I Have a Belly

My mind turned into a loaded gun when I tried that maroon dress at Target last weekend.  It shot repeatedly and it was bloody.  It listed all the things it thought were wrong on the reflection in that mirror with non-stop, harmful, and insulting assurance and the verbal sharpness of a well crafted war-knife.

I first noticed my belly when I was waiting for a doctor to come into the office at 21 and through the mirror hanged behind the closed door. I had noticed it before. I had even seen the similarities to my mother's, and wondered if it was all genetics and how it was meant to be.

I never questioned it,  I knew it was there for a reason. Over the years I loathed it, hated it, try to hide it, bury it so that it would never show up. I wanted to have a flat stomach.  I had seen enough magazines in my teen years to know that what I had was not normal.

A few years ago I finally began to make peace with my body, I know the power of yoga helped, and I started to love it just the way it is, to be grateful for how good it has been to me.  But there are days, where even all that loving does not stop my mind from being mean. And when I say mean, I mean it.

They say that meditation clears old samskaras, or habitual patters of thinking, and that eventually a re-wiring of sorts can be done. It is as if an old highway gets demolished and a new one that only carries encouraging messages is built instead.  I now have a new encouraging message that I use. But when I tried that dress on that warm Saturday I could not believe the fierce attack.  After all this time!

And I thought I was beyond all that self-hatred.

Come to think of it, I am. I do love my body, I do recognize these mental attacks as old habits doing their best to survive, to not die.

When the mental shooting started I recognized it exactly for what it was, a "mind trick", and did not pay attention to it, nor did I follow up on the instructions it gave me (bend down, look at how horrible it loos from this position, now look from above, isn't that horrible).  I simply watched the thoughts, put the dress on, loved it, and bought it.

I then came out wearing with a big smile.  James said I looked beautiful.

It was the confidence he loved, not the dress, the reassurance I feel that I am fine just the way I am, which shines through.  It is love that triumphs over years of advertising telling me there are things wrong with me.

Everything is fine with me.

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