I was at the gym yesterday morning and some of the ladies in the locker room were talking about weight. Whether or not they weigh themselves. Some said that they never did, or stopped weighing themselves a long time ago. They rely on the size of their clothes. Others said that they weighed themselves every day, to keep in check. Every woman in the conversation were what I would describe as “skinny”. One woman in particular admitted to accepting that she would never weigh what she used to weigh when she was younger. Looking over at her I noticed how small she was. I couldn’t even imagine her weighing any less then what she did. Then I thought about myself. I would love my thighs to be smaller, my stomach to be tighter, and the scale to read probably 10 pounds less then it does. But what do people see when they look at me? They probably think I look fine, just the way I am… Then one of the women said, “is it ever enough?” It got me thinking not only about weight, body image and size, but about life itself.
Is it ever enough? Can we really accept ourselves for who we truly are. Perfectly imperfect. I spend a lot of time at the gym and watch as people try to transform their bodies to what they consider “ideal”. What we need to remember is that there is a big factor that comes into play that we cannot change. Our genetic makeup. Your body can only do as much as your parents gave you. Your body type and fat distribution is set in stone. I can control what I eat, and how much I exercise but in the end my body will look the way it always has. Maybe a little smaller and more toned.
This translates to the rest of our lives. Will we ever feel like what we do, or what we have, is enough?
“I’d trade it all for a little more” -C. Montgomery Burns
Can I accept that I am perfectly imperfect as a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend? Can I accept that my house will never be clean enough, my body never small enough, that my dog will never be walked enough? Is it ok to feel like most days you wish you can do more to be “perfect” or are we always left wanting more?
It’s time to accept the things you cannot change, and work on the things you can. To stop trying to be perfect and do the best that you can at being imperfect.
When playing sports, my eldest always talks about winning, and who scored the most goals… and I always say the same thing: “As long as you played your best and tried your hardest, that is what counts.”
Maybe I should listen to my own advice.