Body Image3 min read

I bought two pair of shorts this weekend. Maybe to you that fact is as mundane as the sentence I wrote to tell you about it, but it’s kind of a big deal in my world. I previously owned one pair that I’d only wear when I was doing some sort of water activity because shorts seemed better than the alternative of just wearing a suit (read: practically underwear)

I feel incredibly insecure in shorts because they expose my least favorite feature: my “German” thighs and butt (although, Ancestry DNA results claim I’m only 6% German. But my thighs definitely account for 85% of my unwanted body fat. Go ahead and explain that one to me).

I’ve been working really hard this year to care for my body. I’ve exercised more than I ever have before. I’ve cut out things from my diet, paid more attention to what I consume, filled up on lots of protein and veggies. I’ve taken on the full-time job of drinking enough water (and dealt with the side effects that go along with it). I am literally busting my butt, but that same butt just keeps getting bigger anyway. I am the healthiest I’ve ever been, and no where near the number I think should be flashing at me on the scale.

And you know what? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of hating my thighs. I’m tired of looking in the mirror and seeing what I don’t like, rather than what I do. I’m tired of letting a number on a bathroom scale define my worth. I am just so gosh darn tired of hating my own body.

So I bought the shorts and you better believe I am wearing them.

This body, however used and worn it may be, is the only one I’ve got. It is me. It is what tethers me to this earth. I can’t achieve my purpose without it. And a lifetime is way too long to spend despising it for what it isn’t, don’t you think?

Yes, it jiggles and is decorated with stretch marks and blemishes. But it has carried and birthed three babies. It has taken me every place I have ever been. It has loved me even when I didn’t love it back. It has grown to accommodate my growing life. It has healed and recovered from every scrape and bruise. Because of this body I can run (although I prefer not to). I can jump. I can dance. I can swim. I can write. I can read. I can play games with friends. I can worship. Literally everything I can do is all thanks to this body that I have wasted all this time hating.

Every time I work out, or every time I pick up one of my kids; When I hug my husband, or raise my hands in worship; When I play corn hole or have a spontaneous dance party in my kitchen; Even as I sit here typing, I am reminded— This body is a gift and I wouldn’t be here without it.

Instead of punishing my body, I am going to spend my days loving it. I will wear the gosh darn shorts. I will continue to treat it with respect. I will forgive it for the times it has let me down, trusting it will forgive me in return. I will look in the mirror and celebrate it. Because it is strong, it is beautiful, and it is good.

And it’s about time I believed it.