I almost didn’t write this blog post, at the risk of sounding trite. I was talking it over with a girlfriend, thinking, does anyone really care to read about another slog through cliche arguments with myself on how I should, maybe, eat a salad tonight.

I’m not about to tell you anything groundbreaking about body image issues, other than the fact that we all have them to some degree and all the self love in the world can’t help us outgrow some of those demons. This is not like that part in Mean Girls where Regina George says she wants to lose 5 pounds and pauses for the cries of “ohmagahd, but you’re so skinny!” 

I told a male-someone I was gonna write about Halloween this week. He got excited, “ooh, like a recap of past costumes?!” ...nope, not quite. It’s not that sexy. Despite having nowhere to go for Halloween this year, I got wine-drunk and impulsively splurged on my dream Halloween costume. Summer Roberts wore it best in the greatest Chrismukkah OC episode, and after that, I always wanted to dress up as Wonder Woman.  

** Summer Roberts wore it best as women who have dressed up as Wonder Woman, not actual Wonder Women. Lynda Carter, Gal Gadot- duh.

I fit the bill- I think the main requirements are big brown hair and a natural action-stance. Not only did I get to have my dream costume this year- as cheesy as it is, I’ve always secretly wanted to have a couples costume and I finally have a [four legged] man in my life who I can force into a Superman cape and parade around with (sorry, Leo). All dressed up and with nowhere to go, I needed the ‘gram of the best Halloween costume I’ve ever achieved. OH BOY, did we get the ‘gram- but I gave up on any other shots of myself in costume. The low point of the body shame spiral- I was on the phone and told a friend, “yeah, it fits! But it would be hotter if my torso was longer. Oh, it’s fine, I’ll hike the belt up to hide the belly fat and cinch my waist, push my tits up and we’ll be in business.” 

Right there- talking about my own body like I was picking out a Christmas tree. This one’s a bit too round, do you have one that’s a little taller and more filled out in the right places? Give me a mirror and I’ll find something to complain about. At that moment- my torso! It’s physically part of me and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to alter it, maybe waist training, but that’s the thing I choose to go to war against - my little torso on my barely 5’2 body. 

So at the risk of sounding trite, I tell you honestly, with as much self-compassion as I can muster- I’m far too old to be at war with my body.

I check my abs every morning when I walk past my mirror.
I workout twice in one day before a date because some time ago, I learned that I might not be loved if I’m not thin.
High waisted jeans show off the part of my stomach I accidentally keep flat.
In between each of these cringey statements, I remind myself, I’m far too old to be at war with my body.

No matter the size, it’s nothing newsworthy that every woman can find some part of her body she hates. I can’t tell you why we commit so deeply to our body image issues and start this war. Almost daily, I might say something like, “my body hates me today” or “my body just won’t let me today.” It’s not a war, short or long torso. I likely won’t overcome my war overnight or any time soon, but it’s about damn time I start treating my body like my home instead of the thing I work on or punish myself for. My body just wants me to run, dance, move- we’re probably better friends than I think we are. 

So going back to where this post started- this is nothing earth shattering. This is more or less a letter of forgiveness to myself, a white flag for the petty battles that I start with myself. You may have your moments of self-loathing in the mirror and then say thank you for all that you are able to do because of your capable, strong body. 

Wonder Woman-- out.