I’ve never had a good relationship with my body.

I haven’t had an eating disorder.

I wasn’t a child beauty pageant contestant.

I didn’t participate in any sort of extracurricular activity that you would think could lead to issues with my body.

Rather, I was raised in a very conservative Christian home.

We talked about our bodies being the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19).

We talked about how we should not be concerned with outward appearances–like fancy clothes, jewelry, or elaborate hairstyles (not to mention nail polish and makeup).  What was important was a gentle and quiet spirit (1 Peter 3:3, 4).

We talked about how women should dress modestly (1 Timothy 2:9).

That was emphasized a lot.  Dress modestly.

Shorts can’t be too short.

Skirts above the knee are not modest.

If you wear a tank top, the straps have to be 1 inch or 2 inches wide (depending on the place making the rules).  And no spaghetti straps or strapless!

If your dress is too low in the front, you have to have a cover up that actually covers up or you have to alter the dress.

Only 1 piece swimsuits are allowed.  If you wear a 2 piece, you have to wear a shirt over top.

All in the name of modesty and being a good Christian girl.

I hadn’t ever been overweight until a couple of years after I got married.  But that’s another post for another day.  I used to be able to eat anything and I never got above 110 pounds through the end of college.

I was super skinny–probably underweight.  I am shorter than “average.”

But I didn’t like my body.  I never was able to accept my body.

It was just there.

I didn’t really understand it.  But I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.  And I didn’t know what to ask anyway even if I had someone to talk to.

I could understand my brain a bit more.  At least my brain got me valedictorian in high school.  I could appreciate it.  In fact, when faced with answering the question “What do I like about myself?”  I’ll answer, “My brain.”

I wish I could like my body.  Especially now, since I’m overweight.  Thanks to so many things.  File that under things they don’t tell you about turning 30.

I don’t like looking at my reflection.  I don’t like my face.  I don’t like my body.  I don’t like being overweight.

It’s easy to blame being overweight for not liking my body or my reflection.

But I’ve never liked it.  I didn’t like it when I was skinny.  I don’t like it now.  I hid it as much as I could with loose clothes.

And now that I’m 37, I’m realizing even more that I need to figure this out.  I need to like my body.  I need to love my body.

I don’t need to become vain.

But I need to be okay with this vessel that I’m in.  This housing for my brain.  This combination of flesh and bone and muscle and nerve that’s feeling the dislike and disdain and neglect of the past 37 years.

So I’m trying.

I’m trying to love this vessel that I’m in.  I’m trying to love this brain housing.  This flesh and bone and muscle and nerve.  This body that has gotten me through the last 37 years.

Because, really, I want others to just accept me for who I am, how I am, and not demand that I change.

So why do I not accept me for who I am, how I am?

Yes, I need to lose weight.  I need to get back into shape.

But that should not make me despise myself.

I need to give myself grace.  I need to be okay with my body.  I need to love my body.

After all, there’s this in Psalm 139:

I believe what the Bible says.  So I want to believe what these verses say.  God made me. This gives me a place to start liking my body.

So I’m trying to learn to like my body.

Maybe I’ll start with my toes…

One of my rare selfies….my dahlia selfie, I call it.