I am loving her

Why am I disliking the woman in the mirror? There is absolutely no reason why I should. However, I see her flabby underarm and the cellulite on her stomach, the oversized love handles, and that flab in her abdomen above her c-section and they disgust me. Years ago, she was somewhat fit, and I was a bit more comfortable with her. I say "a bit" because I admit that I still saw her many body imperfections: she still needed some tighter abs, glutes, and legs to be attractive.

Needless to say, that I am being overly critical about her and that I am her.

I have been exercising for the last three weeks. I am trying for the 100th time to lose the weight I put on after having lost it and kept it off for more than 5 years. What initiated my decision this time was the need to focus on something other than crying. The need to feel I had control over at least one thing in the middle of the transition that is having another failed marriage, of packing the room of my son and myself into the basement of a house that was supposed to be half mine. What moved me was the need to not crumble. The need to solidify my worth again in the midst of the craziness I am living to continue ahead for myself and for my son.

I won’t tell you here the story of my marriage, but what I pretend to share, perhaps, is how I am moving amidst the pain and what I am gaining. The truth is that when I look at the person exercising in the mirror, I have a really hard time loving/liking her. Not because she isn’t worthy of love but because I see her as I once saw other people in my life who poured all their love to me and I couldn't reciprocate them: she looks weak, vulnerable, little. Maybe the perfect word to describe it is "defeated." There is a part of me that feels uncomfortable because of the way she looks and considers her weak because she gave it all, showed love, surrendered, made compromises, and cried in front of people that didn't give a rat's ass about her feelings. And all of it was worth nothing. It didn't prevent anything, didn't solve a thing.

I have also felt that maybe that part of me is very much akin to the way my soon-to-be ex-husband probably looks at me.

I remember the time when I asked him about his changed manners with me and he replied that he wasn't the only one in the relationship that had changed because I didn't look the same.

I have put probably around 50 pounds. At one point I was working 4 jobs, studying a second master’s, doing an internship, taking care of a new blended family, the house, etc. I didn’t neglect a thing, except my eating and my exercising. However, I stopped being attractive or pleasant to whom I thought was committed to spending the rest of my life with me.

Let me be clear about the fact that I do know the wonderful person that I am, that I know I am worthy of love and I know that I don't have to put up with the ridiculous humiliation that has been my life the last few years.

Nonetheless, when I look at the mirror and see her, I dislike her body, her looks. And it is not other people that are disliking me, it is me. I am disliking me. And that is probably the loneliest and saddest truth for me.

If there is anything that this failed marriage has done for me is put myself in front of myself and has stripped me from the views of others. There is no one else in front of that mirror with me except myself.

I can tell you where that dislike comes from: it comes from the role models I had when growing up; it comes from the media obsession with perfectly perfect bodies, it comes from the cultural obsession with objectified women: women that are pleasant to look at, perfect housewives, giving in bed, and exist to make their husbands look good. It comes from all the relationships that I have had that have repeated the same stereotype. I have inherited all the voices I dislike, all the voices I raise my voice against, all of them and I believe those voices despite myself.

I dislike the woman in the mirror because the bottom line is that I haven’t set her free from all the garbage that is embedded in my own way of thinking and that prevents me from embracing my own vulnerability, which is beautiful.

This process of self-love is certainly a work in progress. In front of the mirror is myself and all the voices that have become a part of me, the ones my high-self has released and the ones it still battles. Sometimes, I can look back and love her. Some other times, I shy away.

Nowadays, I remind myself to be grateful to and for my body, it sustains me. I remind myself that weather it expands or thins, it is a reflection of a balance I am carrying at the moment, that despite outside voices or the inner ones that are certainly unwelcomed, my body serves a higher purpose that has nothing to do with being attractive to myself or others: holds me in this world, carries me around, houses my thoughts, nurtures my voice.

So, yes: my body is my temple, the temple of my being and what I house in it is way more precious than its looks. I won't let it crumble, I shouldn't, because it is my home on this earth. I should tend to it with care and not with overobsession. I should let it live also according to its own laws, doing my part and letting it do its work. I should work with it so my journey in it is pleasant and I can continue being grateful for its loyalty.

And to the woman inside of that body, that one, I will continue to admire: She keeps standing, moving, shaking, smiling, crying, living, despite it all. Exercising and writing are the outlets today while she traverses this part of her journey where she is learning to really embrace and love her own vulnerabilities, her awesome self and body. I am so proud of her.