let us eat cake.

I am not trying to lose weight in 2012.

That’s a weird way to start this off, isn’t it? I know. But I feel like we should get this out of the way to start with.

Okay. Sure. I have a whole board on Pinterest (which is totally addicting, by the way and I am a pinning fool and I blame it all on Alissa even though I asked her for the invite but this is all beside the point) dedicated to weight loss ideas and tips and little sayings and it’s cleverly called “think thin” but I’m not trying to lose weight.

It’s not that I don’t want to lose weight. It’s not that I couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds. On the contrary. I could easily lose another 10-15 lbs because I’m a girl and we always want to lose weight and we’re never really satisfied with ourselves. Take note, fellas. It does not matter how many times you tell us we look good. We will never see what you see. But keep telling us. We need to hear it.


I’m the type of person that can get obsessive with my weight. When I decide to diet, I diet hard. I skip cake. I fucking love cake. It’s not a healthy thing for me. I’ve had eating disorders and I have a wicked case of body dysmorphia and I generally hate looking into a mirror. When I drop weight, I drop it fast and when I gain it, I gain it faster and it’s never good enough. I’m never happy.

And that’s what I want to change.

I don’t want to change myself, though if I happen to lose weight in the coming year, I’m not going to lose my damn fool mind & be pissed about it. Rather, I’d like to change how I view myself.

I want to look in the mirror and be happy with the girl looking back at me. Yes. I might be a pants size bigger than I want to be. Maybe I’ll never see size 2’s again, but it’s okay, because this body once carried and birthed two babies. Two babies that it was never supposed to be able to produce. And maybe my boobs will never be as perky as they once were, but they completely sustained two growing boysfor 6 months of their lives and continued to nourish the littlest one for another 6-8 months (we’re still working on that.) My arms may never be as tiny as they were when I was a teenager, but they’ve rocked babies to sleep, been a safe haven after nightmares, bounced a colicky baby for hours on end and lifted a four year old in the middle of a meltdown. They’re strong. They’re resilient. They rise to the challenge every time. My shoulders may look too large to my eyes, but they were the perfect size for friends to cry on and my boychildren to perch on. Maybe my hair will never be as long as I’d like for it to be, but its provided hours of entertainment to my nieces, who love to braid it and brush it when I come visit. My skin isn’t perfect and for the first time in my life, I’m suffering from breakouts, but I get it from my Papa. And while it wasn’t one of his better gifts, it’s proof that his blood runs through my veins. Something I’ll always be proud of, even if that means sporting large pores. And sure, maybe I’m on the short side, but I never have a problem finding pants that are the right length.
And deeper, down past the skin and the muscle and yes, maybe even the fat, there’s a heart and soul there. One that loves and hurts and fucking cares. That hasn’t given up on the world, even when it wants to. That looks for beauty in everything, because there’s beauty to be found in life, just so long as you keep looking. That forgives, even when it’s hard and tries to give back and tries to find the balance in life. That keeps evolving and changing and trying to mature, but holds on to youth because there was a magic back then that it doesn’t want to lose. That dreams and hopes and wishes and prays and tries to keep looking at the glass as half full even when it gets dangerously close to empty.

It’s gaining perspective and not focusing on the imperfections and shortcomings, but finding peace in the flaws. Knowing that, yes, the outer packaging is important, but that inside stuff, all the filling and the stuffing and the things that make me up is what really counts. It’s learning to be happy with me, all of me, even if that means being a size bigger then I’d like.

That’s what I want. That’s where I want to be when I greet 2013. I want satisfaction. I want contentment in my own skin.

I want cake.

Because life, in all its glorious disasters, in all its letdowns, heartbreaks and triumphs, will always be sweeter with cake.



One thought on “let us eat cake.

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