Not even 129 pounds.
Because at 129 pounds, there's still roundness spread across my hips,
fullness of my thighs
and enough handles at the waist to have and to hold and not quite love all that much.
{Did I mention there's much, much less to fill out the top half of the swimsuit? It's been something like driving from the grand mountains of Colorado to the foothills of the Mississippi River ...}
And at 129 pounds, there's still the same kind of tension holdover from when I weighed 198 pounds -- one I would have expected to have faded into nothingness; it lingers between me and the body I've lived in for 29 years. Though everything has morphed and changed, it remains.
I just didn't completely realize it until I stood in front of a department store mirror donning a swimsuit while staring incredulously at how much thinner I've become
and
how I still don't love the way I look in a swimsuit.
No -- how I still don't love what's beneath the swimsuit.
Even after conceiving four babies, carrying and delivering two of them healthy and full term, nursing and nourishing these boys of mine into strong and healthy small people
even after dealing with so many of my emotional eating issues and finally realizing what it means to feast on the real Bread of Life
even after taking my body on a cross-country-like-epic detox and rebuilding health journey these past six months
even though I've seen first hand that this body is capable of amazing feats, tasks and healing
and even though I've known full well that it was fearfully and wonderfully made
I still don't fully love and unconditionally accept it the beauty of its shape.
I still allow my eyes to undress the imperfections of my reflection while in a cold dressing room as I haphazardly sneak glances of myself while trying on swimsuit after swimsuit after swimsuit.
I have this fleeting, tempting thought while standing half-dressed in the fitting room:
maybe I can hide.
Maybe I can find a long gauzy dress of sorts to live in during pool and lake and beach season.
Maybe I can cover it all up and just not think about what's beneath the light, flowy dress I'm sure I can find on the racks just outside the door.
Because then I can just take another quick glance in the mirror and buy whatever black suit I can find and walk out of the store with a suit and cover in hand ... triumphant in purchase but also
defeated.
Defeated and deflated. Because this isn't really so much about not loving all of the swimsuits I'm trying to fashion onto my body.
This is so much more about loving all of me, including my body.
So, instead I march back to the racks and find patterns I like, styles I deem fashionable
and I march my butt right back into the room to try each on.
And I make myself look.
Really look.
I look long and I look hard, and I'm sure John, who is waiting patiently outside, is probably wondering how long it really takes to remove one set of clothes and replace them with swatches of stretchy fabric.
But I'm not looking at the suits any more even though I'm standing in a black and white striped two piece.
I'm looking at the heart beating in my chest, and I force myself to say out loud thank you.
That's it's beating.
"I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for the early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses in early July and the song of crickets on humid nights ant the rivers that run and the starts that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives." Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts
I give thanks for our bodies. For my body.
I move slowly down my body, this good gift, this wonderful hand-knit creation*, thankful for each of the following inches of skin and muscle and bone
the ribs that now show beneath tightened skin
and the pudge that slightly spills over the black waist band
and the breasts that barely fill the cup
and the legs that carry all kinds of weight
and the eyes that crease in smiles of joy
and the creation
standing in front of me.
I pick the black and white two piece and return to my shorts and tank top, relieved to have decided on a bathing suit I like
but perhaps more relieved to have decided to finally start making efforts toward really loving what fills the fabric.
*Psalm 119
