Right now, I’m sitting on my couch writing this blog between spoonfuls of ice cream and twinges of self-loathing. I should be exercising off the extra hundred and thirty pounds that weigh down my body and complicate my life. I should be sweating, grunting and swearing my way into a svelt size eight and a trip to the plastic surgeon’s to tighten up my new and improved super hot mom bod of my thirty-year-old-mother-of-three fantasies. I should be. Really, I should.
What I am doing is fighting a mental war where it’s me against my insecurities, laziness, exhaustion and vanity. Their ringleader is fear of the unknown, the battleground is the safety and comfort of the known dysfunction, and I am down a container of ice cream sitting here attempting to psych myself into something better but unfathomable.
For my entire youth, the importance of the physical form was couched in terms of sexual appetite. Now grown and over most of my Daddy complexes, I find this healthy = fuckable equitation still lingers, but any acquiescence of mine to this idea that my value stems from the number of dicks that want to poke me has long since vanished. Even so, my mind still shies away from taking charge of my body because I’ve yet to convince my emotional self that doing so will not return me to the status of “Fuck Toy” in the eyes of the world at large. I still can’t shake the feeling that shedding this extra will not also lessen my value, somehow. It’s such a strange and slippery emotional conundrum. It frustrates me and pisses me off.
I sit and I struggle to find a reason capable of motivating me to do what I know is right. I don’t want to live my life sitting in front of a television, tap-tapping words on my laptop between bites of chocolate chip cookie dough any longer, but I don’t know how to change that without finding myself confronted immediately by pressures and judgments I wish so strongly to avoid. I don’t think I can get around them and I’ve decided that taking my health back will involve evaluating myself as I have so often been evaluated by others. What I fear most is finding out that all those voice of contempt and disgust were right about me all along.
If I don’t go looking for any answers I will not receive them. This is truth and fact, played out so often in the lives of so many every single day. I do not wish to be counted among their number, any longer, but I hesitate from the commitments change will require. I fear being measured and found wanting.
Sitting on the couch is much easier than learning to take up the cause of self love in the face of ones internalized inner critic. I may not find the strength to fight that battle tonight, that is true, but just acknowledging the struggle is winning a skirmish in this war.