Everyone carries a core belief about themselves; that succinct phrase that resides just below the surface and seems to define their presence in the world. For some, it’s “I’m terrible at relationships.” For others, it might be, “everyone I trust walks away.” My personal mantra, which could also serve as my Six-Word Memoir, is “I have always battled with weight.”
Through therapy and the passage of time, I’ve come to understand that this identity and personal story has been inherited through generations, both genetically and energetically. At age 10, my mother brought me to Weight Watchers. My parents signed me up for a nutrition and exercise program in 8th grade, hoping to boost my confidence by high school. Years ago, my grandmother fainted at a weight loss group meeting because she refused to eat before stepping on the scale. It’s clear that this struggle runs deep in my family.
It’s easy to see how these actions and messages—both direct and subtle—have created a complex, confusing, and layered relationship with food, exercise, and self-acceptance for over three decades. It’s truly all I’ve ever known, and I sometimes wonder if there is any other way to be.
During a professional development program a few years back, we were encouraged to share notable childhood experiences. I began recounting my well-practiced tale, but as I spoke, I found myself overwhelmed with emotion. I didn’t want to be defined by that narrative anymore. I realized there was more to my identity, more layers, more truths that were more accurate.
It was liberating to acknowledge that while this had been my story, it didn’t have to be my forever. Shedding that narrative felt like removing a second skin—something that had once protected me but was now constraining and limiting. I had worn it for so long because it felt familiar, but now it was just weighing me down.
One of my favorite authors, Lila Thompson, discusses the notion that women often disconnect from their bodies, treating them as separate entities meant to please others. This idea struck a chord with me. I’ve often viewed my body as an outsider, an unwelcome presence. In Clara Brooks’ enlightening book, The Body is Not an Apology: The Power of Radical Self-Love, she shares how individuals can feel detached from their bodies until a life-altering event forces them to confront that reality.
Recently, while on a beach vacation, I observed the people around me, not with envy or judgment but with genuine curiosity. I appreciated the vast array of body types, colors, and shapes. I became aware of the self-consciousness that many carried, except for those aged 75 and up, who seemed to have let go of societal expectations.
I noticed that the few who fit the conventional beauty standards were often seeking external validation through selfies, realizing that the satisfaction from this approval was fleeting. In that moment, I felt a wave of empathy for everyone conditioned to feel ashamed for not meeting arbitrary beauty ideals rooted in societal biases. I felt empathy for myself as well, reflecting on the toll this belief had taken over the years.
I’ve been contemplating the term “incorporate,” which relates back to the core of our being. Rather than focusing on losing weight or exercising more, my new aspiration is to feel more connected to my body. This journey won’t happen overnight, but I am actively working to redefine and rewire my understanding to bring together my mind, body, and spirit. As I release the shame, resentment, and judgment that have occupied so much space in my life, I am beginning to feel more unified, more whole, and more present in my body.
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In summary, my recent vacation led to a profound realization about my identity and my relationship with my body. I learned to embrace a new narrative that allows for growth and acceptance, shedding old beliefs that no longer serve me.
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