When I weigh less than I currently do there’s a curve in my calves that flattens out and my face also gets a bit firmer around the jawline. I have a strong preference for looking, and perhaps feeling, the way I do that way, flatter calves, firmer face.
I noticed this morning that I was checking myself in the mirror when I woke up and feeling disappointed that those two spots, the bell weathers, weren’t more in line with the ideal. Maybe a half-inch difference in the calves, and way less than that difference in the face would be yay-worthy.
Instead, I felt shitty that they are not smaller, even though I’ve not been on a diet, and have been this same shape and size for a long time. I’ve kinda resolved that what it takes for me to be that other, smaller, firmer shape and size requires more than I’m willing to give at this point in my life. I don’t think I’ve been that shape and size without a kind of unpleasant constant vigilance I’m unwilling to muster.
I could go back to that, or perhaps find a new, better, way, and maybe I will. But I’m okay enough this way right now. I am.
So then the question is, why am I looking in the mirror and feeling shitty? If I’m so smart why do I allow myself thoughts and actions designed for misery rather than joy? What part of this being human gig requires self-inflicted pain?
None of it. None of it. I never have to hurt myself again. Not by over-doing, or under-doing, or vicious self-assessments or any of it. If I’m so smart I’m going to use the bathroom that doesn’t have the big mirror in the morning until I can trust myself to not catch a glimpse of my outside and cringe. It’s just my outside after all. It’s going to get even less idyllic, more wrinkled, more jiggly, if I’m lucky enough to keep living. Sheesh.
I’m gonna keep going.