I have four pairs of size 5/6 jeans in my armoire that will never fit again. When I think about these jeans, I remember the girl who wore them as she drove across the bottom of America from Florida State Film School in Tallahassee, Fla. to Los Angeles, Calif. in August 2002. She thought that if she could only continue strictly adhering to Weight Watchers (read: starving oneself) and exercising like a maniac for a few more months, then she would finally have a fabulous body. She wore a size 3/4 dress to graduation. It didn't make anyone like her more. The people who loved and respected her still did, and the people who didn't, didn't. She did, admittedly, feel great. And maybe a little hungry and obsessed with what she'd eaten that day and how she hadn't worked out.
Today I wear size 9/10 jeans, and I love my body. I think it's the yoga working soul magic on the mindbody. It's also the fact that my body is wonderful. My legs feel great when I push myself to hike up mountains. My arms are strong enough to carry heavy boxes and give great hugs. My skin is soft, my hair is healthy, and one day my optometrist said, "I hope you realize that your eyes are a beautiful green." And lest this seem all about only fluffyhealthy things, YES, when I look in the mirror it is all good. I love my abs. I'm convinced that if I'm ever in labor it will last 10 minutes, my abs are so strong.
Recently I said to my roommate - and I have NO idea what we were talking about - "I love my breasts." He replied, "You don't LOVE your breasts." Hey, whatever man. I'm not talking out of my (fabulous) ass here. I LOVE my breasts. They're the perfect size, they feel good, and so far they work great. (They've yet to be tested for motherhood purposes, but I'm confident they are up to the task.) My body gives me pleasure in so many ways, and I am so damn flexible, it hardly seems fair to be so lucky. Give this girl a mani/pedi, and she's ready for Playboy.
Things that I think are disturbingsad:
Women who are so uncomfortable about their bodies that they can't enjoy sex. OMG, I can't even imagine.
The thought of hundreds of Los Angeles women with big fake boobs, painfully chiseled butts and thighs, and no pubic hair. It's like we suddenly want our women to be little girls with big breasts. Kinda freaks me out.
The fact that it is shocking to see a average, healthy-sized woman on TV. Think about it, we almost only ever see severely thin women or overweight women. Where are the AVERAGE, HEALTHY WOMEN??? THANK YOU "MEDIUM."
Now, look. I respect all sizes of women and the choices they make. Never do I put my opinion out there to say I am right and you are wrong. Thin, average, big, sporty, muscular, petite, real, fake, WHATEVER ladies.
But THE TIME HAS COME TO LOVE WHAT YOU'VE GOT. Any man who's fool enough to nitpick your body needs to be left alone to play with his ALL BY HIS DAMN FOOL SELF. Any woman who makes you feel bad about your body undoubtably feels bad about hers. Sad but so, so true. Let her be, she has nothing on you.
Women are goddesses. Women are beautiful. Women are fun to play with. (And so are men BTW; they come with a fun toy.)
On March 13th, I'm taking those 5/6 jeans to a clothing swap for other beautiful women of a slightly smaller size to wear. It's not my natural size, and I'm happier than ever just being me.
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