Thanks to Shari for the pointer to this thought-provoking post — Don’t tell me to love my body — by Elyse over on Skepchick:
I want to talk to you about how you talk to me about how I talk about my body, and how I talk about how I feel about my body, and what’s wrong with everything you have to say about what I have to say.
In short, fuck you.
I don’t love my body. My body is awful. I will never love my body. I never have. And I’m 35 and maybe you think that’s too old to have real hang ups about my body. But I do. And I always will. And maybe you think that because I’ve lost a bunch of weight I should feel great about my body. But I don’t. And I won’t.
At I first thought that perhaps Elyse was over-reacting. Maybe people really mean “love yourself” rather than “love your body.” But a search for the latter yielded 69 results just in my Google reader feed!
Hmmm. As someone who has lost 100+ pounds three times and is pushing retirement age, I can relate. Accept? Embrace? Cherish? These are verbs that feel a bit more practical to me. And as a matter a fact, lately I have given up things like “learn to love yourself” and “live with passion” and “find yourself.”
These days, I’m just asking if I am I being kind to myself.