Something of an a epiphany came to me the other day when I watched this facebook video of a larger lass giving it her all. I'm not going to say that it will last. I'm not going to say this has restored positive body image to me for life. But it's a good thing. For a couple of days I haven't felt ugly in being fat. I've almost felt comfortable about it. I've felt happy. I still want to lose weight. I still want to be fitter. But I don't feel ugly.
Today I went swimming at the swimming pool for the first time in years. I went swimming in my two-piece and felt that I would have been happy if it were a bikini rather than a tank top that went down to my hips. Yes, I am fat, I thought. Yes, I want to lose weight. But fat can be sexy. It doesn't have to be a turn off. And this body has carried three babies to term and given birth to them. Sometimes it has a bad back and can't do much, but at other times it's incredibly strong. Yes, stretch marks are tiger stripes, and I deserve them after the pain of late pregnancy and giving birth. If someone doesn't like them, so what? Why should I spend my time covering over my flesh as if I were ashamed?
I have managed with this body all my life. Sometimes I stress eat and sometimes I just eat too much. But I've carried on through fights with stress and depression and anxiety. I've carried on through some pretty horrendous times caused by people outside my control. I've carried on bringing up three beautiful boys, one of whom is definitely and two most likely on the spectrum, and although sometimes I've lost my temper I've hugged them when they were hurt and cuddled them to sleep and read to them and educated them and taken them to beautiful places.
Does it matter if I'm fat? My children don't care. My husband finds me sexy. I'm the only one left whose opinion matters, and it's far better that I'm happy with myself than that I hate myself.