Born to be a Butt Man

I don't know if it is true for men, but most women I have met have a body part that they dislike.  For some it is their tummy, others their boobs, or maybe it is their legs.  Mine is my butt.

You can imagine my surprise when in the first month of dating the man who is now my husband, he proclaimed my butt to be my best feature.  Even now, almost 20 years later, he'll point out my asset in certain outfits.  Flattering, right?  Not when you don't agree.  See when he thinks it looks great, I think it must be over emphasized.

Fast forward to Lawson.  Lawson is seven.  He isn't overly affectionate; not a huggy-kissy kind of boy.  Yet, he likes to touch my butt.  In a loving, endearing, pat-pat way.  Sometimes while I'm getting ready in the morning, I feel a little hand resting on the side of my rear.  Or if we are waiting in a long line, instead of holding my hand, he'll hold my saddle bag.  It seems as though being a butt man is genetic.

How could this be???  The feature I hate, they love.  My nemesis is their love.  My Lex Luther is their Lois Lane.  My Bluto is their Olive Oil.

"The voyage of true discovery lies not in seeking new landscapes, but in seeing with new eyes."  --Marcel Proust

Proust didn't pen this quote for women to overcome image dismorphia, but his words couldn't be more perfect.  Changing my "landscape" will not help me to "discover" a love for my bum.  Even if I reshaped my backside into a new size or shape, I still wouldn't love it.  Instead, seeing it through new eyes is the only strategy.  The eyes of appreciation and awareness.

This week's challenge, should you choose to take it, is to use your body.  Your body, even the parts we don't like, were made for a reason.  They are made to support you in movement and fun.  If you don't like your tummy, notice how it helps you sneeze or laugh.  If you don't like your arms, notice how they help you hug your loved one.  If you don't like your butt, notice how it moves your legs, allows you to walk and stand and chase your kids.

Feeling, emotionally and physically, through new eyes could be the way to a better butt.  If you are looking for a used copy of Buns of Steel, you can have mine.

Lie to Me

My friend recently shared with me a quote she had read in a diet book.  Unfortunately, I don't recall the book or the author, nor can I quote the quote word for word.  Here is the gist: 'We have come to believe the lie that food that is bad for our health provides us with love, comfort, and joy.'  As I read the quote, I instantly thought 'thank goodness!'  Thank goodness a published author is telling the truth.  The truth that your fat, my fat, has nothing to do with willpower, or eating good food and not eating bad food, or moving more.

Then I took a breath.

For me that is only one of the lies.  Apparently, I fall more into the pathological category because I have a lot of lies.  Body lies, what's possible lies, eating lies, need lies.  Stuff like 'I could never weigh 128 pounds.  I haven't weighed that since the sixth grade.'  (Hmmm, never is a mighty long time.)  Or 'It's Valentine's Day, we always go out for a nice dinner.'  (Since when is the "day of love" defined by food.)  Or 'If only I had more time, I could cook healthier food and exercise more.'  There are a few versions to this one - more money, more knowledge, more willpower.  (I sense a little irony in the MORE of something will lead to LESS of me.)

I have contracted these lies over a life time.  Like an iron pipe that builds up rust over years from the weather - it's not a single storm that marks the pipe.  There are some from early childhood, my college days, and now adulthood.

But for every lie there is an equal truth, and truth dissolves fat.  So, shout "Hooray!"  This means that revealing the lie is like breaking out a little sandpaper for the rusty pipe.  Begin to believe the truth, rather than the lie and we can move forward rust-free.