A bipolar, body-positive bread enthusiast with a fucked-up ankle and a history of disordered eating chronicles health, weight-loss, and gardening. No diets allowed.
New Year’s Day is the pretty much the first day after the last day of a month-long food immersion program. Some of the frosted food immersion cookies might have ended up on your ass.
To which I say:
Or for those less versed in Sir MixALot:
But maybe you can’t see your bodacious booty the way I do.
Did your skinny jeans become spill-out-over-the-top-jeans? It’s fine. Mine too.
I shouldn’t weigh myself. No one should weigh themselves (except for people with congestive heart failure who need to know that shit all the time), but we do it anyway. Some of us do it every day (I totally do it every day). The scale still wields some control over me; I pass it on my way to the bathroom, and I’m compelled (compulsed?) to stop.
Sometimes the number goes up. Sometimes the number goes down. Right now it’s going up. Maybe yours is also going up.
I could go all humanitarian guilt-trip on you and be like, “YOU DON’T LIVE IN SYRIA. WHY ARE YOU EVEN COMPLAINING?” But I won’t. It’s true, but life is also relative. If you did live in Syria, your pants would be the last thing on your mind, unless you’re trying to figure out where you’re even going to get pants; that’s a different story entirely.
But we don’t live in Syria, so sometimes the biggest obstacle we have to overcome is finding a reasonably priced pair of jeans in a reasonably located plus-size clothing store. And sometimes the biggest obstacle we have to overcome is not allowing the scale to fuck with our already fragile emotions
I’m not panicked, and you shouldn't be either.
I’ll tell you why.
A. I trust myself.
I know how to eat. I know that eating a plateful of cookies does not make me feel good. Does that mean I haven’t fed my body a staggering number of cookies? No. But it does mean that I recognize that there will always be a staggering number of cookies available to me, should I ever need them. And also, I don’t need them.
B. I trust homeostasis.
My body knows what it wants to weigh. Have I had a lot of cookies? Yes. I have had a fair number of cookies. Will I continue to eat a lot of cookies? Well, I really like cookies, so I’ll definitely be eating some additional cookies. But just by the sheer number of available cookies, I’m not likely to be eating the same number of cookies as I did in the last four weeks.
My body will go where it likes to be. If am I eating as I normally do, and moving as I normally do, my body will go where it wants to go. SO WILL YOURS.
C. It’s not a big deal.
It’s really not. I know it seems like an enormous deal to be faced with a drawer of pants you’re afraid won’t fit after next week, but it’s not. Because of A, yes, and also because of B and also because weight is an arbitrary number and you are more than that arbitrary number. Always and forever.
If your pants are too small, put on leggings. Don’t like leggings? Wear a dress. Too cold for a dress? Wear sweatpants. Don’t like sweatpants? I’m sorry your life is miserable sweatpant-wasteland.
We're gonna be ok.
This month we (at Ravishly) are launching our second #ditchthediet campaign, #ditchthediet2017. We ditched the damn diet all of 2016 and this year (but especially this month) we’ll be talking again about the bullshit that is diet culture, how to overcome it, and even how to be happy.
Weird, I know.
Also, we changed our signature purple to a lighter purple, and added aqua because I resolve to be softer this year.
Also also, we’ve paired up with an artist to get her paint on for our header art. Welcome to the Ravishly family, Mariah!