A flat tummy never made anyone happy

In my unending goal to break the negative cycles I grew up with an issue I've repeatedly faced has been body image.

My mother was a stomach on stilts. She held all her weight like a growing pregnant belly, leading strangers to offer her seats in waiting rooms, and her to offer sneers in return. She never had anything the least bit positive to say about her own body, and had a lifelong struggle with dieting and eventually diabetes.

Because I longed to grow up and become the opposite of her in every way possible, I soon associated being overweight with being “just like my mother.”

If my stomach popped even a tiny bit over the edge of my jeans, I panicked that I was somehow “turning into her” and all the horrors that would entail. If I could get fat like her then that meant I could also get crazy like her, cruel like her, or even become a monster like her.

Coming of age in 90’s was no help either. With emaciation trending and excessive drug use and eating disorders becoming common place, society seemed to agree with my assessment that fat was definitely bad.

So, I followed the trend. ALL the trends. But as it happens, trends get old.

Though I’ve never been obese, I’ve been every size from 0-10 and dabbled with the most unhealthy of diets, over-exercise, under-exercise, and my fair share of body dysmorphia.

I’ve had a flat belly…and been miserable. I’ve had a round belly…and been just as miserable (though not as hungry). I’ve been super-fit, and super-lazy. It’s taken 47 years, but I think I’ve finally reached a point where I can simply be.

I’m proud of myself for staying the same size for the past few years. Not because of some NEED to stay this size. But because it’s the size my body seems to want to be. I eat healthy, except when I don’t. I get plenty of exercise, and sometimes I take a day off, or even a week. Some days my belly is flatter than others and somedays it’s full and happy, and so am I.

But old habits die hard. There are times when I berate myself for not fitting into some manufactured standard, and I feel the panic rising up again. And there are times when I start cheering the fact that a pair of pants feels looser than usual. But I stop myself. Because it’s all bullshit.

Fitting into some standard that someone invented to sell me some shit I don’t need and don’t care about anyway will never allow me to achieve my goals. Besides, I’m setting an example for my own daughter. My beautiful, talented, smart, funny daughter, who just happens to look a hell of a lot like me.

If I complain about my appearance, if I deny myself fun, or food, or joy, or experiences, because I’m too wrapped up about what I look like, then what message does that send to her? If I can’t model self-love and self-acceptance then I’m not doing my part to be the mother I want to be, the woman I want to be, or to break the cycles I want to break.

In our society self-body-shaming is an accepted norm. I’ve heard a lot of moms bash their own bodies, calling themselves ugly, fat, gross, and even worse while little ears are listening.

But if I’m learning to love myself, and trust my gut, then I better love the gut I’m learning to trust.

A flat belly never made anyone happy because nothing can ever really MAKE you happy. It comes from within. Of course, a flat tummy may make you feel the fleeting happiness of a false sense of self-worth, accomplishment, or even that you’ve “won” some imaginary contest.

But there’s no flat tummy police coming to arrest you for having fun despite not fitting into some image of perfection. No one is perfect. I’ve hung out around fashion models and trust me, their body image is just as messed up as the rest of us, maybe even more so because they face incessant outside scrutiny based upon a shallow sense of value.

Besides, having a flat belly isn’t even really the goal in and of itself. It’s what we associate with it; health, beauty, comfort, acceptance, value, love, respect, and admiration. But what if we just gave these gifts to ourselves without any impossible strings attached? What if we were worthy of all of these things exactly as we are?

It may sound cheesy, but the only diet that will ever REALLY work, is love. A diet is so much less about what you put in your mouth, then what you say to yourself each and every day.

I no longer have to live in constant fear and panic that each pound added to the scale is evidence of failure and that I’m somehow magically turning into my mother. I’ve learned the pointlessness of obsessing over appearance when that’s usually the least interesting aspect of an individual (except maybe a few of those fashion models I hung out with).

Although society will still pummel women with messages to tell us the opposite, I’ve never loved someone because they had a flat tummy. I never valued or respected them more or wanted to be their friend because of their dress size. The women I think are the coolest all have passion, and talent, and perseverance in their goals for a better life. Their bellies have held laughter, and family recipes, and babies, and intuition. They’ve been all kinds of shapes and sizes and will continue to change as they move through each stage of life embracing the experiences it has to offer. And I have to ask myself, what

would anyone want to shrink all that for?