Some of you know that I dance—a lot. Besides teaching 6 Zumba Gold classes a week, I dance whenever and wherever I can—which is pretty much everywhere: In the grocery aisles to canned music, on local streets while on one of my “dance walks,” in my kitchen, living room, front porch, backyard, office, and at parties (whether it's a dance party or not), in restaurants, shopping malls and… I think you get the picture.
Without dance on a regular basis, I am not a happy camper, because my emotional as well as my physical body needs the expression and release that dance offers. To me dance = life. My health is incumbent on opportunities to dance, so I gift myself those opportunities often. For all intensive purposes, I also maintain a healthy lifestyle. I eat healthy foods and stay low on the sugar consumption—although dark chocolate items might be considered consumable sugar items.
Now, you might assume that I would be in great fitness shape and you would be correct in that assumption. You might also assume that I would have the kind of chiseled look that many dancers have: all muscle and just a enough fat to maintain life. That particular assumption would be wrong.
I am round. Always have been. Even at my skinniest, in my college years when I jogged and was a raging vegan (yes, there is such a thing), I had curves.
When I was a girl, I remember being totally crushed to learn that some of my clothing came from the “chubby” section. Yes, there was such a department in the department stores. Though if you were to view pictures of me in my childhood, I wouldn't be seen as obese. I was healthy and active: climbed trees and ran and swam and hiked and danced. Yet somehow, I was also round enough to fit into the “chubby” clothes. Ugh.
And then came adolescence and teen years and the arrival of breasts at 12 y.o. Not smallish nodes—no, I am talking about C-cups from the get go. Let the shame-of-my-breasts years begin. I was ashamed because everything changed with their arrival. Boys treated me differently. Men looked down at my chest when they talked to me. I could no longer hang upside down on monkey bars at the playground without stares from guys—probably anticipating the great reveal.
I started to hunch my shoulders, doing my best to conceal my curvaceous assets. And for a long time afterwards, I sucked in my tummy and did what I could to hide the curves and bumps and lumps, because they also seemed to get me into trouble: There was the professor who asked me to star in an “art film” he was producing, featuring my naked body and its curves. A good grade was dependent on accepting his proposal, but I refused, and there went my GPA. There were the lascivious looks from others...but I am not going to dwell on all that because my main point is:
I have not liked my body’s shape for a lot of my life. Even now, do I check the mirror every time I put on my sports bra and dance clothes, looking at how much “back fat” is showing? You bet I do. And then I sigh, and say: “Stop it!” and move on to teach a class.
So why these true confessions? Because I want those of you who are not so pleased with your round/soft/skinny/fat/audacious bodies to do your best to get out here and dance anyway. Or do your thing—whatever that thing is.
When it comes to our bodies, we are such comparative animals—especially women. We size up and judge. Compare and compete. The magazine and online ads scream out that we always need to improve our bodies—always. Diets and exercises and lotions and potions of the day. It’s a whole lot of noise and it creates a whole lot of stress.
*Whew* I'm realizing that I’ve been holding my breath while writing this post. So here ya go, and here I go:
Let’s all take a deep breath and let that crap go: The body image crap. The illusion of what is healthy and what is not and what is beauty and how we are supposed to look or act or be.
Take a breath and be thankful for your body and her/his gifts. This is a divine inheritance: being in a body. My body has jiggly bits. Your body may or may not have similar bits. IT DOES NOT MATTER. What does matter is how you feel as you move and work and play. What does matter is that you love your body and treat it with as much respect as it deserves: which is a lot.
Ok. Another deep breath. Thank you for your kind attention to me, and as well, to your body.
Hugs and love, Elke
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