Like most (all?) women, I've spent a lot of my life thinking about my body. There were the early days of puberty when I watched with a mixture of fascination, pride, and horror at how quickly I went from a flat-chested kid to a fifth grader in a bra. There were the high school years when I worked out for four hours a day as a competitive athlete and still worried that I wasn't thin enough. Then there were the many highs and lows of pregnancy and nursing and the way my body was permanently altered by growing, birthing, and nourishing two gloriously fat babies.
I spent literal decades of my life in a constant state of vigilance about my body. It was exhausting and, if perfection was the goal, it didn't do a bit of good. It turns out that I couldn't hate myself thin. I couldn't criticize my boobs into being more perky. And I couldn't shame my hair into being thicker or my skin into being smoother.
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Trust me – I tried.
Over time, and partially inspired by becoming the mother of a daughter and not wanting to pass all my diet culture baggage on to her, I started to change. (Yes, therapy was involved.) I educated myself on the science that proves that diets don't work. I embraced the idea that pretty isn't the rent I have to pay for living in the universe.
I decided to get militantly on my own side and swapped the idea of replacing exercise for weight loss with movement for joy. I accepted that I would likely always be in a larger body and that I could love my body as it was, and not just as a project or something to fix.
It was hard work, deciding to give up on the idea of being thin.
Early on in my journey, I decided that I was going to embrace the ideals of body positivity. At first, it was great. I learned to reframe my thoughts about myself, to go from "ugh, my thighs are so big" to "hell yeah, my quads are STRONG AF."
I stopped dressing in cheap, mostly black clothes designed to disguise my body and started dressing in cute clothes that fit the body I actually have, instead of waiting to dress the body I hoped to have someday. I started to refuse to talk about diets and to be open about describing myself as an athlete. This was all really good stuff.
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But then there were the chin hairs.
I've had PCOS for a long time and, hands down, my most frustrating symptom is the chin hair that laser treatment couldn't cure. I don't like having chin hair. I find it embarrassing. I'm currently getting electrolysis treatments, which are both painful and expensive, to try to get a stubble-free face.
I don't think it's unreasonable to hate chin hair, but there was a period of time when I felt sort of guilty for having that familiar feeling of wanting to fix something about my appearance.
I felt like I was failing at body positivity.
Wasn't the whole point to celebrate every inch of my body, the only one I'd ever get? Was I just, once again, trying to life up to some sort of patriarchal beauty ideal? Wasn't I supposed to be above all of that now?
I was also struck by the fact that, sometimes, my efforts to stay in the body positive mindset meant I was still thinking about my body A LOT. They were kinder thoughts but still a lot of mental energy going to my physical self.
Enter the idea of body neutrality.
The concept of body neutrality is that although we shouldn't hate our bodies, we also don't have to always love them. Body neutrality is about both treating our bodies with kindness and respect, but also acknowledging that our bodies aren't the most important thing about us.
For me, body neutrality means that I have space to both embrace the things about myself that I like (my pretty eyes, my strong lungs, my ability to lift heavy things) but also acknowledge when my body is frustrating me (my nagging shoulder injury, my tendency toward shin splints, the stupid chin hairs). Body neutrality means that I can say "Yep, I have chin hairs and I hate them, but that's not because there is something wrong with me. Chin hairs just happen sometimes."
And then I make another electrolysis appointment.
Ultimately, I just want to spend less time thinking about my body and more time just being in my body.
As I get older, I know my body will continue to change and sometimes those changes won't be ones that I'm excited about. But the rest of me is changing too. I'm smarter, I'm more interesting, I'm a better friend and mom as I age.
Spending less time thinking about my body gives me more bandwidth to keep getting better at the things that really matter and will continue to bring me joy, no matter how thick my thighs or chin hairs get.
