Up until very recently, my relationship with my body had been very difficult. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin and it’s made me feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. It’s a shame I’ve carried around, secretly (and thus making it worse) since I was 12.
I’ve tried to dress in a way that covers it up, but that’s never worked.
That’s part of the reason I’m not buying any clothes this year, to try to break they cycle of thinking that if I’m wearing something in particular then I’ll finally like what’s underneath. I’m learning what I’m really comfortable in, and becoming painfully aware of the things I bought because I liked the idea of who I might be in them.
Right now, I like to wear my softest jumpers and my most worn boots because they make me feel confident because we’ve been together for so long. I also like to wear smaller things that make me feel special, like my Kaye Blegvad belt that makes the most boring outfit feel a little cooler or the gold hoops I was recently gifted that put some pep in my step and sparkle when they catch the light – thanks Georgina Scott!
But there’s a much bigger change going on under the surface of soft knits and gold hoops.
A big part of the reason I’ve never felt comfortable in my body, aside from the fact that I’ve been told not to be, is that I’ve been discouraged from sport all of my life. Well, that’s not quite true, I loved playing football in our primary school girl’s team, but as soon as I got to secondary school I had PE classes where I was told continually I wasn’t capable and forced into situations where I didn’t feel comfortable let alone confident.
That’s left me feeling not only that I don’t like what my body looks like but that I can’t do anything either.
I’ve tried to exercise, because I felt I should, on and off as a grown up since then. But it’s never really stuck.
Recently, I’ve found myself in a groove of going to classes (boxing and lift) and running in a way that feels more sustainable. I’m learning how to feel capable of and comfortable doing exercise.
In the past, because I was worried that I would be judged, I always worked out alone. But going to group classes and running as part of events like the Park Run has put me amongst a wider range of bodies, bodies that are all strong and capable and able to keep going. Being in a group has pushed me that little bit further than I would have gone alone so that I can see my body can lift a bar, or throw a punch or keep running if I want it to, and that it’s not out of place if I’m moving no matter how I look.
I can’t say that I always start off a class in a good place. Sometimes, I will myself to put my trainers on through guilt or as a punishment or because I think I need to lose weight. I’m certainly not always body positive. Jia Tolentino wrote far more eloquently than I ever will about the pressures that now come along with fitness culture, even if it’s about being strong, in Trick Mirror. There’s an aesthetic pressure to have a body (that you definitely sweated for in some expensive leggings) so you can appear not to have to sweat all of the other stuff AKA you get to be a cool girl who doesn’t care about being cool. But more than that it’s a moral pressure, to work out is to be good, is to be smart, is to be productive in the most terrifying capitalisation of ourselves. There’s something in being aware of the stories we’re being told, and internalising,
I’m learning to enjoy exercise as a moment to look after myself. I’m learning to feel proud of my progress. Even if I don’t go into a class with a mindset that’s good for me as a whole person, leave feeling good in a way that’s much deeper than just thinking I can be proud that I burned some calories.
The more I’ve done, the more I’ve found myself being thankful that I’m healthy, that I have a body that, even if it’s not fast or strong or beautiful, allows me to do what I want to. I think finally feeling grateful to my body has been a real turning point for me.
I don’t think the foreseeable future holds a moment where I’m in love with my body. I know I’m meant to embrace body positivity, and it’s chorus that every body should be considered beautiful. But I don’t think that’s a tune I can sing sincerely. I’ve still got another turn stuck in my head, one that I’ve been taught to hum since I was a child. I’m also not sure that it’s a song I like. Do I need to be beautiful, can I not just be here?
While it’s hard, and sometimes a little demoralising, to find yourself running behind 11 years olds in a 5km. It’s also buoying to know there’s hopefully going to be one fewer 26 year old in the future who’s going to go through these growing pains.
So, I’m focusing on feeling grateful to be breathing and walking and eating pasta. I’m wearing what’s most comfortable, physically and mentally. I’m reconciling with myself.
