May 27, 2015

My Plush & Happy Hips.

blue jeans 2

My favorite jeans didn’t fit today.

The tugging and pulling, stretching and bending was no help. The firm and seemingly small waistline would not budge over the fleshy bits of my upper thighs.

The moment when drinks, rich dinners, and deserts sneak up and smack me right in my growing bottom.

Hours at the gym, looking for the organic labels, and carefully planning my daily meals seem a distant memory, replaced with dinners out, rich snacks on the couch between cuddles, and beers on the patio while a friend’s laughter falls on my ears.

Gone are the days when health is dictated by body fat percentage, and definition of abs. Being active now means changing scenery, the inhalation of crisp air, and discovering untraveled trails under an umbrella of leaves.

The physical activity is still there; it’s just different. It is picking up children, chasing dogs, painting a fence and sunset strolls with a warm hand to hold.

Mindful eating is a priority. Though the mindfulness is for health and longevity, not calories and beachwear.

My plush and happy hips fill out my pants a bit differently than the sculpted, toned ones of the past. The tone is still there, just under a layer of memories which spread a lazy smile across my face.

It doesn’t upset me that my jeans don’t fit. The confidence stemming from the love around me doesn’t care about the inches of my waist. My woman-ness shows. Fully living and loving the life that encases and cradles me now tends to lend its self more to curves then muscle.

There are other pants that will hug my body today. Pants that won’t whisper, “You should get back to the gym.” I feel as if some of the items of clothing are shaming me into reprioritizing my time. Thinking of deadlines of today, and errands to be run, I plan a trip to good will.

No matter my size, the best fits are hugs that envelope me and whisper, “You look beautiful today.” This body that travels my daily path deserves to be loved, and protected.

There will be no body shaming in this home, of myself or of others. Hugs, happiness and second helpings will continue to be a priority. Food will nourish souls while bringing friends and family to the dinner table.

I promise to love myself. I promise to talk to myself the same way I would a child. I promise to whisper words of encouragement that are inline with morals and beliefs of today, not yesterdays.

I will not feed the voice of negativity that condemns and defines me. Negativity is a smoke screen for the self-acceptance I crave. I am the biggest critic of myself, and my inner critic is an as*hole.



How to Actually Love Yourself. Like, Actually. For Real.



Author: Jennifer Quinlan

Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Matteo Bonuccelli/Flickr

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