I want to love you as naturally as I do all the other humans in my world.
I said those words to my body the other morning after finishing a workout that held more criticism than it did movement.
I’ve been on and off of my routine for the last few weeks, and my inner mean girl jumped at the open space my insecurities provided.
Self-love is daunting.
It feels like a trendy hashtag on Instagram that none of us actually know how to put into practice.
I own a fitness studio, and I share space every day with women completely unaware of how amazing they are.
And it’s because when we focus on ourselves, the depth often doesn’t extend beyond the aesthetic of our exterior.
Yet if you ask me what I love about the humans I hold the tightest, I could talk to you for days about how many dark moments my baby sister’s laugh has saved me from.
Easily articulate how selflessly my mama loves our family.
And how fearlessly my dad leads us.
The exterior wouldn’t make the list.
It’s the most vain and superficial part of who we are.
Yet the world tells us it’s our golden ticket to everything that we desire.
I don’t have the answer.
All I can give you is my story.
Of how deeply I searched for acceptance in all the wrong places.
Only to realize it was never meant to be searched for at all.
I can tell you I still struggle.
I have days where I want abs.
And a tinier waist.
But healing from my eating disorder was learning these desires at the root have nothing to do with my body.
It’s the love.
That I crave.
And when I search for that in my waistline, I’ll always come up empty-handed.
Because the most superficial part of who we are will never have the capacity to contain our depth.
Move, love, and honor the vessel you get to exist in.
But stop believing love is something you arrive into.
And that confidence comes in tandem with a six pack.
I know the world tells you this is where you find all the things that make you whole.
But the secret is, you already are.