To the Person Who Feels Defined by Weight
I love you. Oh, how I do. I see you, too. Know you.
I am you.
And life is not about weight.
I would like to believe the 20 years I thought otherwise was the exact length of time I needed to be able to say this with some stank on it.
Way down in my jiggly gut, I am lovingly and infuriatingly rebelling against the torturous cultural striving to be
My weight has fluctuated up, down and all around in the last two decades. It has been so low as to have me hospitalized and so high as to have me hiding. Both places were full of loneliness.
I’m not hiding anymore.
I’ve heard it said this way before. We just don’t have that kind of time here. We just don’t have that kind of time, dear ones.
Some of you, well, maybe you can’t track with me about this yet, and that’s OK. I understand if you’re not ready. I’ve lived in the shelter of “not ready.” I invite you to consider leaving that space. There are many who wait for you to join them in the joy of loving you.
Take this here, this piece of what I’m saying, so wrapped in great compassion for you, and keep it. Put it in your pocket, and carry it to the moment when the deeper hunger arrives at your soul’s door and demands a new kind of food, the chewy, juicy truth that you are not your body but so much more.
For now, maybe the body you do have aches with cold. Maybe your knees are swollen with water, and your belly is so big you can’t bend over without losing your air. I’m talking to both of you and all of you in between.
There is something new coming down the line. There is hope. I’m not looking at your bones or your belly. I am gazing at your heart and calling you a miracle, and I’m not the only one.
So please, beloved, put your hand on your chest and feel that loyal rhythm inside. You are very much alive. Right now. Not when you’re bigger. Not when you’re smaller, but right now. Take a wholehearted breath in with me, and let’s do this.
Let’s be alive together.
This post originally appeared on Cyndie Randall.
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