I quit criticizing my body

Have you ever heard the rumors that models have low self-esteems and constantly criticize their bodies? Silly, huh? One would think that someone who looks perfect from the outside might be endlessly happy on the inside. But that’s certainly not true.

Looking back on my childhood pictures, I can totally see that others were right. I always thought I was fat in high school, and never understood how no one else could see this obvious truth besides me. Thanks to certain conditioning and wiring from our closest family members, we all have some very messed up way of thinking about ourselves, and I wasn’t left out of this little gift of humanity either. My mother made sure to drill it into me that if I didn’t watch what I eat and constantly obsessed about how much I consumed, then in no time I would become a fat beach whale and no one will ever like more, nor marry me. Well…. I might have paraphrased & exaggerated a bit, but you get my point.

So I was obsessed with how much I ate, and as every great teenager with an eating disorder, I made sure that I properly starved myself all day and night. Interestingly enough, the more I tried to lose weight, the more weight I seemed to gained. Then hitting rock bottom a few years into this masochistic habit, I gave up and I didn’t care anymore about my weight and body. Oh, well, actually, my biggest heartbreak of my life assisted me with this decision. Since my first love left me unexpectedly, I couldn’t look at food anymore and I lost so much weight, that my family was seriously thought I might had cancer. After that, being fat or skinny was the least of my worries.

Then other boyfriends came into the picture, and with them SEX also arrived into my life. With sex came nudity, and with nudity came awareness of the existence of ignorant manly opinions about certain body parts of women. I was around men enough to hear how they talk about women (although I gotta admit, women are not any better either, right ladies?! ) and thanks to that, I shifted the focus of my obsession from food to certain body parts. My boobs got the biggest limelight and also my vagina. They were too big, too unequal, too saggy, too big areola, too big nipples, too weird pussy, etc…

Any by too this or too that, I mean anything that didn’t look exactly like the body parts in porn movies. Since I didn’t get to walk around and check what’s under everyone’s clothes,  I had to get my information from other, “trusted” sources. 🙂

Then when I got tired o beating up myself for my intimate parts, I migrated up north to dissect the rest of my body. My belly button was a bit of an outie. Not sure when it came to my awareness that an outie is a horrible insult against society, and whoever has it should cover it up shamefully, but I remember how free I was before I knew about all these. Then I realized that my nose was humongous, my head was much bigger than the rest of the people on this Earth, and although my ears were too big –according to me, of course– I could hide that atrocity with my hair from the eye witnesses. My upper lip didn’t have that Angel’s touchy indent in the middle that everyone else happened to have, BUT me! Then my fingers were sausages, too short fingers, too robust palms. Not to mention the 11 lines between my eyebrows after I turned 20. Holy crap, could I obsess about them for hours after taking any photos of me?! My teeth weren’t perfect either. My butt was too small, too flat, too this, too that.  Can you believe I never wanted to wear a crop top, because of my belly button? How I didn’t want to get into the water because that would have required a bikini that I was not ready to wear, only because of that minimal excess tiny skin in the middle of my banging, 6 pack washboard abs, damn it. Can you imagine that I only wanted to have sex in the dark, and never let guys go down on me?
Good lord, how crazy  and self-critical can we be and how much fun I missed out on?

Yesterday at gymnastics class my 4 yr old (remember, FOUR!!!!) kept her sweater on and was uncomfortable the whole hour, but wouldn’t take it off for the love of her life. I asked her at home why she didn’t take it off and she said:
– Because my ARMPIT was showing in my leotard….
– And what’s wrong with armpits?- I Dared to ask.
– It sticks out (like a side boob) and has lines in it!!!! – answers a FOUR year old.
She is already self -conscious, but trust me, she didn’t get it from me. I have thankfully healed from this “not good enough” social plague already. There was a time when my distorted body image held me back from all the pleasures in life, but not anymore. I turned 30 when I realized what an idiot I had been for so long and consciously started accepting everything on my body, WITHOUT an exception. I showered ALL parts with loving acceptance and decided that no matter who says what, I am good the way I am.

My body has been such a loving, quite, accepting servant, vehicle for me from the very beginning. It takes me to places, it introduces me to delicious tastes, wonderful sights, warm, sweet smells, and soft touches and cuddles. It does whatever I tell it to do, and doesn’t complain when I abuse it. It houses me day and night, works very hard to heal itself when I mess it up with overworking it or not feeding it properly. It gifted me two beautiful and vibrant kids, grew them and brought them to this world, and fed them with itself for years.  It is doing it’s job without my supervision over it and never asks for anything in return. And I have been doing nothing for 30 years, but criticizing it and hating it for every little imperfection. Or at least, things I DEEMED as imperfections.

