Everyone carries a core belief about themselves, a succinct phrase that often encapsulates their life’s narrative. For some, it might be, “I’m bad at relationships,” while for others, it may be, “Everyone I trust leaves.” For me, my personal mantra could easily be, “I have always battled with my weight.”
Through therapy and the passage of time, I’ve come to realize that this identity and the accompanying narrative have been inherited through generations, both genetically and emotionally. At the tender age of 10, my mother brought me along to Weight Watchers. In 8th grade, my parents signed me up for a nutrition and fitness program aimed at boosting my confidence before high school. A few years ago, my grandmother, in her mid-80s, fainted because she refused to eat anything before stepping on the scale for her weekly weigh-in at her weight management group. Clearly, this struggle runs in the family.
It’s not hard to understand how these experiences and various messages, both overt and subtle, have shaped a complex, often confusing relationship with food, exercise, and self-acceptance—a journey that has lasted over three decades. It’s the only reality I’ve known. I sometimes wonder if there’s even a different way to live.
Recently, during a professional development program, we were encouraged to share significant childhood memories. I began recounting my well-practiced story, a narrative that’s become mechanical over time. But suddenly, I stopped, tears welling in my eyes. I realized I no longer wanted to be defined by that story. I wanted to embrace all the facets of my identity that were more authentic and true.
It felt liberating to acknowledge that this had been my past, but it didn’t have to dictate my future. It was as if I was shedding a restrictive layer that had served its purpose but was now stifling my true self. I had long been wrapped in this familiar cocoon, but now it felt like a burden.
One of my favorite authors, Ava Collins, discusses the idea that women often disconnect from their bodies, believing they don’t belong to them and are meant to please others. This sentiment resonated deeply with me. There have been times when my body felt like an unwanted guest, separate from my true self. In a similar vein, in Sonya Renee Taylor’s The Body is Not an Apology: The Power of Radical Self-Love, she recounts how Eve Ensler only began to accept her body after her cancer diagnosis, realizing, “It’s not my body that has cancer… I have cancer.”
During a recent beach vacation, I took the time to genuinely observe the bodies around me—not with envy or judgment, but with appreciation for the diverse array of shapes, sizes, and textures. I found myself curious about what others might think of their own bodies: too big, too small, too lumpy, too flat, too wrinkled. I noticed how we often go to great lengths to fit ourselves into an unrealistic mold of beauty.
When I tuned into the body language of those around me, it became clear that many walked with a sense of self-consciousness, aware of their place within a societal body hierarchy. The exception seemed to be those over 75 who appeared to have shed such worries. I also observed that those who fit society’s beauty standards often sought external validation through posturing and selfies, only to find that satisfaction fleeting.
What washed over me in that moment was empathy. I felt for everyone conditioned to feel shame for not meeting arbitrary beauty standards rooted in societal expectations. I felt for children growing up in a world that teaches them their worth is tied to their physical appearance. Most importantly, I felt empathy for myself and the pain I had endured believing these false narratives.
Recently, I’ve been contemplating the word “incorporate,” which has the root “core” or “corporal.” Instead of focusing on losing weight or increasing exercise, my new goal is to feel more connected to my body. This transformation doesn’t happen overnight, but I’m actively working to redefine and reprogram my relationship between mind, body, and spirit. As I let go of the shame and judgment that have consumed so much of my energy, I’m beginning to feel more integrated, whole, and at home in my own body.
For those interested in similar journeys, check out this resource on yoga for kids, or explore this authority on the subject. Additionally, this site provides excellent resources for pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
In this reflection, Jessica Turner shares her transformative experience during a recent vacation, where she began to shed long-held beliefs about her body and self-worth. By embracing a new narrative that prioritizes feeling embodied over conforming to societal standards, she highlights the importance of empathy towards oneself and others in a world obsessed with appearance.