Just a rant.
I am a woman in my forties. I have three children, a career, a lovely partner, and I am privileged and blessed in all the important, significant ways. I am so so lucky.
I have spent my entire life being obsessed with food and weight. I can't remember a time when I didn't want the cake, all of it to myself, and neither can I remember a time when I wasn't feeling either ashamed of being overweight or elated with being slim. Food dominates my days, either because I'm planning on eating too much of it and that excites me, or because I'm planning on not eating enough. My entire mood is affected by how tight my jeans are. If I'm on the heavy side, I feel truly monstrous, and if I'm on the slimmer side, even if I'm gaunt and unwell, I feel sexy and attractive.
I've just started yet another diet, and something has clicked inside me.
Fuck it.
Fuck the diets. Fuck the feeling that I hate my waist, and that my upper arms aren't pretty enough. Fuck the hateful feeling I get when I'm looking in the mirror. Fuck the fact that I think far more about my weight and what I'm eating than I do about my career, which I absolutely love, and that even when I have success, I concentrate more on how I'm looking.
I don't know how to do it, but I'm going to try and change this battle I've had with myself for as long as I can remember. I am not going to judge myself in this way anymore. I want to enjoy food and then forget about it, and I want to treat my body with kindness and tenderness.
<and breathe>