I said stop! It’s enough! It deserves something much better than that.

And I stood in front of the mirror, looked at it fully (I might or might not have been high at this time) and started noticing all the beauties of it. The long, beautiful hair, the pretty face, the mesmerizing ocean blue eyes, the long neck, the firm, toned arms, the flat belly with six-pack, the curves on my side, my perfect thighs, my toned calf muscles, my silky smooth skin, my fetish worthy feet and everything in between. And I fell in love with it. I became my biggest cheerleader, my greatest lover. And let me tell you, since then, I have had the greatest experiences of my life. I have experienced sex that’s just out of this world, tastes without guilt, the joy of movement and dance and art, and I wear that bikini now as if I had the most gorgeous belly button in this entire world.

I’m gonna keep doing this and I hope that not just my words, but my whole life will convince my little daughter that everything on her is perfect as it is, and she will be her own biggest admirer and cheerleader as well.

momy dau

I quit feeling guilty

Feeling guilty is an absolutely useless and unproductive emotion. It does nothing to change the past, totally ruins your present and will most likely not help you act differently in the future either. No matter how much we hope that the longer we torture ourselves with this feeling, the better we will be in the future. That’s bullshit!

I had a long talk with my friend today about how I acted with my kids recently, how irritated I got early in the morning when I was not fully awake, yet they were already  sucking my blood and energy with full force. I told her I was not proud of how I behaved, but also, I was not giving into this guilty feeling that was slowing creeping up on me whenever I was think about the past. Because I am a human being with my own limitations, my own weaknesses, and no matter how much I’m trying to be holy and immaculate and this mature adult persona, I still have my Achilles heel, and that’s too much noise too early in the morning. So I have two roads in front of me:

1) I can either sit here, feel like a shitty miserable human being and beat myself up over what I did, but that’s not gonna change anything in the past at all. I won’t be able to go back and redo it. And even if I would be able to go back, feeling how I felt at the moment, thinking the thoughts I had at the time, I realize I had absolutely no choice BUT to act the way I did. I was believing my thoughts. I believed that humans shouldn’t be able to utter a word before 9 am and I believed I was tired, sick and exhausted. I believed I was irritated. So based on what I believed, the only way I could respond is barking at my kids to leave me alone until I prepare breakfast. That’s it. I can drive myself crazy with the “shoulda, woulda, coulda”s of life, but what good would that do, and how would that change anything???? It would just make me feel even more shitty about myself…and we all know how good, mature and responsible those humans act who feel horrible about themselves.

*OR*

2) I can just accept that the past has happened the way it happened, and I have no control over it anymore. I can make amends, apologize to my kids, tell them that I prefer silence in the mornings and we can work out a plan how to coexist in the mornings so everyone is happy in the future. And I did it all. Plus on top of it all, I threw a HUGE amount of self love and forgiveness into the mix.

But how could you? You don’t deserve it?! You should feel ashamed longer. You messed up! What’s to love about that? About you? How can you possibly love a person who yells and isnangry in the mornings? How can you possibly love that part of you?”

Well, guess what?! That’s part of me, too. Just like the nice, the funny, the happy, the flexible, the creative me, so is the annoyed, cranky, irritated, loud, angry parts. They all create the whole and I LOVE every little bit of it. Especially the ones that don’t deserve love. Because those parts NEED it the most. And I accept them. I won’t fight against them. Because the more I fight and deny them, the stronger they get, and the more frequently they come back. So I accept them as they are, part of me, part of you and part of everyone. And I love that I get to experience how it feels to be angry, annoyed, cranky and irritated. That’s part of the human existence package I signed up for. No one said we should always be holy, quiet and balanced. So why should I put this unrealistic expectation on me?

I am human, and I love that. I have all kinds of emotions and I love that. I lose my temper and I love that (because that way I can relate to people who do as well). I realize when I fuck something up, and I love that (how mature I become). I apologize when I am aware of my fuckups, and I love that.(props to me) I love the whole process, because why not? Going against it and arguing with it will make me lose that battle (but only a 100% of the time, as Byron Katie so wisely said).

So that’s how I broke up my on again/off again relationship with my boyfriend, Guilt. It was an unproductive, not efficient, toxic relationship, and I am better off without him!

