I've played soccer since I was four years old, and I've played competitively since I was twelve. Last year was my first year in fifteen to not play on a team, but I wanted to maintain my fitness level regardless if I was a part of a sport or not. Running makes me feel alive and is often how I clear my head, and so that's what I did, just like all those years of high school in which I'd wake up before the sun to run with the rise for cross country practice. All throughout my childhood I was active and healthy (thanks, Momma), and my high school years were the times when I was in the best shape of my life.
Nothing could bring me down. I was fit, and I looked damn good, too.
Until last February, when my roommate and I were in a car accident.
It all could have been much worse than it was, but it still wasn't good. She had to get a new car, I had to go to the hospital to get my head examined, and we both were recovering for weeks. When you experience a mini trauma like that, your emotions are on some new level of out of control, and once the adrenaline levels down, the bumps become apparent and the bruises start to emerge. After calling my family and receiving sweet visits from friends, I wanted nothing more than to simply stay at home, don my fuzziest pair of socks, and watch Audrey Hepburn films while shoveling ungodly amounts of Ben & Jerry's ice cream into my mouth.
All the soreness and so much ouch.
My recovery took a long while, and I couldn't run or play or exercise real hard. My workouts became nonexistent, and I didn't think about it much. The weight room would still be there once I was ready for it, right? Besides, it's not like my body would change drastically between now and then.
My recovery took a long while, and I couldn't run or play or exercise real hard. My workouts became nonexistent, and I didn't think about it much. The weight room would still be there once I was ready for it, right? Besides, it's not like my body would change drastically between now and then.
Nope, wrong, wrong, wrong.
In one semester I gained somewhere between seven and ten pounds. It may not sound like much, but for the first time in my life I was out of shape, and not only was it showing, but it was feeling. My tummy was a little softer, my hips a little wider. The roundness of my face changed a bit, and suddenly I realized that my twenty-one year old self was not a little kid with a ridiculously high metabolism anymore.
Those cheesesticks from Sonic (oh, heaven divine) weren't going to run themselves off.
Not only was I not exercising, but my eating habits took a vacation as well. With a mom who runs triathalons on the regular and used to teach nutrition and aerobics back in the day, I've always been health aware, minus that season freshman year in which I ate too much and studied too little (I also cried every day, though sometimes I'd make my therapist laugh).
Sidenote: working through depression is a real hell.
After this past semester, I stumbled upon this beautiful truth: sometimes, life happens.
Oftentimes, your body is along for the ride.
And this is really difficult, especially in a world in which women are objectified daily and nothing is ever enough.
Too skinny. Too fat. Too loud. Too quiet. Too catty, too bitchy, too reserved, too obnoxious. Too funny, not funny enough, too this, too that, and how on earth are we supposed to keep up with it all?
The day cannot come soon enough in which we cease with the labels, and they aren't just coming at women from men. We label each other too, ladies. People like to brand other people with names, and I've never really understood this. I wish we'd simply be, or I wish we'd ask to hear what another person is like, rather than defining them ourselves.
Based on assumptions. Too often based by what we see on the outside.
So, back to my body issues (because yes, that's what they became).
Issues.
When the end of the semester was nearing, I found myself packing up to spend the summer in Portland. Leggings, layers, hiking socks, and all the flannel. Mount Ranier called for hiking boots and of course I'd need my swimsuit for all those waterfalls I'd be jumping.
Ooh, I'll try it on for fun.
The freedom that comes with summer is just so good: unkempt hair and long, pretty dresses. Sun-kissed skin and mandatory bare feet.
Snaps and ties and slips and turns in front of the mirror, and whoa-when did all of that get there?
I stared at myself in the mirror, and with this unexpected presentation came all sorts of issues. For the first time in my life I felt self-conscious, and a sinking feeling from deep within wanted nothing more than to cover up.
Don't look over here, there's nothing to see. My skin is a little soft these days, and wouldn't you rather feast your eyes on that lean, toned, skinny thing over there?
Wouldn't I rather be her right now?
