Now, for something a little less sweet. Do you ever have those days or weeks where you’re just so disgusted with yourself that you can’t imagine doing anything other than hiding in your bed and sobbing? I had one of those weeks. As I mentioned on Monday, I gained a few pounds recently. That, coupled with a shirt with too-tight sleeves, hair that refused to cooperate and a craft supply blunder on Tuesday morning, left me in tears. I stood in front of the mirror, cursing my stupid, fat body that can’t do anything right and loathing my grotesque canned biscuit dough arms.
I changed shirts but still felt like a monster. I boarded the train with my huge bag of craft supplies and headed off to work where I knew I’d manage to fail in my unchallenging job. Just as I was welling up with tears for the thousandth time that morning, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. I’d been actively trying to avoid my visage because I didn’t need to be reminded of my extra chin or the giant bags under my eyes. But I didn’t see any of that stuff. What I saw surprised me. I saw muscle definition in my arms! The same biscuit dough arms I’d cursed moments before had a defined muscle! It’s small, it’s unlikely anybody but me could see it but a defined tricep was there.
So, I challenged myself to think about all the things my arms could do instead of how they looked. They can carry this heavy bag of craft supplies that brings joy to people in need. They can do “textbook” push ups and planks. They can hug the ones I love. They can cook and clean and carry groceries home. They can hold onto the train pole so that I don’t fall down. They can type this blog post. They can work. They can work the brakes and handlebars on my bike. They can bake, package and ship a cake to my boyfriend’s mama. They can keep working, striving and not giving up on progress and success. Maybe that arm looks like biscuit dough from time to time but it’s just because the skin is loose from pounds that are no longer there.
fat arms are still arms