Body Acceptance is an EVERYDAY Practice
The unfortunate truth about accepting your body in a world that's determined to change you
So you’ve decided to stop dieting, stop hating your body, stop admonishing yourself for the way you look. Get out of your own way, be a new person, live without boundaries, TAKE UP SPACE. Yas, love that for you.
But where do you start? Good question and it’s one I can only answer based on my limited self-experience, and I will. But before we dive into what I like to call the “body positive to fat liberation pipeline,” there’s one thing I truly need you to understand: body acceptance is not a one-and-done undertaking. It’s not like a project you start and finish; you’re not a home renovation or a hideous Nissan Sentra with a microwave and a fishtank courtesy of the villains on MTV’s Pimp My Ride (they all need to be charged with war crimes, but that’s a discussion for another day).
You will be working on this for the rest of your life—is the ongoing, sometimes arduous accepting your body, regardless of the number on a scale, the size of your tummy, scars, flaws and all, something you’re actually interested in? Because if not, you’re in for a rude awakening.
A few years ago, a reasonably well-known “body positivity” influencer I was interviewing for a story (that was ultimately killed, which is the sucky side of journalism Carrie Bradshaw never mentioned) shared that they turned to body positivity because they couldn’t lose the weight and had to “just accept it.” At the time, I nodded in agreeance. I think we’ve all been there, right? Diet number 42 has failed; your clothes don’t fit, and you’re in self-quarantine from friends and family, ashamed of how you look. I know I’ve been there. Hell, I would be lying if I said that wasn’t how I ended up in this space. But in retrospect, that place of negativity has only made this journey worse.
Let me explain. Coming to body acceptance from a place of resignation propelled me into a sickening cycle of hope and despair. Like clockwork, every few months, I would say, “ok, enough,” and take baby steps towards self-acceptance. Then something would happen where I would drop just a few pounds (back when I still weighed myself), and the self-talk went from acceptance with no limitations to acceptance with the caveat that I was still trying to lose weight and that this was not my “permanent size.” I somehow tricked myself into believing that I did absolutely love my body, but I would love it MORE if I could just get down a little bit. Mind you, I was in the throes of an active eating disorder, in deep, deep depression and barely able to function. Even in the worst mental and emotional condition I’ve ever been in, I was still focusing on a love for myself that was tied to external forces. Looking back, it’s almost absurd; if I couldn’t love myself unconditionally, how could I expect anybody else to?
As I have progressed along in this journey, I’ve experienced massive highs and absolutely ego-crushing lows. I’ve had to reckon with having an eating disorder and then come to understand that getting treatment didn’t mean I would automatically be better (understanding that “better” to me looked like someone who had their eating “under control” and wasn’t constantly gaining and losing weight). I’ve learned that my ADHD makes any sort of “consistency” damn near impossible without a Herculean effort, so while many others can get into a routine of meditation and thoughtful journaling, my body acceptance practices look more like turning on my phone and ranting about whatever fatphobic thing has pissed me off that day. Different strokes for different folks, ya know? I am still unlearning fatphobia. Still, right now, as I am writing this, I am still finding out the covert ways fatphobia seeps into our daily lives, permeating our psyche in a way that still feels totally acceptable (because it is). A recent lesson is the uproar around the word “fat,” and how, for some, it’s a neutral descriptor, and for others, it is a reminder of years of painful, often borderline abusive words thrown at them in an attempt to degrade and humiliate. I get it; I’ve been there.
I still have to go back to those cliche daily practices; look at your naked body in the mirror, keep an internal index of the things you do like about yourself, try & quiet that nasty voice in your head. Le Sigh, had I known that acceptance was going to include fending off internet trolls and parenting my inner fat child after a lifetime of fatphobia and misognyoir, would I have done it again? Well, yea, but I’d complain about it a lot more.
Does all of this dribble answer the question about how to get started on your body acceptance journey? No, I’m sorry. I just wanted to warn you that, yes, acceptance is amazing & once you break past the worst parts of society, re-set your internal critique and learn to drown out what your family and others say, you will be happier. But it takes time—time and patience. And a commitment to daily work.
I’d like to say that almost a decade into this journey that I have, at least, most of the answers, but I don’t. Most of the time, I barely know what day it is & thanks to an ongoing stimulant shortage, I am barely holding on by a string. One thing I do know is that accepting myself in a world determined to make me hate everything about myself requires intentional, daily practice. I always liken it to building a sandcastle. I can build the best sandcastle, every day, with all of the bells and whistles, but the rising tide comes along like clockwork, washing away the love and care I’ve put into my sandcastle. But I have to keep going. I have to keep building, Because what’s the alternative? A lifetime of regret? Wishing I had worn that dress or taken that trip, or posed for that photo? Nah, I’m not doing that, and neither should you.
But before you start down this path, and I 100% think you should, I just want you to know that it won’t be easy, it won’t be instantaneous, it won’t even come with any fanfare. But what you (might) get is a piece of mind, and a life you’re not afraid to live. And I think we’re at least worth that.
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