nude

Okay, so it would seem we are winning here.
My aspiration to be thin is rising to the top like cream.
I wish I didn't think this way.
I wish I didn't care, but I do.
Sometimes I get scared and think:  If I'm in recovery, I'm not supposed to care about being thin.
But this is not true.  It is also not possible.  At least not today.

However, it is easier to eat when I don't think I must loose weight.
I suppose in that way I am not so different from anyone else.

"The Bather" Oil by James P. Kerr 

But my thinness does not cost so much as it used to.
The jagged edges in my thinking have been smoothed.
I no longer stand in front of the mirror and pinch my fat.
I don't spend an hour getting dressed.
I don't have fat clothes and skinny clothes.
I don't have to run everyday.
I run every other day, or every 3rd day.
I can go 5 days without exercising at all and not hate myself.
I ate a whole donut today and I am not in trouble.
I don't need to go shopping every time I gain or loose 3 pounds.
There is not a single item on my forbidden food list.
I can have sex whenever I want, and I do.  With the lights on.

I am simply a woman.
A 33 year old woman.
I am not amazed by my appearance nor am I disgusted by it.
Both options seem silly.
Today I ran 4 miles.  My pace averaged between a 10 minute mile and peaked at an 8 minute mile.
No part of my body hurt or begged me to stop.
My run was not punishment.
It was simply an action to help me stay well.
In a way, it was not my accomplishment at all.
It was a prayer.  It was a thank you.

The older I get, the more I realize...I have been carried by a thousand arms doing their simple work.
The work which transcends outward appearance and quiets lofty fantasies.  The work that makes dry hands and ponytails.  This ocean of daily life has rolled me into the polished rocks I used to find on the beach.  My grandma had a whole jar of them in the kitchen. The jar was filled with water so their colors would reflect.  I'd sit and stare at it while she did her work.  I remember watching her and realizing that she worked all day.  It looked awful, but she always smiled and just kept doing it anyway.

Degas - Bathers series