Can we get real here? I absolutely hate my thighs. I am twenty-five and I have cellulite. Like real, actual cellulite. I am young, active, healthy, and my legs look thirty years older than my face. How this happens completely evades me.
And here's the deal: I spent more time on our vacation thinking about my thighs than I did anything else. Seriously. I thought about them every day, every time I changed, every time I got in the shower, every time I got in the pool, every time I glanced down. I feel exhausted just thinking about all the time I thought about my thighs.
I know that I'm supposed to feel beautiful. I know that I was made in the image of my holy creator. But sometimes, feeling beautiful is just really hard. I fought it all through high school. NOTHING about acne feels pretty. It feels more like a fake facade. Like it isn't your face at all, but some monster came to take your place. And these thighs aren't really my thighs at all! My gorgeously toned thighs are really hiding underneath.
These thoughts kept surfacing till I read this quote on A Cup of Jo by Anne Lamott:
...Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you're 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn't go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It's going to break your heart. Don't let this happen.And the more I thought about Lamott's words, the more sense they made. I realized that for me, feeling beautiful isn't about thinking, I'm beautiful. It is about giving myself the freedom to have fun. To enjoy life. To jump in the pool. To let go of the image of perfection I've been chasing.
And suddenly, I'm not so worried about my thighs after all. I'm having a blast.
I'm feeling beautiful.