Recently I met with a client in her early 70s. We’ll call her Jane.
Jane’s energy was warm and inviting. She was a mother-hen-type who naturally cared for others. Jane’s passion was food. She owned a catering business, had been a culinary arts teacher and found great joy in feeding people.
Right off the bat, Jane proclaimed, “I’ve always had a weight issue, which is a problem because I love food.”
As her words landed, there was this hard stop in my body. It felt like hitting a brick wall.
The guides’ voices were loud and clear. They said, “You don’t have a weight issue. Your body is exactly as it was intended to be.”
I felt Jane’s disbelief at this.
I commiserated with her resistance, but I could also feel the clarity of what was whooshing through me. And this wasn’t lip service.
The guides went on to rant a little about humanity’s current obsession with the physical, and I felt in awe of the clarity they were conveying.
“You wouldn’t try this hard to be blue,” they said.
“If someone told you you’re supposed to be blue, you wouldn’t believe it. Or if you did, maybe you’d try icing at first, and then dye. But then the dye would fade, and you’d realize it’s lunacy. You wouldn’t keep trying to be blue.”
“There is rightness in your body,” they said. “See your body as a tool to be tuned. And let it go. There’s nothing to do.”
They went on to talk about how healthy Jane’s body was, and she validated what they were saying as true. All in all, she was living in a hearty, robust body, and the physical weight or size of it were causing no impacts to her health. It was only her mind that was affected.
Jane went on to talk about how much negative messaging she received as a child around her weight from her parents, and my heart ached at the trickle-down effect trauma can have from generation to generation. But I also knew that some vital part of Jane had really heard what they were saying to her.
Stop trying to be blue.
In the weeks since I met with Jane, I’ve felt my own view of myself soften. I intentionally avoid diet culture as much as possible, but anytime I’ve noticed untrue thoughts about my body sneaking in, I’ve been quick to say, “That’t not true, Kayla. Stop trying to be blue.”
Our time living in bodies is short. And there’s so many wonderful things about the physical form that have nothing to do with aesthetics or the lies we’ve been sold about shape and form.
What if we stopped trying to be blue, and instead got inquisitive about the stories our bodies have to tell?
Jane’s body told a story of a lifelong love of nurturing herself and others through food.
What story is yours telling?