The thing about weight.

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I can't step near a scale. Thinking about it brings fear to my very soul. It shakes my bones. The last time I stepped on a scale my heart sank, my tears stung, my throat tightened, and I felt completely ill. I immediately regretted my decision of stepping on that stupid piece of metal run by batteries that could have been smashed so quickly with one fierce stomp.

The thing is...gaining weight paralyzes me and it's stupid, because my weight has always fluctuated and I have always been okay with my body, but circumstances and life experiences and trials have eaten at my mind and sometimes I look in the mirror and I just hate what I see, but I love what I eat, but working out seems like such a burden during my already busy day.

I have always had exercise tendencies. I actually enjoy it after I do it. But I can't let it consume me anymore. I just can't...because it has been. And sometimes it doesn't even matter if Tyler tells me that I'm beautiful or if I read one more passage about divine nature and just being healthy and taking care of your body. Sometimes you just feel hopeless. Sometimes you feel like you are only working out so you can drop a waistline...so you can fit into those skirts that you love so much.

And I kinda do right now. I feel that way. And I don't want to. I want to exercise for ME.

Oh how I hate scales and numbers and watching what I eat and going through the sweat, pain, and tears.

My mom tells me I can eat whatever I want...as long as I exercise. She means completely well...I totally promise. She has never made me feel sick about my body. She has always encouraged me, but I'm surrounded by beautiful girls who hate their bodies and so I look at mine and think...well I must hate mine too.

There must be something wrong with mine too.

So what do I do? Well, I'm going to keep on living. I'm going to keep on trying. Sure, I won't work out every single day, I still need to figure that out. Sure I'll still eat junk and healthy things and whatever I please. But I'm still trying to figure myself out.

I'm trying to love my body. The hips, the stretch marks, the cellulite, the boobs, the rolls, the little pooch, the uneven skin, the not-so-toned arms. I'm going to figure it out. I'm going to love who I am. My body, my spirit, my health, and I'm going to be grateful. I have to be. I have to be, because being grateful actually works. It actually helps. I want to take care of myself, but I also want to love myself...so I will.

Let's love ourselves a little bit more.

Let's love our skin.

Here's a post that has really helped me. I read it almost every single day. I'm going to print it off and put it in my journal. I hope it helps you. It is beautiful.

+ s t a y // g o l d 

Legs

I really should be finishing my homework, but the stress has settled deep in my skin and I can't clear my mind. Today the only thing I can really remember feeling peace about was a boy in a wheelchair that I saw on campus today. Grumpily, I was making my way across campus and there he was, speeding away on his wheelchair and in my mind I thought..wow wouldn't that be nice. To get across campus so fast. And then...just then I saw him struggle to reach the button to open the door and I looked down at my own legs. My working legs. Legs that moved me across campus. Legs. Strong and secure and moving. Fluidly, sometimes clumsy, sometimes tired but working. And I felt overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with my ingratitude. Sometimes I complain about how far my legs take me or how tired they get before they can take me anywhere...and then I remember that that boy can't use those legs on his body. They just don't listen to his brain the way they should. Oh boy I wish they did work for him. Oh boy I wish that he could feel what I feel....and he never will until a better and more beautiful day. But I thank him. I thank him for teaching me a lesson today. I needed it.