The Three B's
“I am beautiful. I am beloved. I am brilliant.” When I was a kid, my mom had printed out those three sentences on a piece of paper and taped that piece of paper to the ceiling above my bed. I think I was about eight years old when she did it. Just a sheet of white printer paper and purple ink and a girly, cursive-y font— and nearly thirteen years later, I’m still repeating those words in my head from time to time when I need a reminder.
Imagine how much time I must have spent looking up at them. I mean, think about how much time you spend laying in bed. I don’t know about you, but I spend a pretty significant amount of time in bed, be it lounging or reading or just staring at the ceiling while I’m trying to fall asleep. And every time I looked up, there they were: I am beautiful. I am beloved. I am brilliant.
What’s really astounding though is how easily and how often the truths of those sentences have slipped from my mind in the thirteen years since I first saw them. I’ve questioned all three at various points, but especially the first. I am beautiful. But am I? I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve stood in front of the bathroom mirror asking myself that question. Well, so-and-so said that I looked hot in that dress on Friday night, but did they really mean that I looked good *for my body type? Or the classic, I mean yeah I made out with that guy for an hour at that party and he asked me to go home with him and texted the next morning but did he *really* find me attractive or is he just desperate? It’s amazing what we can do to rationalize thinking poorly of ourselves.
Alright, what I’m about to say is going to sound hugely annoying. I don’t mean it as a brag— really, I don’t. So just brace yourself. Here goes: many people have told me many times that I’m pretty, cute, hot, beautiful, etc. And yet here I am, not believing anyone! Because, of course, I don’t have the seal of approval from the only person that matters: myself. By the way, this is not an invitation to jump in the comments with a Quinn, shut up, you’re so pretty! Don’t do it! You can’t convince me! [But also not an invitation to be all up in my comments with a yup never thought you were pretty anyways because I’m just trying to hype myself up and don’t need my ego wounded at this time. Check back later!]
My point is this: no matter what other people say, the only person we tend to believe about our own attractiveness is ourselves. Yes, I’ve switched to a very general tone here. Yes, it’s purposeful. Because I don’t think it’s just me! For many of us, it’s so easy to see in our friends and even in the random people around us. Whether it’s your friend with the amazing smile cry-laughing on the couch or whether it’s the girl on the train whose butt looks fantastic in those jeans, we see the beauty in other women all the time. But when we turn the mirror towards ourselves, it all goes out the window.
Why? Why do we have so much trouble seeing our own beauty? Well honestly, there’s a million ways I could take this post right now. Diet culture. Racialized and Eurocentric beauty standards. An overwhelming lack of diverse bodies portrayed in the media. Fatphobia. I could go on...
Again, there are a million reasons we struggle to see our own beauty. But I can only speak for myself and my personal story, so that’s what I’m going to go with. If you’re a loyal blog reader, you know where this is going. If you’re new to these parts, here’s the recap: Hi my name is Quinn and I have never been skinny. But you better believe I’ve always wanted to be! So much so that at various times and in various ways, it’s taken over nearly every aspect of my life. And I’m so g-damn tired of that.
I want to get up in the morning and look in the mirror and think Wow. I’m really gorgeous. As I’ve learned throughout the years, that’s not going to come from anyone but myself. And after a lot of thought, I’ve come to the conclusion that what’s holding me back is my pressing desire to be skinny. Which, let’s be honest, is probably never going to happen. And if it does, it will never be enough.
From the end of my sophomore year to spring of my junior year of college, I lost 25 pounds. Which was a lot for me! I distinctly remember the day that I weighed my lowest since high school. I remember stepping onto the scale and seeing the magic number: _ _ 9.8! I had done it! I’d finally slipped below the arbitrary goal weight I had set for myself months earlier. But it wasn’t a feeling of satisfaction or accomplishment. I also remember stepping off and thinking Good, now five more. And I remember so many mornings in the two years since that I’ve stepped off the scale again at a higher weight and compared it to that morning and felt so disheartened and defeated and worthless. There’s always going to be another five pounds or another ten pounds that I could convince myself I need to lose. It just doesn’t stop.
The key question I need to ask myself is this: was I happier then? I can’t say I was. After all, happiness isn’t measured in pounds. And even if it was, it’s not like golf. Lower isn’t necessarily better!
If I’m really committed to loving my body, if I’m really committed to making the most of my life, if I’m really committed to being as happy as I can be— then I need to get off the hamster wheel of ‘thinness.’ Because I could go and go and go forever and never reach a destination I’m happy with. And I really am committed to those things. I want to eat without counting my calories— whether it’s on MyFitnessPal or automatically in my head. I want to feel beautiful every day and in every outfit. Yep, even the ones where you see the curve of my belly or the exact shape of my thighs [if you have an adverse reaction to the thought of a not-skinny person in a tight dress, this blog is probably not for you].
So, I’m done. I’m done exercising to lose weight. I’m done skipping a cookie because I’m worried about fitting into a certain pair of jeans [yeah I’m looking at you, expensive-raw-hem-patchwork-inflexible-denim-that-I-bought-and-never-wore-and-probably-never-will]. Of course, it’s not going to happen overnight. It’s going to take work and it’s going to take some serious unlearning on my part. I don’t know where my body will settle, but I’m excited to find the balance. I’m excited to move my body with joy, to celebrate its strength and the things it can do. I’m excited to run more half marathons [or maybe more??] because I want to challenge myself, not because I’m using cardio to shed my hip dips. I’m excited to eat ice cream and pasta and broccoli and peppers and strawberries and zucchini and hummus and BREAD and creamy lemon chicken and—
Yeah, I’m excited to eat food. But I’m even more excited to reteach myself how to listen to my natural hunger cues, and learn how to give my body all the nutrients it needs by letting it guide me there. Another thing that’s not going to happen overnight, but definitely something I’m looking forward to. Most importantly, I’m excited to unlearn the stigmas and biases that I myself carry against weight and against fatness. I think the first step in all of this is pushing back against my fear of “getting fat.” It’s a fear that’s held me back from so much, and I’m ready to let it go. I need to be happy with my body whatever it looks like, because it has, it does, and it can achieve amazing things— at any size.
That’s all I’ve got, folks! Cheers to eating delicious food, cheers to taking a deep breath in front of the mirror, cheers to taking a picture and looking at your smile instead of your thighs! And for anyone out there who needs a reminder today: you are beautiful. You are beloved. You are brilliant.
