How I finally learned to love my body

The day I learned to love my body I was looking at my friend Libby lounge on the couch. Libby is the fittest of anyone I know: she can do all the super complicated yoga poses, catches a fly in mid-flight ala’ Karate Kid and jumps at least 3 times her height. But she also has a rather sizable belly. Not something you’d expect from someone in such excellent shape, right? Also, Libby is a cat.

Have you ever thought that a cat was less cute because it was a bit chunky? A dog less adorable because of some sagging skin under its chin? A rabbit less darling because of its overbite? No, we love them for their “floof,” their wrinkles, their smile.

More importantly, you think your pet ever thought “I’d totally lounge in that sun spot but I don’t want to show my stomach until I lose 8 ounches”?! Nope, there they are, for all the world to see, warts and all. And you give them belly rubs, psyched to have given them this happy, lazy life.

So why aren’t we this kind to ourselves?

I’ve struggled with liking my body as long as I can remember. When I was size 0 and when I was size 10. When my boobs were AA and when they were DD. When I couldn’t point my toes the right way in gymnastics class and when I hit my first perfect two-handed backhand in tennis, but bit my lip and grunted as I did it.

I’ve deprived myself of animal products, carbs and on occasion, even solid food of any kind. I lost some weight, but inevitably succumbed to the siren call of french fries, after 6 or 8 weeks, and gained it back. I’ve tried private Pilates lessons, expensive gym memberships, “ladies” tennis leagues and video workout series. These made me stronger, but they hadn’t altered my weight.

The thing none of these changed though? How funny I am. How good I am at my job. How kind I am. How much my friends, my family, my significant other love me. At my funeral, no one will remember how skinny I was, but hopefully they’ll remember all the other things.

So I’m done thinking about my weight, my crooked teeth, my wrinkles. And I only want people in my life who don’t think less of me for them. For the rest of my life, I’m going to be as happy as my cat.