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It all started on an airplane.
The turbulence was so bad I was sitting upright for over an hour, clutching my meal tray, praying to a God I didn’t believe in that this wouldn’t be the end.
And in that moment, all I could think about was how I hadn’t been living my life the last couple months.
What did I have to show for myself? If I were to die today, my last memories would be how many times I made it to the gym. They would be how little calories I was able to eat without being too hungry. They would be about how I managed to do box, cycle, yoga, and running all within one week, every week, sometimes two workouts a day—impressive, right?
But I realized, in that moment of “near-death,” these aren’t the kind of memories of a life well-lived.
I don’t know when I became so obsessed with my body, but somewhere along the line I did. And the last few years of my life have been centred around the belief that if I wasn’t skinny and beautiful, I wouldn’t be worthy of love and belonging.
I know it is not my fault that this is my struggle. We live in a world that makes us all believe there is something wrong with us that needs to be fixed—that the only way to achieve love and happiness is by controlling and perfecting our outer appearance.
But I am unlearning all of this—slowly, but surely—and I am undoing all the false beliefs I have thought to be true about myself and my body.
Somewhere along the line, I forgot that life was something to be enjoyed and lived. I forgot that whatever it was I was hoping to achieve through exercise, real love actually could not give a damn about.
“I’ve never seen any life transformation that didn’t begin with the person in question finally getting tired of their own bullsh*t.” ~ Elizabeth Gilbert
The thing is, love doesn’t care how skinny you are.
If love cares how skinny you are, then love isn’t real love. Real love doesn’t care about looks because real love isn’t based on first attraction. And if love cares about the perfect body, then love isn’t the one you should be with.
If love cares about how flat your stomach is, then love can go f*ck itself.
Love doesn’t want you to obsess over your appearance. Love wants you to do things that light a fire in your soul, that give you meaning and purpose.
Love doesn’t want you to count calories, love wants you to taste fresh garlic on your tongue while drinking wine in Sicily. Love will want to take you to Sicily. Or Rome. Or Paris. Or a run-down motel an hour out of town for a getaway because love is still young and love cannot afford to take you to Europe.
Love doesn’t care whether you are a size 2 or a size 12. Love is not bothered by numbers except for the amount of days that love gets to spend with you.
Love doesn’t care about your body fat percentage—but love does want you to be healthy so that love can spend an entire lifetime with you, making a photo album full of memories.
Love wants you to love your life. And love wants to share it and enjoy it with you.
Love wants you to find freedom from food and fitness so that you can love love right back with all that you are capable of giving.
Love knows you have more to offer the world than the size and shape of your body.
Wait for love like this—a love that cares about more than outer beauty. And if this kind of love doesn’t arrive, then love yourself enough to not give a damn yourself about your waist size.
Do not allow a love into your life that makes you think you would be a better partner, lover, person if you were just a bit skinnier.
Because real love will want to soak up all of you, no matter the size of your body.
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