Dear anyone who’s unhappy with their body,
I’m 5’1 and 131 pounds. Yes, I’m saying that out loud to thousands of people I don’t know. You know what’s scarier? I’m saying that out loud to hundreds of people I DO know. Women aren’t supposed to talk about their weight. And five years ago, I wouldn’t have shared that. I mean it’s not a horrible weight, but it’s not the greatest weight either. I know there are people who would kill to be 131, and I know there are people who would rather die than be 131. But what’s important is that I’M okay with it. Wanna know why I’m okay with it? Because it doesn’t matter. It’s not who I am.
When I was younger, here were some of the thoughts that would go through my head on a weekly basis:
Damn, I wish I had so-and-so’s body.
Yikes, I hope my boyfriend doesn’t see how my thighs are totally spreading out on this chair.
I’ll bet I could snap that woman’s femur in half. I wish I looked like her.
If I didn’t have to worry about my weight, I’d strap a bag of Doritos to my face like a feedbag and go to town alllllll day long.
And now that I’m older, here are some of the things that go through my head on a weekly basis:
I’m so lucky I have my husband who thinks I’m sexy, thighs and butt and all.
There is such thing as too skinny.
This is what I look like and I’m okay with it.
I mean sure, I still wish I had skinnier longer legs and could strap a bag of Doritos to my face like a feedbag because Doritos are awesome, but I don’t think about it very often. It’s just not what matters as much when you grow up. Good people won’t like you because you’re skinny. They’ll like you because you’re nice– skinny and nice, chubby and nice, regular and nice. They’ll like you because you’re smart or funny or happy or helpful or a good listener or a great storyteller.
I’ve always known this, but for some reason I never truly embraced it. Until now. I wish it didn’t take me 41 years to feel this way.
Maybe it’s because now I know that “what I look like” is not “who I am.” And if someone judges me for my weight or how I look, then they are the ugly person. Not me.
I’ve written all sorts of open and honest crap! And by crap I mean very intellectual literature. Check out my hilarious New York Times Bestselling book I Heart My Little A-Holes, sold in all of these fine establishments: