When it comes to my weight, I’ve been dragging the scale around behind me like a ball and chain for most of my life. I’ve swung from the extremes of restrictive eating to overeating and back again many times. I’ve recorded calories, measured portions, and exercised obsessively. For a long time, the number on the scale was just another report card, measuring my worth. I spent way too much time living and eating alongside the fantasy of a future body.
While my fifties have been tumultuous years, they have also been years of increasing freedom and peace and love. I see now that my body requires nourishment and movement in balance. I am more comfortable in my own skin and more confident in the goodness of my own body as I grow older.
In the wise words of my friend Rebecca, we like to idealize how we should be, rather than embrace who we are. I think this comes down to, at its core, insecurity. Will I be accepted if I am not perfect? Will I be rejected if I let my flaws show?
On this morning I savored a chocolate donut with my husband at the Red Truck Bakery. During the week I train for strength with my small fitness group. I take long photo walks most every day. I often hike with a friend. On Saturday mornings in summer I play outside, like recess for a grown-up. And on date night, there will be tacos or pizza or ice cream. All of these small choices are the gentle teeter and totter that eventually lead to equilibrium.
I will do my best, and then let go.