I recently joined Pinterest and I’ve found lots of inspiration to feed my kids easy lunches, little tips to clean my home without chemicals, and sayings that make me smile or think.
Like this one:
I remind myself of this if I have a bad day – whether it’s because I didn’t work out, or because I ate too much sugar or fat, or because I found myself negative or angry. I let it go before I go to bed and forgive myself. It sounds totally hokey, I know, but I think it’s much, much worse to dwell on your mistakes.
I mean, imagine if every little thing you feel guilty about – was a pebble that ended up in your underwear.
You decide to go for drinks with the girls instead of spin class? Pebbles in your underwear. You swear at a driver instead of taking a deep breath? Pebbles in your underwear. You decide on a candy binge after dinner instead of a walk? Pebbles in your underwear. You get angry at your spouse for something ridiculous instead of asking how his or her day went? Pebbles in your underwear. You get my drift, right? Instead of enjoying these things and living life, you’re walking around with all these heavy guilty feelings and saggy pair of underwear.
There’s something growing fast over at Pinterest that makes me sad and angry. Something, that if anyone took seriously (and there are people that do), would result in said people having a lot of pebbles in their underwear.
I’ve seen it on the main board A LOT.
Messages like this:
(really? I mean, REALLY? UGH.)
(This one makes me quite angry. So the biggest one of your friends is somehow not happy, not worthy, not WHAT, exactly? Please, tell me so I can not be your friend, ever. Becoming inspired to be fit does not have to include shaming.)
This upsets me. I have been 118 pounds, I’ve been 220 pounds, and I’ve hit every weight in between. I have birthed two healthy babies and have the stretch marks to prove it. I can run, jump, lift, dance, and play sports. I work out in some capacity nearly every day and I’m STRONG. I’m healthy. Sure, my knees sound like milk hitting Rice Krispies, but hey, I’m not bad for a 37 year old new athlete.
Confession: I was never an athlete before the last few years. I was not an athletic kid. I was a skinny runt who had the coordination of a elastic band. My pregnancies were Licenses to Eat. Post-partum depression treatments included drugs that made me obese and unhealthy.
None of these things were good excuses to remain unhealthy. Not one of them. Sure, I didn’t know what I was doing as far as sports or gym equipment went, but I tried. I failed and tried again. I humbly asked for help. To this day, I continue to recruit friends to push me, challenge me and motivate me – and I do the same for them.
For me, losing weight is not about looking better. It is about having a healthy heart. It is about playing with my kids and not feeling like I’m going to die.
Bottom line, I want to be healthy. I like being strong. I like being able to help my husband around the house. I love running with my oldest, or running alongside my youngest while he is on his bike. I love cranking the tunes and dancing with my kids. I love going to boot camp with dear friends and watching them hit their goals with me. It’s isn’t about comparing goals, bodies, habits. It isn’t about getting into a pair of jeans. It’s about taking chances, trusting myself and trying again and again until I get it right. It’s about success. It’s about loving my imperfect, squishy self enough to enjoy the things I want to do.
My Hopesense is wishing that no one takes these thinspiration images seriously.
Make Tiny Promises to yourself. Make yourself stronger. Make yourself faster. Make yourself accountable. Make yourself happy. But please, don’t make yourself sick.
If you’re my friend, I really would love for you to feel as happy and strong and imperfect as I do. You’re beautiful.
Carrying around a bunch of pebbles in your underwear would be absolute misery, anyway.