Concept of body neutrality changes everything

I’m gonna tell you a little story; one I’ve written about a few times now. One where I’d hoped to flip the narrative, reframe the telling and write a different work in progress. I’ve tried to do the reframe — God, I’ve tried — and failed. However, this time something’s different. This time, not only am I open to receiving the message, I’m open to a different version of what’s been presented.

This is not a woe-is-me post. It’s a "me" post.

Last night, I attended a workshop titled The Body is not the Problem. It was held in a yoga and wellness studio, one that runs many fantastic classes and workshops of all kinds. The company is owned by an amazing woman, one who truly believes her space is a space where everyone is welcomed and included. 

The course description caught my eye immediately. It talked about not loving your body. About the feelings that surround that lack of self-love. And what caught my eye and held it: what if the goal was not to love your body but to feel neutral about it?

Neutral? OK, this is new. I always thought my options were self-love and self-hate. Perhaps, on a good day, I could gaze into a mirror and ignore my body, which is a form of neutral for me. However, it wasn’t the neutral the facilitator was talking about. Hmmmmm…. Yup, curiosity piqued, I signed up. Because whatever would happen in that time together, I wouldn’t come away feeling anymore disconnected from my body than I already am. 

It was a safe circle of sisterhood that sat together, all of us there for different reasons. Some struggling with size. Some with age. Some with chronic pain. All of us frustrated with the outside vessel that held all of what we considered our goodness. 

The first exercise we did was a page of prompts where we were to write the first thing that came to our mind. Prompts such as, “I learned that a good body is...,” and “I learned eating a lot means...,” and “I learned I should hide...,” among so many others. With a small amount of time to complete the exercise, I felt thoughts bubble and burst as I struggled to briefly jot down my answers. 

When time was called, I shut my eyes because I was sad and ashamed at what I wrote. What I wrote about myself based on the words and experiences I’ve heard and been part of. Ashamed I bought into it. Sad because I know better. 

After we were done, we discussed how many of the beliefs we consciously chose. How many we wanted to continue to carry. Do we want to live life through this lens?

 

I fought back tears and we were only getting started. I was taught through media, some family members and romantic partners who rejected me because my body was not good enough. I would never be tall, thin, beautiful. I was and always will be short, squishy and plain. Or, at least, that’s the messages I heard. 

My parents didn’t feed into it; however, I had an aunt and uncle who took great joy in shaming me for my size. For my own good, of course. And then there were kids in school. Not every grade but junior high, where I was fat, smart and wore glasses — definitely not a winning combination to be crowned Miss Popularity.

High school was better. I quit eating and worked hard on the family farm. Got contact lenses which cancelled out the fact I was honour-roll smart since I no longer had the four eyes to accompany it. College was good as well, although I still didn’t have the body type needed to fit the mould of magazine standards. 

Throughout it all, I had also been rejected by a few men as suitable dating material. Then an aunt who told me, at my Dad’s funeral, that I must feel “really good right now because I had lost so much weight.” All of these moments flashed through as I scribbled frantically. Not as a place to pin blame; however, as building blocks in the foundation of where my unworthy beliefs stem from. 

And although time has taught me I don’t need to think and feel this way, the damage has been done. I would never be worthy. Worthy for what? Worthy for anything except to be the smart, funny, nerdy kid. 

Except I also know I’m so much more. And so our next exercise was about beginning to write a new story. Learning, noticing, choosing. First, what have I learned about the beliefs I carry. Secondly, how do I notice how that belief shows up in my life. Finally choosing. When this belief shows up in my life, what do I want to choose to practice instead? The fact is once I acknowledge the belief, notice how it shows up and choose to rewrite the response, only then can I change the narrative, break the patterns and create a new set of rules. 

I was still digesting this when a new concept was introduced; the one that drew me into signing up in the first place. Ready? Body neutrality. And another concept, Body dignity. 

Whoa! What?! You mean there’s a middle ground between self-hate and self-love? A place of kindness and gratitude? A place where I can let go of negativity without embracing a sugary sweet, fake positivity? Bring it. 

