With the new year coming up, I’ve been seeing lots of ads targeting people who want to lose their “quarantine weight”. I’ve been seeing people compare their bodies to the way that they looked in January. I’ve seen and experienced their dissatisfaction that comes with acknowledging weight gain.
My life now consists of me being chained to my desk. Daily gym visits have been replaced with the extra heavy workload that comes with online learning and just generally trying to survive a global pandemic.
Even though I have workout equipment, some days I’m just too tired from existing in this world to even consider subjecting my body to cardio.
Right now, I’m focused on trying to stay sane. Part of this process involves working through my shit. It turns out my love for my body doesn’t exist past 150 lbs on the scale.
Right now I’m focused on trying to unlearn harmful behaviors. It turns out that planned exercise is one of those behaviors. Planned exercise is an obsessive behavior for me. This would lead to a longing for my body to look different. This kind of love isn’t unconditional.
I want unconditional love for my body. I desperately want to love every stretch mark and wrinkle. I just can’t do this and also have a planned exercise time. So I decided to stop caring. I stopped counting calories and weighing myself. I slowly lost muscle and ab definition. I just stopped caring.
I stopped looking at the weight gain as a disappointing thing. I started seeing the weight gain as a sign that I am truly learning to love the vessel that gives me life. I watched how it moved, how it felt. I learned to respect its limits. I began to listen to what it had to say and I adjusted my life accordingly.
I learned to love the giggle and I bought bigger clothes. I make sure to look at my body in the mirror. I get out of breath when I go up the stairs and I wouldn’t have it any other way for right now.
So here I stand, abs replaced with fat and stretch marks. I fucking refuse to apologize for my body and healing.