I mentioned the other day I’d been meaning to do a post about self-image, and self-love and so on, so maybe this is that. As I said before, I’ve been following a fairly strict diet (for health reasons) of few carbs, and zero processed foods for just over three months now, and one thing I’ve noticed is, I’ve zero concern over how I look.
Not that I cared much before. Or rather, before, I cared. Everyone cares. The extent differs. But I couldn’t really be bothered to do stuff. All those strict weight loss diets, or beach body workout routines, they all seemed mean to me. Like you were being cruel to your body, and weren’t you, really? It felt like punishing yourself for not being what you thought you were supposed to be.
Anyway. I used to care, kinda, to the extent that I was vaguely aware when I’d put on a bit of weight, or that certain outfits would look nicer if I worked out more, but since I’ve started this diet, I can’t remember the last time I looked in the mirror and had that kinda thought. Obviously, being carb-restrictive, it means I lose weight, or at least, plateau around a very decent weight. I am also a fairly active person, so the two put together make me quite happy about how I look. And I find that a tremendous comfort. I didn’t realize what a hole in my self-confidence those thoughts really were.
Should you be happy in your body, irrespective of body?
Ironically, that seems to be the narrative now. I say ironic because we paradoxically also live in a world where most people seem to find something to surgically change about themselves. But on the other hand, you’ve got this body positivity movement, which is just such a mental term. It got me thinking.
Should people be encouraged to be happy, irrespective of what they look like?
No. I don’t think so. Obviously, even if you are overweight or underweight, or a gym maniac or don’t work out at all, or have big tits, or no tits, or whatever else under the sun, you are worthy of love, and respect as a human being.
Obviously.
That should be a message we push towards young people, that even if you’ve put on 30 pounds, you are still someone with a lot to give to the world, who deserves not to be ridiculed on the fucking bus and whatnot.
But that doesn’t mean the 30 pounds are okay. I mean, you probably know smokers, it’s likely you believe smoking is bad for your health. Presumably, you respect and even love these smokers in your personal circle. Irrespective of their habits. But does that make the smoking healthy and a-okay? I think not.
Besides, weight extremes are generally associated with lack of physical exercise, and unhealthy dietary habits. Both of which are major contributors to depression, so yeah, I think it’s stupid to say you can be happy at any weight. Sure. You might be one of those people who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck. I’ve always envied those people. They seem to be on Cloud 9. But chances are, you’re not.
Self love shouldn’t mean staying in a toxic relationship.
We throw this term around a lot lately, self-love, self-acceptance. And I think a fair bit about love, you know, like most people. So I got to doing a few comparisons.
Say you’re in a relationship, and you love your partner, they’re a great person, very good connection. Except they’ve also fallen off the wagon. Or they’re snorting cocaine. Or they’re gambling.
But you love them, remember. So then, what do you, their loving partner, do here? Do you…
a. tell them to get a grip and support them towards recovery?
b. encourage their addiction, and tell them you love them anyway?
(well, as it happens, according to specialists, it’s highly unlikely that a. will work. People genuinely engage in their addictions and their toxic habits until a profound shift occurs in themselves. Contrary to popular belief, people don’t react to that tough love. Unfortunately.)
Still, parentheses aside, you probably wouldn’t encourage them to fuck themselves up if you loved them. So why, then, should self-love equate to you embracing and indulging your own unhealthy habits?
I love my friends and my family. But that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of recognizing when they mess up royally. Remember, infatuation is blind. Love is not, nor should it be. And how realistic would it be to be infatuated with yourself? Sure, maybe for like a month, when you’re a toddler, but after that? You’re the mirror. You’re in charge of calling yourself out on all the bullshit. First and foremost. Then, if you’re lucky enough, so will your friends.
Except our present society’s messing around with that. It’s telling young people it’s fine to put on just as much weight, and eat as many pre-packaged, toxic storebought cookies as you like. And it’s telling your friends that, as well. And if one person in your group, god forbid, dares contradict, it means they’re fat-shaming, and intolerant, and need to be slammed against the wall.
Aren’t we brilliant?
Seems to me an actual loving relationship also implies a good deal of calling each other’s bullshit. In this case, calling your own. When you eat stuff you know you’d be better off staying away from, or not going out of the house in five days.
Using the relationship comparison one last time, think about it this way. If you heard about some guy, really great guy, very open, very loving. Supports his girlfriend in toxic coping mechanisms, and actively encourages them, cuts her off from opinions not fitting his own, and essentially encourages her in killing herself slowly, would you say “what a swell, loving guy”?
Not unless you’ve got a screw loose.
So maybe loving yourself means paying more attention to your own BS than anyone else. Maybe it means figuring out ways to heal. To me, loving yourself is being patient when you can’t stick to the fucking diet or the workout routine, or maybe you have a box of cookies after six days of doing so well. Self-love, I feel, is saying to yourself it’s okay. I can do better tomorrow.
Because I have infinite power to change, and grow to be better.