I welcomed in 2024 from the comfort of my couch. Full up with a cold, clutching at the tissues, and feeling pretty sorry for myself, I vowed to make some meaningful body change this year. Winter is generally comfort month because I can hide behind a massive sherpa-lined sweater and pretend no one can see my body.
Still, we are all capable of change, and I know it can happen for me too. It has to. I want to live even just one more year of my twenties feeling the kind of kick-ass-look-at-my-deliciousness confidence we all deserve to feel all the time.
I have a very vivid memory of lying in bed in my old apartment thinking, “Emma, you’re 25, when are you going to get serious about making healthy choices?” I’ve now turned 28. so it’s fair to say I kicked the can down the road a little too much on that. There’s not a lot of time left to develop kick-ass confidence before the thirties roll in.
As I write this, I’m holding a hot water bottle to my tummy for period pain and I’ve eaten an unholy amount of vanilla cream Quadratini today. (If you haven’t tried them yet, don’t, as you can’t go back.) I did motivate myself to head to the gym this morning, so I’m proud of that small win. It’s funny how confident I feel wearing tight workout leggings when I’m wearing them to lift weights. The thought of strolling through Central Park wearing the exact same thing makes me feel uncomfortable.
I don’t know exactly when I developed an aversion to wearing tight clothes. Probably in the last 5 years or so. I think living in NYC has a lot to do with it. I don’t want to attract the wrong type of attention when I’m coming home alone on the subway at night. I’ve used all sorts to cover up any boob-to-neck skin for a subway ride. I feel more comfortable wearing flesh-flashing clothes when C. is with me, which is lame because I should be able to wear whatever the hell I want whether I have a male protector or not.
There’s also the fact that I hate my side profile protruding in anything tight. If I wear something too tight on my stomach, I end the night with an ache from stomach-sucking-in. Which is absurd.
Anyway, enough of the descent into self-body shaming. C. thinks I should go all in on trying to love the body that I have now. I explained that body neutrality is probably a better goal for me given where I’m at, but he’s getting at a recent realization that’s been gnawing at me.
I’ve only seen two paths forward. I’m sure there are more, but bear with my narrow-mindedness. The paths are either do the work to lose the weight or do the work to reach acceptance with my body. So far I’ve been vacillating between these two options, failing to make a choice and failing to make any progress. It can’t go on for more years. This new year needs to mean a new frame of mind. It’s time to just do the work to get myself to a place of confidence, whatever that may mean.