Theodore Roosevelt said it once, I think, that comparison is the thief of joy. Maybe it's in the Bible. Either way, I think it's true. Sizing others up only yields to putting oneself down, and where on earth is the kingdom of God in that? Nowhere, I am quite certain.
Comparison, jealousy, embarrassment, and shame: all of these and more washed over me that day, standing before my reflection in a two-piece, barefoot and exposed. Vulnerability is a good way to explain it, and I hated every second.
It's in these moments, these times when the enemy is lying and our flesh is on fire that we must watch for God. Otherwise we'll miss the redemption awaiting us, that sweet, amazing, life-giving gift of grace that God so consistently offers us. It's there in the whispers, in the sweet, melodious, calming quiet of peace and love and all things hope. It's whispering all around, against the lies in the midst of the darkness.
Your legs aren't thin enough.
You're still beautiful.
They'll notice that tummy bulge.
I care about your heart.
Maybe you should wear a shirt to hide the weight you've gained.
Show them your soul, show them who you really are-who I say you are.
It may sound sappy, but I believe it so much: there is no connection between the size of someone's waist and the size of their heart.
Do you hear me, love? Are you listening to these words? They are freeing and real and oh so wonderful: you are not defined by anything other than the character that you produce from the inside.
Humanity, indeed the world defines people by the outside: what we wear, what we look like, how closely our bodies align with those of the edited celebrities on the covers of all of the magazines in the grocery aisles. This is the way of the world, this is maybe a little bit of hell.
God, our sweet, kind, humble Savior Jesus sets a different example: He cared, He cares about the conditions of our hearts. He cares about our actions, how we treat people, that we are loving other human beings for the simple sake that we are all children of God.
We are all made to love and be loved.
On another note, we are also called to be stewards and caretakers of the earth and of our bodies, and there seems to be truth in saying that self-control is a fruit of the Spirit. This is why, most days, I am self-aware. This is why I began running halfway through the summer again, and this is why I eat fruits and veggies and decent amounts of protein. If God wants us to love ourselves and each other, then I think we should probably be living in places of respect. We should respect ourselves and one another, and so for this I take care of myself. God is not in places of abuse, and so I choose to take care of my body so that I am leaning into kingdom places and prolonging my lifetime and cutting down on meat for the sake of the environment (and my cholesterol levels). The motivation for healthy living is a hard balance to find, but I think it's important, because the fruits of God's Spirit can still meet us in these spaces.
Most days, I eat well and exercise. Some days, I look really good. Some days, however, neither of these are true, and this is what I realized that day when I tried on my swimsuit in the mirror.
Sometimes, life happens, and that's perfectly alright. It's more than alright; it's normal and expected, it is a truth to be embraced.
When I felt insecurity as I looked at my body in the mirror, I realized that my mindset needed to change. Self degradation and comparison is neither fair nor healthy, and neither of these are in any sense of God. I wanted to love myself, because that's really important.
I made a decision to do so, right then and there. I chose to have grace on myself, because grace is what holds this messy world together. Then, I decided to sit in that space, to intentionally feel a little weighty and be a little soft and to embrace it.
Not change it.
Because in that space, my motivation to change myself was not a healthy one.
I felt my tummy and my legs, my cheeks and my arms, and I decided to be gentle, because this world can be harsh with all of its labels and expectations, and the last thing my body needed was more hate and abuse and unrealistic standards of perfection forced upon it.
That summer, I decided not to begin working out until about halfway through July. I wanted to allow myself time to love my body as it was, and on the fourth of July I wore my two-piece, because a few extra pounds were not going to define who I was.
Only my character can do that.
Life happens, and gentleness is called for. I'm currently running again, because I love how free it makes me feel, like I could run right off into the sky and fly above the clouds. My body is responding, leaning out and toning down a bit, but I'm sure life will continue to happen, as it did that day of my car accident.
Life will happen if I ever get married and have children. My feet will swell and my tummy will grow, and after it's all over my skin won't be as tight as it is right now. I want to embrace it all though, because life happens.
Life will happen on Tuesdays, when I'm in class for hours upon hours and won't find the time to fit in a run. That's okay and alright and all sorts of fine. Life happens.
Life will happen when I decide to eat Cheetos, because the puff kind are just so yummo. You truly have a short time in this life, so go ahead and eat the damn cupcake. Life happens. Dessert and fried things and junk food should be a part of it.
And like, maybe most days we can eat quinoa and salad and strawberries and avocado because nutritional living is a healthy mindset to strive for, and most days we can run and lift and play and work, because our bodies can do amazing things if we really push them to.
Some days though, let's have a bit of grace. Every day, let's affirm who we are. Let's cease the shaming and the hurting and the degrading and the "not enoughs". Let's stop with the labels and the expectations, with the standards and the judgments. I'm over them, and I'm sure you are too. I'm weary of weariness, and I think we're all made for Shalom lives.
Peace.
Let's make peace with ourselves, with our bodies and our skin and our outsides and our everything, because God is in the peace. God is in the peace.
God is in the peace.
In one semester I gained somewhere between seven and ten pounds. It may not sound like much, but for the first time in my life I was out of shape, and not only was it showing, but it was feeling. My tummy was a little softer, my hips a little wider. The roundness of my face changed a bit, and suddenly I realized that my twenty-one year old self was not a little kid with a ridiculously high metabolism anymore.
Those cheesesticks from Sonic (oh, heaven divine) weren't going to run themselves off.
Not only was I not exercising, but my eating habits took a vacation as well. With a mom who runs triathalons on the regular and used to teach nutrition and aerobics back in the day, I've always been health aware, minus that season freshman year in which I ate too much and studied too little (I also cried every day, though sometimes I'd make my therapist laugh).
Sidenote: working through depression is a real hell.
After this past semester, I stumbled upon this beautiful truth: sometimes, life happens.
Oftentimes, your body is along for the ride.
And this is really difficult, especially in a world in which women are objectified daily and nothing is ever enough.
Too skinny. Too fat. Too loud. Too quiet. Too catty, too bitchy, too reserved, too obnoxious. Too funny, not funny enough, too this, too that, and how on earth are we supposed to keep up with it all?
The day cannot come soon enough in which we cease with the labels, and they aren't just coming at women from men. We label each other too, ladies. People like to brand other people with names, and I've never really understood this. I wish we'd simply be, or I wish we'd ask to hear what another person is like, rather than defining them ourselves.
Based on assumptions. Too often based by what we see on the outside.
So, back to my body issues (because yes, that's what they became).
Issues.
When the end of the semester was nearing, I found myself packing up to spend the summer in Portland. Leggings, layers, hiking socks, and all the flannel. Mount Ranier called for hiking boots and of course I'd need my swimsuit for all those waterfalls I'd be jumping.
Ooh, I'll try it on for fun.
The freedom that comes with summer is just so good: unkempt hair and long, pretty dresses. Sun-kissed skin and mandatory bare feet.
Snaps and ties and slips and turns in front of the mirror, and whoa-when did all of that get there?
I stared at myself in the mirror, and with this unexpected presentation came all sorts of issues. For the first time in my life I felt self-conscious, and a sinking feeling from deep within wanted nothing more than to cover up.
Don't look over here, there's nothing to see. My skin is a little soft these days, and wouldn't you rather feast your eyes on that lean, toned, skinny thing over there?
Wouldn't I rather be her right now?
Theodore Roosevelt said it once, I think, that comparison is the thief of joy. Maybe it's in the Bible. Either way, I think it's true. Sizing others up only yields to putting oneself down, and where on earth is the kingdom of God in that? Nowhere, I am quite certain.
Comparison, jealousy, embarrassment, and shame: all of these and more washed over me that day, standing before my reflection in a two-piece, barefoot and exposed. Vulnerability is a good way to explain it, and I hated every second.
It's in these moments, these times when the enemy is lying and our flesh is on fire that we must watch for God. Otherwise we'll miss the redemption awaiting us, that sweet, amazing, life-giving gift of grace that God so consistently offers us. It's there in the whispers, in the sweet, melodious, calming quiet of peace and love and all things hope. It's whispering all around, against the lies in the midst of the darkness.
Your legs aren't thin enough.
You're still beautiful.
They'll notice that tummy bulge.
I care about your heart.
