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I Gained 30 Pounds and Embrace My Body
I’m just coming out of a particularly stormy patch in life. The shadows of depression had me in their grip for the past six months, but now I’m finally stepping into the light again. This is fantastic news, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
What I’m less thrilled about is the 30 pounds I’ve gained during this time. I didn’t even realize how much until I hopped on the scale the other day. Sure, I noticed my jeans were a size up, but it never clicked that I had packed on so much weight. While it’s disheartening to see that number, it’s a reality that often accompanies struggles with mental health. You can’t take care of your physical self until your mind is in a good place. During my battles with anxiety and depression, my diet and exercise routines took a serious hit. It was an unfortunate trade-off, but one I had to make. I’d rather gain 30 pounds than lose my passion for life.
The bright side? I’m finally in a space where I can focus on my physical health again. Having been a yo-yo dieter for years, I know how to shed the pounds, even if it takes longer than it did a decade ago. I know what foods to indulge in, what to steer clear of, and how to get moving again. I have the right tools to make it happen, and I will reach my pre-depression weight eventually.
But that’s a future goal. I have no idea when it will happen—could be six months, could be three years. The timeline is a bit hazy when you’re working on reclaiming your body. So, in the meantime, while I sweat it out and munch on salads, I’ve got to tackle something I’ve always found challenging.
I need to learn to accept my body as it is right now. I think I even need to learn to love it, with all its curves and squishy bits.
This isn’t exactly my forte. There have been times in my life when I’ve felt good about my body, but those were the moments when I was at my ideal weight, taking care of myself, and generally feeling fit. Loving my body was a cinch then. All my clothes fit perfectly, and there was only one chin to deal with. But now… now I’m on a journey to learn to appreciate my body, even when it’s not in its prime. Because even if my waistline is wider and the scale is showing a higher number, that doesn’t define who I am or my role as a mom.
Sure, my arms might jiggle a little more, but they’re still strong enough to lift my son when he takes a tumble. My thighs may rub together more often, but they’re still sturdy enough for my daughter to bounce on my lap. My belly is softer, but it’s still a comfy spot for my kids to curl up after a long day.
My body does not define me. I refuse to let it dictate my happiness or my self-worth. I won’t scrutinize every inch of myself after a shower, nor will I turn my nose up in disgust when I glance in the mirror. The extra inches around my waist won’t be a source of shame for me.
Instead, I’ll view my body as a continuous work-in-progress. It may never be perfect, but it will always “be.” My body matters. Taking care of it matters. But it’s just one aspect of who I am. Just like I’ve learned to accept and love my other quirks—my stubbornness, my sleepless nights, my impatience—I will learn to appreciate my body too.
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In summary, I’m learning to embrace my body at this moment, accepting it with all its imperfections and recognizing that it does not define my worth or my happiness as a person or a mother. It’s all about the journey of self-acceptance and love.