Estimated read time... 3 minutes
I’m starting off this post with a selfie.
 
Why?
 

I’ve been really proud of myself and my body lately.

 
Since this time last year, I’ve dropped a lot of baggage.
 
A LOT of baggage.
 
It has not been the easiest or smoothest of processes. Leaving the things, people, and situations that were not longer in my best interest aside.
 
Doing the things that my dreams had been telling me for years to do. That until last year, I didn’t have the courage to do.
 
Yet, here I am.
 
Celebrating feeling more ME in my body than I recall ever feeling… at least since puberty hit decades ago.
 
Celebrating that the autoimmune condition I’ve have (Hashimoto’s) is in remission. In remission for five months, at least. For the first time since diagnosis 5+ years ago.
 
Celebrating this happened without the regular use of the very medication that was supposed to help my condition. The medication that, instead, made me feel worse.
 
(Yay me for speaking up for what works for me, accepting what doesn’t, and moving forward anyway.)
 
Go me for sticking to the ways of eating and living that serve me and my body!
 
Go me for saying, “yeah, this isn’t working for me anymore”. And asking for the help I needed after too many months of panic and anxiety attacks and insomnia. For taking the medication that I needed so I could settle back into my body. And for sleeping again.

Here’s the catch with this post…

 
I often feel like I can’t share these feelings of pride or celebration.
 
I’m doing it anyway.
 
It’s important for me to share it.

In my life I have felt so much shame, and even hatred, for my body.

I felt this way for a lot of different reasons. These reasons range from the culture I live in to heartbreaking rejection in my most intimate of relationships. I took this on as if these things were *mine* to hold. To bear. To fix. And, me being me, it took a long time for me to learn the lesson that it’s not my burden to bear.
 
I grew tired of feeling that way about myself.
 
Feeling that I and my body were shameful burdens.
 
That there was something always “wrong” with my body.

With ME.
 
That my imperfections meant I was somehow less worthy of my own love and care.
I decided that’s bollocks.
There’s nothing wrong with me or my body. 

So here I am… some time later.
Taking the best care of myself that I’m able to, in the best ways that I can.
 
Showing up in this way ranges from joyful to “meh, I don’t feel like doing this today”.
 
Yet, I am showing up for myself anyway.
 
And you know what?
 

It’s been great.

Hashi’s in remission.
 
Less baggage in every way imaginable.
 
Back in my itty bitty shorts and LOVING it.
 
Grateful as all get-out that I get to live in these times, in this body.
 

It’s important to share and relish wins in life!


I want to know:
What are you celebrating in that gorgeous body of yours today?

Share in the comments below, or email me!


It’s not lost on me that I’m in purple socks, have tattoos of a purple peony and purple dragon, and there’s a purple blanket on the bed. To further drive the purple-point home… not pictured: my purple sunglasses and purple grocery trolley.  I guess the dragon should be listed as not pictured since it’s on my back.  Oh, and my very real-life dirty mirror because I’m imperfect in terms of housekeeping!
Levity amidst the imperfections and hilarity of life and living… definitely necessary.