Love thyself

Recently, while listening to a good friend describe her agony as she watches her diabetic daughter kill herself with food and denial, I had an epiphany. We try to kill things we hate: spiders building nests in the crown molding of the living room, mice invading the kitchen, mosquitoes buzzing around our ears and removing chunks of our bodies. These things we kill because we truly find them despicable, ugly, nasty and wrong. We hate them.

I knew when I was 221 lb that I was an unhealthy weight - I wasn't born yesterday - I know those french fries and Mars bars, fried egg and bacon sandwiches and 200g bags of dill pickle chips were bad for me the same way I know my head won't go through a windshield in a fetching way and that smoking is a chemical wasteland for my lungs and other organs. I've been raised in a culture bombarded with health information so I knew everytime I gobbled down another piece of carrot cake I was doing myself harm - I was killing myself.

It has taken a long time for me to understand that I was killing myself because I found myself to be despicable, ugly, nasty and just plain worng. Just like a mosquito. A really fat mosquito.

Don't get me wrong - I wasn't a writhing mess of self loathing - my suicide plan was well hidden - but everytime I looked in the mirror and saw my big soft belly flow over my pants, I would sigh in disgust. If others were engaged in chit chat about various body parts, I would roll my eyes and declare I hated my thighs, despised my hair, had ugly hands with broken nails - all negative. Trying on clothes in a trendy shop - hours of self loathing and despair. "I hate how big my butt looks in these jeans." "I hate that I am so fat I need a size 18 and this store stops at 16." "I hate myself."

Why on earth would anyone do anything nice for something they hate?

I wouldn't offer a mouse pooping in my pantry a warm bed and tiny glass of merlot. The beautiful spider webs and their diligent owners get no eviction notice - they get the abrupt end of a kleenex and a quick vacuum into oblivion.

If I hate myself - why would I do anything nice for me?

Learning to love myself has been a huge part of this journey. To LOVE my thunder thighs (man they can run!), to LOVE my beautiful blue eyes, to LOVE my raucous laugh that can wake the dead and my LOUD voice. To REFUSE to engage in putting myself down - if the conversation turns to a hatefest of body parts, I REFUSE to join in. I look in the mirror every day and tell my body I LOVE it. Yes - losing almost 80lbs means I have one whack of extra skin smooched around my belly - maybe I'll have that removed someday by a good looking surgeon (dream BIG!) but in the meantime - I LOVE that it's no longer full of fat and that a good foundation garment will do wonders! I LOVE my hair, I LOVE the way the tendons on my neck are visible. I LOVE my single chin - lonely though it may be. I LOVE the shape of my biceps and appreciate the job my triceps are doing holding those chicken wings in! I LOVE the shape of my calves - oh my they are sexy in heels! I LOVE my calloused, neuroma riddled feet and thank them for hauling me around all these years.

I love myself. And we take care of the things we love - grandma's Christmas china, our favourite cashmere sweater, our pets, our children and, ultimately ourselves.

I love myself. I will take care of myself.

We take care of the things we love.