I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be comfortable in my own skin. I’m pretty sure I’ve shared before that I was 13 the first time I lied about my weight. I was an awkward 5’10 and 140 pounds. I told my friends I weighed 120 which was already twenty pounds more than what any of them weighed. I honestly hated myself in that moment and wish to be shorter and lighter. And that’s hung around like a miasma ever since. Guys tended to flock to my shorter friends around me.
The last two years have been all about accepting and loving myself. The last year in particular about figuring out my fitness. Running regularly means that I can hike steep hills without getting winded. Lifting is also helping me feel stronger and happier. But, earlier this month I realized I’m still fighting that battle. We went hiking with B’s family and my BIL scrambled up a tiny bit on a tree. B immediately hoisted my SisIL up on his shoulders for a group pic. And I was a little bit devastated. Why? Because my husband can’t pick me up like that. And would look stupid if he tried. Another hurdle of the wishing to be tinier. Even though I like my body. Even though I’m happily married, I’ve never been the girl that guys pick up.
I look at the above picture and I just smile. I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am physically. It’s nice to see it showing up in pictures. Nice to have my cousin tell me that I look really good. Nice to come home and squat two-thirds of my body weight. I guess I’ll just have to stick with picking myself up. I may still have a ways to go with loving my skin, but I’ve already come so far. I can’t change my height, but making my body stronger has turned it into something I’m increasingly in awe of and proud of.