Each New Year brings two camps of people: to resolution or not to resolution.
The resolvers are so hopeful, so determined, mostly so naive. Even while the non-resolvers are standing, toe to the line of divide, scornfully heckling the opposition, these goal-oriented people bravely accept a challenge for January 1. And, come January 5, when the resolve is gone, they accept all the ribbing and jokes until another January, another goal, another hope-filled future comes around.
For my entire life, I’ve been a pro-resolutions gal, and I’d like to think that says something good about me. You know, that I have hope in life and people, that dreams can come true with hard work, yada-yada. And, apparently every year, I have hope that this will be the year I suddenly transform my body into that of a supermodel. As embarrassing as it is to say, I have made this goal to “lose ten pounds” almost every year of my life, including at year 8, as the youngest member to attend regular Diet Workshop meetings.
Friends, I am not unhealthy by definition of any health chart (although, admittedly, at 8, my chubby cheeks did look like they had reserves of food stored for winter in them). Yes, my legs ripple – and not with muscle. Yes, my definition of toned abs is being diastasis recti free under a layer of post-baby skin and fat. But I am not unhealthy.
And I am not the only healthy mama out there who keeps talking about those last ten pounds, who keeps looking at the scale in misery and grim determination. I am not the only woman out there who makes a resolution every year to stick to a fad diet in the name of health, but really it’s in the name of finally getting the body we think we should have. I am not the only woman who longs for the grass on the other side of the fence – preferably wheatgrass, in little, detoxifying juice shots.
In fact, I am strong and healthy. I am disease and medicine free. I regularly lifted hay bales and ran 5K’s while 9 months pregnant. I can deadlift my body weight and am moving on up.
Instead of celebrating those victories and setting new goals to keep my body healthy and strong, I lament that my outer appearance doesn’t match up with the strength and health under my skin.
Then I tell my daughter that what’s most important is on the inside, not on the outside. And I expect her to believe it.
If I can see how strong and beautiful my daughter is, just the way she is, why can’t I see myself that way? If we can see how amazing our kids are without the fad diets and unattainable body goals, why can’t we celebrate being healthy and loving the body we’ve been given?
I know my brain has been hard-wired to seek and destroy any positive self-image that doesn’t include six-pack abs and cellulite-free legs. I know my progress will be a cycle of one step forward, two steps back. But, this year, I do have a resolution: I have the resolution to feed my body fuel that tastes good and keeps me healthy. I have a resolution to exercise because it makes me happy and helps me keep up with my kids. I have a resolution to look in the mirror and smile at what a fine looking mama I am.
I have a resolution to skip the diet mentality, to put my energy and hopes into leaving a legacy of a healthy body image for my daughter.