So long Jimmy… I mean, Guilt!

 

Today I quit panicking

When I woke up today, I was already anxious. It was one of those days when I couldn’t stand noises and people around me early in the morning (that’s basically every day for me though) and it’s unfortunate, because my kids haven’t mastered the camouflage mode that perfectly just yet. So I woke up from my sweet, sweet bed, not ready to fight my daily battles of adulthood, so I jumped right at the coffee machine to churn some life supporting juice out of it. While the hope inducing dark water was brewing, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the thousand things I was “supposed” to do today, not knowing where to start, not even knowing what to do exactly, how I will accomplish it and the guide book for today was nowhere to be found. No order, no system, nothing. Just me and the big blank empty day ahead of me face-off style with my mile long to -do list in my hand.

Yeah, if you step out of it and look at it from the big picture’s point of you, there really wasn’t anything to worry about, because worst case scenario, I just go back to bed and hope that the kids are still alive by the time I open my eyes again…. and trust me, I was soooo tempted to do it… but instead I drank my energizer bunny and after I fed and dropped the older one off at school, I found myself at home with the 4 yr old (who is thankfully very self sufficient at capable of entertaining herself, unlike her older sis) and wasn’t sure where to start. I felt that oh-so- familiar feeling arising inside of me, that voice that is so good at panicking, spinning in circles and feeling more lost than Tom Hanks in Cast Away.

But then another, more sane voice (I would like to claim that that’s  the real me) spoke in a calm manner, and said: “When in doubt, do the dishes.” 🙂 So I thought, what the heck, I gotta start somewhere, so that’s where I started. I did the dishes.

Doing the dishes manually, not putting into the dishwasher calms and slows me down, centers me and warms up my hands in cold winter days. So that’s what I did. I followed that little voice’s orders. Once I was done, the whole world didn’t look that hopeless anymore. You know, clean, empty sink is equivalent to a made bed and a vacuumed floor for me. When those are done, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. For some reason, they have this magical power that can transform the whole area all at once.

After the dishes were done, the next obvious thing popped up. The next idea, voice and order came. “Clean up the table, sweep the floor, how fun would it be to strip the beds and clean them as you saw it in that YouTube video, do the laundry, fold the laundry, call the bank and sort your things out, answer your text messages, cook this (just out of nowhere, and was such a great idea), go on a walk in the sun with kiddo while everything is drying and cooking, enjoy the sunshine and slow down, declutter the closet area, clean the guinea pigs’s crate, wash her bedding, self-clean the washing machine, take a shower, listen to good music while at it, go pick up other kid, feed them, take them to gymnastics, feed them again, wash their hair, braid it, brush teeth and put them to bed, sit down and meditate, write a blog.”

When I closed down all the excess chatter in my head about all the futuristic thoughts and started focusing only on the task at hand, my mind settled down beautifully. Although it didn’t go down without a fight, because it tried to fight back constantly. It likes to jump into the future and torture me with thoughts like “What should be your career? What should you study? What will happen at work? When will this person call me? What will that person think of me? Why is life so hard? Poor children in Africa. Why is Trump’s skin so orange? etc... It spins, spins, spins and spins out of control until it blows my circuit and I feel like I’m on a nervous breakdown, whereas in reality, nothing is happening, but my own mind that’s driving me nuts.
Instead I decided to focus on the actual task at hand and only on that thing. Whenever a thought popped up like “Will I have time to wash the girls’ hair tonight and should I even bother? It will be so late by the time we get home anyway.” all this at 9 am, I consciously flipped the bird to this thought, I said “Nice try. But I won’t fall for it. We shall see what happens when we get there. Not before, not after. When I get there, I’ll see what I’ll do. But it’s a mystery even for me at this point.” And continued with the task at hand… and then onto the next one, and the next one, and the next one…

As long as I focused on the present moment, the task at hand, I was not anxious. I was in the moment, in the zone, in the flow, doing what I had to do in that actual moment. Not before, not after, but right when I got to it.

The whole day unfolded wonderfully, effortlessly, perfectly organized and I have accomplished a whole lot more than I even imagined with my little skeptical mind I would early in the morning. I realized that the longest journey in life has started with only one step, and was accomplished by one step at a time, one task at hand, one moment by moment.
I also gained a lot of trust in that little compass of mine, that little guidance that’s so subtle, so gentle, but always there, telling me what to do, where to go, where to be; and that’s in the present, in the NOW…. always and forever!

