Oh, the Body Struggle the Coronavirus Has Brought
Oh, I thought I had it.
After years of struggles with the mirror and learning to love me with all my beauties and imperfections, I thought that dragon had been slain.
I was the queen of my body and weight fluctuations were not going to bother me. No, sir!
I was going to the gym, eating healthy, enjoying my cheat meals completely guilt-free. I was a free woman! Not dominated by the beauty standards I grew up with.
Until, of course, the coronavirus came.
No gym, no daily walks through the wonderful city I live in, no amazing cheat meals shared with friends amid laughter and wine.
I do miss the laughs, I still got the wine, though.
And I know, trust me, I know! First world problems.
But looking in the mirror and seeing the pounds come back started to feel like an anywhere problem to me.
I gave my body to sedentarism and cookies for a couple of weeks, and boy, did my mind made me pay for it.
“The cellulitis is back, girl”
“Look at that belly”
“Is that an entire roll of FAT emerging from your sports bra?”
“NO, NO, don’t eat the ice cream!”
Two weeks was all it took for me to feel as if I had regressed to my college days, worried about filling the scrubs too much or too little, or not in the right places.
Unlike in those days, I can’t go to the park to walk or jog my worries away. But thankfully, first world problems have first world solutions.
I am now a devout follower of an Instagram account where I can do a cardio live activity every day. After two weeks of getting off my -glorious- butt at noon and sweating for an hour and something, I’m starting to feel like myself.
I have gone back to sweets only three times a week, and yesterday, I made a freaking carbonara with sausages. And it was sinful and delicious, and I didn’t feel like punishing myself and instead matched it with some red wine. Because I felt like it (and because my husband sent me the recipe and it looked amazing).
And I’m not saying getting up and working out is the answer. The answer, truly, is understanding that our value is not defined by the pounds, by our work -don’t get me started on that issue-, by how much we own or the number in the bank.
The answer is to accept, embrace, and love ourselves, at our best, at our worst, at our just whatever.
Love ourselves even when we are not working on ourselves.
Love ourselves even when we don’t feel like it.
Love ourselves always, unconditionally, relentlessly, with a passion that can’t be matched by any other love.
Love ourselves during a freaking pandemic, because that’s our life, and we have to live.
