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#GlorifyHappiness

29 September, 2014

Just when I was ready to throw in the towel in terms of blogging (well, at least blogging here), along comes a little something that strikes a chord.

We can all thank Jes for the burst of honesty.

The last 12 weeks have been a ridiculous roller coaster of emotion fueled by a strange sense of determination, sadness, self loathing and hate but with a heaping helping of self love.

I know.....you must be thinking I've lost my damn mind.

But let's start at the beginning, shall we?

Twelve weeks ago.

That is when I stepped far outside of my comfort zone and met with D for the first time.

He's smart, funny, sincere, honest, unfairly attractive (i.e. Ryan Gosling in Crazy, Stupid, Love attractive) and pretty much scares the hell out of me (for the love of all that is good, let us all keep our fingers crossed he doesn't find out that I said that).

D is my personal trainer.

He was supposed to "make me look better" because if I looked better, then I would feel better about myself and if I felt better about myself then I'd love myself and all the self hate and doubt about who I am would go away.

Right?! Because that is how all of this is supposed to work.

You lose weight, your ass starts to look good in your skinny jeans and you magically start to believe in yourself. All the critical voices in your head go away and when you look in the mirror you love everything you see staring back at you. Basically, life turns into sunshine and rainbows, maybe with a unicorn or two thrown in.

Even when you know that isn't how any of this works, sometimes you still hold onto a little hope that things do indeed work out that way.

But for me, that isn't what really happened.

Not by a long shot.

Yes, there has been weight that has come off and I've been told a few times that my ass does indeed look fabulous in my skinny jeans. But what about the rest of it? What about "loving myself!" and the voices of doubt and self-hatred going away? When was that supposed to happen?!

How many fucking squats and planks and lunges and whatever other horrid exercises did a girl need to do to get some self-love?!

The answer: 0.

It sounds ridiculous, but most of that junk went away on a random Saturday morning when I was on the verge of tears (again) because I couldn't do a single pull-up on my own or hold a plank to save myself. I was frustrated, tired, angry, disappointed, hungry and ready to give up.

I was exhausted by this intangible quest of "self love". Intangible because how was I supposed to find something when I didn't know what it looked like or what it was supposed to feel like! Instead, it felt like a giant neon sign was flashing in my face reading "FAILURE" because there I was, shoved into my compression pants and tank top, dripping with sweat, hating myself because I had failed......again.

But then D told me something no one had every told me before. He looked me straight in the eyes and said "You're stronger than you think you are. I've got you."

For whatever reason, hearing those words at that moment on that morning was what I needed.

I needed someone who could see past the facade of strength I had learned to hide behind. I needed someone to see beyond the self deprecating humor and jokes. I needed someone in my corner who (or is it whom----don't judge) I didn't believe I deserved to have standing in it with me.

I'd like nothing more than to say I rediscovered the path of self acceptance and self love on my own. That I was able to get there and take the first step by myself. But I can't. I needed to be nudged shoved by someone I thought was "out of my league". By one of the so-called "beautiful" people who didn't hang out withe "people like me".

And surprisingly enough, that is o.k.

We've all heard a variation of "It is the journey not the destination that matters" a time or two. A journey that is filled with peaks and valleys. A journey that is paved with life lessons that range from the ridiculous to the gut wrenching and cliches a mile long. And that journey to self-love is no different.

There are days when I look in the mirror and don't recognize the beautiful woman staring back at me. And there are days when I look in the mirror and hate what I see staring back at me. But the "good" days outnumber the "bad" days.

But the bad days remind me of what D told me.

The bad days make me appreciate the good days even more.

And the good days, oh how I love them and how they make me feel.

They remind me that I have a body that no one else has--it's a one of a kind piece of art (literally thanks to my tattoos!!) that no one else has. And even though it may be soft and round, it reminds me on a daily basis that I am a strong woman, even if I can't do a pull up on my own just yet.



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