Quitting the “bad mom” monologue

Today I had a rough day with my kids.

Since I’m divorced, I get the girls half the time, and since my schedule is complicated, I get them for short periods sometimes (2 days) where I am a rock star mom, and for long stretches (5 days) where I lose my shit by the end of those days. I usually start out strong, calm and more peaceful than the Dalai Lama. I even manage to fool myself sometimes, tricking me into thinking that I have changed and nothing can ever phase me… I have found Nirvana inside of my soul and nothing can get me out of my zen zone. 🙂 Until day 5 hits and 1 extra day of no school messes with my neurotransmitters. That’s where I lose my marbles and can’t seem to find them for a couple hours.

It is not necessary the noise level that gets to me (although that certainly doesn’t help either), but the constant struggle with my inner monologue that’s driving me insane. The constant mommy guilt that eats me up alive on the inside. How I witness myself turning into my own mother whom I disliked so much for so long, and feeling powerless over this mutation, transformation that’s happening to me.

Today my older daughter (whose love language is gifts) has brought it to my attention that the reason why she doesn’t buy me anything for my birthday anymore, is because I have never worn the bracelet she picked out for me (2 yrs ago…random much?!). Whooossshhhh… the tsunami of  old memories of my mom never liking my gifts I gave her, and the mommy guilt of not being good enough, attentive enough to my child, repeating the same old cycles was overwhelming and I could barely keep my head above water. So to ease the pain of me being a shitty mom, I overcompensated by letting them eat dinner in bed and having a movie night even though it was a school night. Because I wanted to be a good mom. I was dead-set on showing them that I can be a good parent, just like their dad (in their eyes…not so much in mine…but I’ll quit this theory some other time..I still like to hold onto this feeling for a little longer).

So there I was on the couch with them, earning my own brownie points in my own score keeping game, compensating for not giving them enough quality time, love and affection, heartfelt talks, confessed my sins of being a shitty mom and did everything I could in my power in that hour to quiet that torturing device AKA the guilty voice inside of my head.

Then bath time came and I thought ” Finally, I’ll have 2 seconds to myself to enjoy the silence”. Was I wrong, or what?! The older one comes out screaming bloody murder, because the little one scratched her, and conveniently leaving out the part where she was annoying the hell out of her before the scratch defense mechanism got activated.

I lost my shit! The good mommy mask came off, and all hell let loose.

I got them out of the tub, made them sit down on the bed and started my speech!

“Listen to me for once and all! I am DONE feeling like the bad parent all the time. I quit for once and all! I am done thinking that I am less than your father, and believe this false idea that I am not as good of a parent as he is. Guess what?! I am just as good as he is. Yes, you get a lot of freedom at his place, you get to watch your iPads as much as you want, you get to eat chocolate often…. but guess what?! Who carried you 9 months inside of her body? Who gave birth to you? Who breastfed you? Who was left alone at home with sick kids while your dad was having fun snowboarding on the mountain for days? Who worried about you, researched google for both of your skin problems for days and nights? Who healed you from all kinds of sicknesses? Who cooks every day foods that are healthy for you, and so challenging to fit into this limited diet of yours? Who takes you to gymnastics every week? Who takes you to the playground? It’s all ME! I might be different than your dad, but I am not any less than him. If it is your story about me, then stick with it, and work through it when you are older and you are in therapy. Keep that story if that’s what you want to believe onto me. But just know, that that’s not reality. I give you a whole lot more than what you realize, and if you don’t see it,that’s your problem. But as of me, I GIVE UP the idea that I am a bad mom, for once and all. I am not willing to believe that I am ruining your lives, that I am any less than dad, or that I am not enough.”

Well….. how crazy am I to say all this to a 4yr old and a 7 year old kid?! :))))

But you know what? It was effective. They both broke down and apologized deeply for their behavior, for calling me names and for acting up. Deeply, truly, from their souls they were apologizing, and we kissed, and we hugged, and we cried it out….then we went to bed, and talked and talked and talked some more. And hugged some more. And we kissed. And all was well….

But I had to QUIT thinking that I was not good. That I was ruining their lives. That I am not enough. Because guess what?! I am enough. I have to be enough because I am the only mom they got. So it is what it is. And I sure am doing a damn good job even if that nonsense mental insane chatter that’s been happening inside of my head doesn’t agree with me all the time. It doesn’t have to. I quit giving a damn about that as well!