“Body neutrality — my body does not have to be beautiful to have value."

“Body dignity — my body deserves care, respect and participation in life simply because it is my body. It doesn’t have to look a certain way, perform a certain way or earn good treatment first."

I sat back on my yoga mat and pressed my back into the wall. Shut my eyes and let those two ideas wind their way into my brain, my heart, my veins. You see, I can do that. That is achievable. I got excited because these were concepts that made sense. I can unravel believes rooted in negativity and find my way to neutral. 

Next, we were asked to ponder this: how do I want to live with this body? 

I’m not sure I know the answer to that question; however, I do know that I’m in a place where I want to make some shifts. 

My Favourite Husband (MFH) never had issues with my body. At my very heaviest or at my dieted-down thinness, he truly didn’t care. He loved me just the same. And I didn’t believe him. If I couldn’t love this body, how could anyone else love it? Impossible. And so, I chose not to believe his compliments about my physicality. And, in turn, he stopped giving them. Why would he if I rejected them? 

I can’t change that. What I can change is this relationship I’m entering into with the Beautiful Human Being. He gives me compliments and tells me I’m beautiful, both inside and out. My natural instinct is to deflect; however, I’m finding myself checking that. Do I really want to fuck up this relationship by doubting him? I do not. And so I flex and push my boundaries just a little. When we cuddle, I no longer move his hand from my tummy. I’ve showered with him (once). I take pictures with him where I know I’m not looking my best; however, I’m looking happy. Mostly, though, I’m doing my damnest to try and see what he sees. 

The other shift is something we talked about last night and something that I’ve been trying on for awhile: gratitude for my body. My body enables me to live the life I’m living. It allows me to experience my adventures to the fullest. My body has been there for me when I needed it most. When MFH died, I went into shock. My body protected my mind from the heaviest of blows. It kept functioning when my mind couldn’t comprehend. My body treated me with kid gloves even after a lifetime of me viewing it with disdain. This perfectly imperfect vessel that fills my lungs with air, pumps blood through my veins and is the container where my soul and sunshine live. I’ve wrong it. Shamed it. And that needs to stop. 

The last activity we did as a group was to write an apology letter to our bodies. Short, succinct. Words tumbled out of me. I listed the sins I’ve committed against it — hiding it in shadows instead of celebrating it in light. I’ve committed to respecting and caring for my body. And I’m vowing that no one gets to speak poorly of it again, including myself. 

We laid in the darkened studio with our letters on our chests. Tears whispered tracks down my cheeks as my heart and body both struggled to release and reset. I may not love my body; however, I can respect and care for it in a way that holds dignity for it.

I left the studio and came home. The Beautiful Human Being was already settled into my home and greeted me with a warm smile as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly, embracing my curves. 

We sat down to talk about our days and I explained the workshop to him. Explained why body dignity and body neutrality make sense. I also talked about doing my best to compare me to only me. I am no one else and they are not me. I thought about a recent, brief encounter where we ran into his ex. She is a petite woman; short, tiny, blonde. I felt Iike an unsteady baby elephant by her. My insecurity gurgled up and, later that night, I frustratedly asked him what he was doing with me. He was perplexed. Listed off everything he loved about me. Finished it by telling me how beautiful I am on the outside as well. I had days of being unsettled. Days of lost joy. All because I compared and found myself lacking. Lacking due to unwritten rules I didn’t write and accept. 

It’s such bullshit.

And so, the day after, I’m trying out brief interludes of body dignity. Quick snippets of thank you for being able to do what I can. Of being relatively healthy. Of being me. I’m still committed to exercise. Still committed to eating healthier as well as toning and losing weight. However, this middle ground allows me to appreciate my body as it changes and as it is. Both deserve to be cared for in a manner that is kind and accepting. 

“My body doesn’t have to be beautiful to have value. My body deserves care, respect and participation in my life simply because it is my body."