Journal #40

February 8th, 2016

I can remember a time when I was comfortable-no, confident, with my body. I grew up a swimmer, and I took so much pride in all of myself-my strong legs, my muscular back, my powerful arms…all of it. I didn’t freak out when my jeans no longer fit, I was PROUD because it meant my quads were getting stronger. Putting on a swimsuit didn’t terrify me, it EMPOWERED me. I didn’t compare myself to other girls in photos, I compared myself to the boys in my P.E. class during the annual push-up contest, and I relished in my strength when I won. Food was fuel for me. Hungry after school? Time for a bagel. Going to an early morning swim meet? A Power Bar and a smoothie were an appetizer. Lunch at Chipotle? You’re darn right I’d order a burrito, and eat ALL of it. My body was my vehicle, and food was the gasoline-there was no reason to fear it. I want to get back to that place-where I can accept that food is not “bad”, it’s not “good”, it’s JUST FOOD. Along with that, my body isn’t “good” or “bad” based on the numerical value that appears when I stand on the scale-it’s my body, and it’s made the way God designed it. It’s my job to take care of it.



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