MY // two small letters that signify what’s mine, and it starts with my thoughts about my body
It takes a lot to look inwards and really get to know what lies beneath my skin. I reckon you need courage to recognize and understand the inner workings of how you feel. I'm starting here with my thoughts because when we view ourselves, our beliefs stem from thoughts. Don't get me wrong - its taken me a long time to be able to reflect inwards AND be alright with sitting in a whole lot of uncomfortable, but trust me - its worth it to know how best to look after me. Coming back to my body's story, it begins with the word "MY" which represents the whole self and how I look after it. Mind. Body. Spirit. The truth is no one else can look after me the way I need to, so I've had to figure out what works and what doesn't. For example, going to bed past 10:30pm means I'm not as nice the next day compared to when I'm asleep by 9pm. Not drinking enough water has all sorts of repercussions on my physical health - dry lips, headaches, dry skin, fatigue. Spending too much time on social media does NOT support my confidence. I often am left feeling vacant, unsure of myself and full of useless comparative thoughts I didn't have 30 minutes prior. I know what when I'm not functioning well, I'm not that useful to myself or anyone else. It's the old "put your oxygen mask on first" adage ... I used to think that was being selfish but now, I don’t believe so. It's just a matter of making sure I can be the best version of myself. Mind. Body. Spirit. BODY // my body is perfectly imperfect. It’s mine and no one else has the same one. I've had a pretty stable relationship with my body. I acknowledge that I'm genetically blessed (and privileged) to be thin-bodied, but as a female I still bore the brunt of diet culture, it's messages to look a certain way or be a certain body type. I can remember in high school the commentary from the opposite sex about what was favourable in a girl's body shape, what bra cup was a "good size" (it was a handful btw - but that's stupid because everyone has different hand sizes too!) and who wore too much/too little makeup. My personal attack on my body was my short, muscular legs and arms. I was sporty so playing tennis and being involved in the school aerobics team didn't help. I used to pine over girls with tall, slender legs and skinny arms until I realized in Year 10 I was never going to grow another foot taller. And wearing 9 inch heels a lot of the time hurt too much. And my arms... I just gave up. To this, I credit my love for food. I grew up in a morally neutrally environment which centred food as something we did together, it was shared, it was valued and nothing was ever out of bounds. I ate whatever I wanted, when I wanted without Mum's judgement or intervention - which I believe is why I never forfeited food in order to change my perceived 'thicker' appendages. I can remember the moment when I began to appreciate what my body could do, over how it looked. For context, I was at my heaviest weight in my university days, and the freedom to access hot chips, coffee and cheap drinks on a Thursday night (plus my significant drop in exercise) had caught up with me. I started working with a personal trainer driven from the desire to fit again (rather than a weight loss perspective). Within 6 weeks, not only did I begin to feel better physically but at each session I was more and more gobsmacked by how far I could run, the weights I could lift and the endurance I had. For the record, my body changed to show my level of increased fitness yet the scales did nothing to reflect this. These changes in my function sparked a sense of curiosity of what my body could perform. I started to looked at myself differently from a place of respect, and pride of the things I could do... not just look like. My right eyelid droops more than my left, but I began to care less as I got older. My arms are still not rake thin (and they never will be) but I can carry my toddler in one arm while taking the groceries up a flight of 15 stairs. And being a mum, I have a mummy pouch to go with the territory... but I grew a baby, and that’s just wild in itself. My body will continue to change as I grow old. I now know that's what it is meant to do and continuing to anchor myself to this helps me love and accept what there is to come. Continuing to focus on how I will look after it will always be my number one focus because as I said - I'm a much nicer person when I do so. STORY // Storytelling is a way to document and share something valuable to another, either fictitious or factual. We all have a story to tell, and mine (to me) has become more important to know and reflect on as I continue to work alongside so many more women who are also creating and exploring their own body stories. I didn't know you could have a story, until I came across a small project in the Yarra Valley that invited a select few to gather and share their experiences as women in a world of diet culture. It was a space carved out for those participating to stand back and reflect on their experiences and write their tale. An opportunity to make peace with their body, change the course of the storyline and embrace a sense of hope that they can have a positive relationship with the body they lived in. It is here that I invite you to consider your own Body's Story - what has it done for you, how do you talk about your body? What has it been through? Even better - perhaps it's time to rewrite your story. For more information about the 'My Body's Story' project in the Yarra Valley and it's exhibition, please go to: https://www.yarraranges.vic.gov.au/Experience/Events/My-Bodys-Story |
AuthorThe way to Carla's heart is all things food. Follow her thoughts and opinions on the latest food news and myths. Archives
November 2023
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