Maybe you should wear a shirt to hide the weight you've gained.
Show them your soul, show them who you really are-who I say you are.
It may sound sappy, but I believe it so much: there is no connection between the size of someone's waist and the size of their heart.
Do you hear me, love? Are you listening to these words? They are freeing and real and oh so wonderful: you are not defined by anything other than the character that you produce from the inside.
Humanity, indeed the world defines people by the outside: what we wear, what we look like, how closely our bodies align with those of the edited celebrities on the covers of all of the magazines in the grocery aisles. This is the way of the world, this is maybe a little bit of hell.
God, our sweet, kind, humble Savior Jesus sets a different example: He cared, He cares about the conditions of our hearts. He cares about our actions, how we treat people, that we are loving other human beings for the simple sake that we are all children of God.
We are all made to love and be loved.
On another note, we are also called to be stewards and caretakers of the earth and of our bodies, and there seems to be truth in saying that self-control is a fruit of the Spirit. This is why, most days, I am self-aware. This is why I began running halfway through the summer again, and this is why I eat fruits and veggies and decent amounts of protein. If God wants us to love ourselves and each other, then I think we should probably be living in places of respect. We should respect ourselves and one another, and so for this I take care of myself. God is not in places of abuse, and so I choose to take care of my body so that I am leaning into kingdom places and prolonging my lifetime and cutting down on meat for the sake of the environment (and my cholesterol levels). The motivation for healthy living is a hard balance to find, but I think it's important, because the fruits of God's Spirit can still meet us in these spaces.
Most days, I eat well and exercise. Some days, I look really good. Some days, however, neither of these are true, and this is what I realized that day when I tried on my swimsuit in the mirror.
Sometimes, life happens, and that's perfectly alright. It's more than alright; it's normal and expected, it is a truth to be embraced.
When I felt insecurity as I looked at my body in the mirror, I realized that my mindset needed to change. Self degradation and comparison is neither fair nor healthy, and neither of these are in any sense of God. I wanted to love myself, because that's really important.
I made a decision to do so, right then and there. I chose to have grace on myself, because grace is what holds this messy world together. Then, I decided to sit in that space, to intentionally feel a little weighty and be a little soft and to embrace it.
Not change it.
Because in that space, my motivation to change myself was not a healthy one.
I felt my tummy and my legs, my cheeks and my arms, and I decided to be gentle, because this world can be harsh with all of its labels and expectations, and the last thing my body needed was more hate and abuse and unrealistic standards of perfection forced upon it.
That summer, I decided not to begin working out until about halfway through July. I wanted to allow myself time to love my body as it was, and on the fourth of July I wore my two-piece, because a few extra pounds were not going to define who I was.
Only my character can do that.
Life happens, and gentleness is called for. I'm currently running again, because I love how free it makes me feel, like I could run right off into the sky and fly above the clouds. My body is responding, leaning out and toning down a bit, but I'm sure life will continue to happen, as it did that day of my car accident.
Life will happen if I ever get married and have children. My feet will swell and my tummy will grow, and after it's all over my skin won't be as tight as it is right now. I want to embrace it all though, because life happens.
Life will happen on Tuesdays, when I'm in class for hours upon hours and won't find the time to fit in a run. That's okay and alright and all sorts of fine. Life happens.
Life will happen when I decide to eat Cheetos, because the puff kind are just so yummo. You truly have a short time in this life, so go ahead and eat the damn cupcake. Life happens. Dessert and fried things and junk food should be a part of it.
And like, maybe most days we can eat quinoa and salad and strawberries and avocado because nutritional living is a healthy mindset to strive for, and most days we can run and lift and play and work, because our bodies can do amazing things if we really push them to.
Some days though, let's have a bit of grace. Every day, let's affirm who we are. Let's cease the shaming and the hurting and the degrading and the "not enoughs". Let's stop with the labels and the expectations, with the standards and the judgments. I'm over them, and I'm sure you are too. I'm weary of weariness, and I think we're all made for Shalom lives.
Peace.
Let's make peace with ourselves, with our bodies and our skin and our outsides and our everything, because God is in the peace. God is in the peace.
God is in the peace.
