, and be kind to me.

      Boy, I've been busy since my last post.  I worked 6 days in a row, went to parents' the next day for Easter, spent the night there, came back home the day after that, and went back to work the next three days.  Now.  I'm aware that many people work multiple jobs.  That they have a gaggle of children to take care of when they come home each night.  I am not saying that I'm the busiest person in the world.  But I am saying I have been plumb tuckered.  Yet I was still able to make it work most days on time.  Early, even.  Having worked night shift for over a decade, being anywhere showered, dressed, and ready to go in the morning on time is a huge feat for me.  Hospital work is long and hard, emotional and physically draining. And my body was able to do that.  I fall into the trap sometimes that everything would be better/easier/any other "better" adjective if I was thinner.  And while I want to be healthy, the basis of that belief is not true.  I can type that easily. My mind knows that.  But oh, sometimes that's so difficult for my heart to comprehend.
     That's the majority of what this blog is about.  For me to look back on in the moments when I'm panicked and stressed out about everything and remind myself of what I CAN do.  I don't really adopt words for the year, but this year I want to focus on finding the joy in things.  It's always there.  I mean, it may be that you only broke one leg not two, but the silver lining is there.  I advise my friends of this often, but need to work harder on believing it for myself.
     Just before I headed to this coffee shop (where I ordered and paid for the special only to be told that they were out-- bummer!) I worked with Nikki, my personal trainer.  I did a lot of cray things for an hour.  I squatted, planked, arm dipped, battle roped, and more.  It wore me out.  I stopped a few times to catch my breath, but I fucking did it.  I didn't let the fear of failing or of looking fat and stupid get in the way of it.  I did it.
     I was created for more than being panicky about my appearance and my single status.  Jesus didn't go to the cross for me to think I was unworthy.  (ASIDE: I know what you're thinking.  I just dropped the f bomb (sorry mom) and in the next paragraph I'm talking about Jesus.  Yup.  That's me.  I'm an enigma wrapped in a mystery.  That phrase "I love Jesus but I cuss a little" defines me perfectly.  I don't have the mouth of a sailor but sometimes a well played curse word makes things better.  It just does.)  I've always had a personal relationship with Jesus and am trying to grow in that.  A big portion of it reminds me that I'm not a second class citizen.  I'm not made to be a part of this fallen world, but I'm a co heir with Christ.  Y'all.  A co heir.  WITH JESUS.  That's as mind blowing to me now as it was the first time I realized it.
     Because of this belief and the knowledge I'm saved by grace and free from sin and shame, I am learning to look for the joy.   Even in this body of mine, which honestly I avoid looking at all costs.  I don't own a full length mirror.  I put on my robe before I open the shower curtain.  I dislike what I see and I always have.  But the joy is that I was created in God's image.  And I'm striving each minute to realize that truth alone is enough to make me beautiful.  The God given qualities I have are more important than any cellulite or too tight pants in my closet.  Because I'm fabulous.  Not on my own.  But because of Jesus.
    That's what His body can do.

The Inaugural Post

      For as long as I can remember, I have been unhappy with the way I looked.  I recall as early as elementary school recognizing I wasn't as little as the popular, pretty girls.  I remember being so disheartened the first time I bent my arm at the elbow and skin/muscle/fat stuck out on both sides.  (Note: it does that on pretty much everybody!) I lied about my weight when I jumped on the neighbors trampoline.  All this to say, my unhealthy and unreal expectations began at a very young age.

     It didn't get any better as I got older.  The pretty popular girls remained thing even after they developed with puberty.  I stayed largely the same, but still large.  Now, I wish I could be as fat as I was in college.  I think that's 50 pounds ago?  I dabbled with eating disorders and fretted way too much about being thin and pretty to find a man.

    In my early thirties (well, earlier in my thirties because I am 34 as I write this-- not gonna claim mid thirties until I hit 35!) I really had to come to love my body as I was for me.  It was obvious I wasn't going to be in a long term relationship anytime soon so I needed to get happy with who and what I was for me.  

     It was hard.  It was painful.  It was something I still struggle with.  I believe the devil knows your weak points and uses them to his advantage and he knows all too well that if I ponder a topic long enough, I can fully convince myself the root cause of it is because I'm overweight and single.  Every. Single.  Issue.  Even the most flippant thing you're thinking of right now-- give me enough time and I can make it work.  I've named that side of myself Irrational Kimbrough or IK for short.  

     I'm better these days at keeping IK at bay.  My rational self rules most days, but it would be false to assume that all my days are hunky dory.  It still bothers me.  I'm fatter now that I have ever been.  But I'm learning that the best parts of me don't change no matter what.  I'm recognizing that this body is the only one I will ever get and it enables me to do anything I want.  

    I can walk.  I can learn to run again.  I can lift weights.  I can flip tires.  I can prep food.  I can snuggle with my kitties.  I can lift up the children in my life I'm lucky enough to love.  

    This blog I started for myself to remind me of the things I CAN do, especially when the list of things I can't do is easier to form.  (Fit into single digit jeans for example.   I'll never be able to do that.  And that has to be okay). I don't even know if this is public for anybody to read or if it's just for me.  Either way I'm okay with it.  In my dream life, I write free lance on the side, so this helps satiate that desire. 

     I need an outlet to get things out.  I journal hand written with my Lord, but this wanted to do on the computer.  I want to have a place to jot down notes for when I do something pretty amazing.... with this body that will never be in fitness magazines.  

     Today's #LookAt?  I ran up the hill at Cherokee park.  I am using the C25K app and I love it.  I used to be a runner then life happened.  But I'm slowly working my way back into it.  I didn't go as far as the app wanted me to in 10 minutes (2 stretches of this length of time) but I did it and I'm glad about it.