Bettering

Dance

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Two weeks ago I had a really bad meltdown.  I became overwhelmed by the “fact” that I could never be anything but a mess.

Let’s go backward a bit.  Many years ago, I saw a therapist who specialized in body image issues and eating disorders.  I don’t want to brag, but therapists love me.  #dontbejel I have pretty crippling body image issues.  They have gotten better over time, but fat is fat.  She was a good therapist and a lot of what she helped me with has stuck.  The memory most prominent in my mind was that she commented on how I was one of the most self-assured fat people she had met.

She said it differently, of course, but that is what she meant.  Most people with a lifetime of fat have self image issues that bleed into their sense of worth in other areas.  I am fat.  But you can bet your bazooka I also am smart, tough, funny, kind.  There is not much anybody could say or do to convince me otherwise.  That shit is hard-wired.

BUT – remind me that I am fat and I remind myself that I am pretty worthless despite being smart, tough, funny, kind.  What kind of moron doesn’t stop being fat?  A colossal moron.  What type of dumb dumb is fat for 30+ years?  A ginormous dumb dumb.

Yet fat I am.  And I never stop being fat.  Every day I am fat.  Every day without end.

Yeah.  So – I’m f’d.  And then breakdown.  That moment when I just couldn’t be in my skin anymore.  I couldn’t survive one more moment with the failure that is me.  No matter how loved I am, I don’t deserve to exist.  No matter how smart, tough, funny, kind I am, I don’t deserve to exist.

Uh, hi, self pity, crazy, irrational train?  Yes, one ticket please.  Sigh.

Luckily I have a wonderful husband.  Who never stops dragging me out of the ditch.  We can do this.  I can do this.  I am worth all the love and the gifts I have been given with my brain, heart, soul.  He forces me to believe it.  (sidebar: I love marriage.)

The journey has been tough the last 2 weeks.  I haven’t kept all of my eating commitments to myself.  I have kept my exercise commitments to myself.

I have signed up for two dance classes.  They seemed like such a good idea when I signed up – exercise + inspiration from Dr. Dance.  But actually going is hard.  But went I did.  Afro aerobics earlier this week.  Ballet tonight.  I am proud.  I am tired.

Baby steps.  Baby ballerina steps.  Bad-ass baby ballerina steps. I’m fat.  But I am alive.  And I dance.  And I am smart, tough, funny, kind.  And I survive.

 

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