Rejection.

Is especially a sore spot, much like a familiar sting. 
Once I have a sun burn and like a bruise, brushing against it brings that familiar prick.  Just because it is slight even familiar does not invariably reduce the pain enough to ignore.
I mean it stings.
It isn't life altering.
But that same burn makes the seams in my shirt undeniable, the Band-Aid never stays on a finger-tip paper-cut and lemon juice pairs as a zing to that resilient canker sore on the tip my tongue. 
The condition not so much a condition and not worthy of a Web MD description, hardly warrants slight sympathies from my contemporaries.
This scrape is more of a grit your teeth and bare it kind:  adorn with a Band-Aid, and put your big girl pants on. Suck it up, and then grin and bear it.

 

I think I will listen to forlorn music, finish my book and review some Bronte sister quotes (those gals knew suffering.) 

Not be quite ready to relinquish and stuff my mismatched feelings to the back of the sock drawer as a learning experience, today anyway.
My hopes frills and thrills, dreams and inner thoughts will remain that way today... away from scruples and sighs.

 



Perfectionism.

"Thou shalt be perfect with the Lord"  (Deut 18:13)

Perfectionism dooms me into thinking I am productive while only spinning my wheels. 
Convinced me multiple times to simply not turn in a paper because, welp, my paper just wasn't 'good enough' for review.   Perfectionism often pains me to no end and prevents me from cleaning my room, trying new things, working out and even washing my hair etc.  Unless things are "perfect." Perfectionism has caused so many self-defeating moments how do I begin to describe-- let alone tackle-- such a personally emotional topic?
 
The aspiration to be perfect is intrinsic to my DNA. It is also laced in the current culture I find myself in... even Salt Lake City.  I am so personally biased to this striving that I cannot simply describe where my need to be perfect originally derives.  I also can't simply deny the hunger by letting go of perfection either, or else I might starve.  I struggle, almost on the daily with remarkable extreme tendencies.

You can see how when perfectionism persists... heartache ensues.

When I was a little girl I remember dreaming about our family trip to Disneyland: sparkly characters were to parade me about paradise and thusly drink pink tea and sandwiches.  I ran Track and Field, and found myself soon in seventh (last) place because as soon as the first little girl passed me... I knew I couldn't win.  Oh, and Disney land was a crock!

And then conversely and most recently: I am far more productive and happy when things are less perfect. 
 
My workouts are still satisfactory even when I am sore, or tired or plain unmotivated. 
Even when I spend fifteen minutes cleaning, my room really does look better. 
I am social even when the parameters are not ideal: I continue to meet also imperfect, people and have had amazing experiences... imperfectly.  I still struggle in my attempts to understand perfectionism and started to analyze some main sources I have derived my idealism from, many religious.

"Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect. (Matt 5:48)"

 

In this case, being perfect is a commandment brought down from on high... not to be trifled with.  There are a lot of difficulties with this commandment: namely by itself.  When I had taken this command out of context-- as I often have in my strivings and utter failings-- I feel will never "make it."  And I am overcome-why even try?  I find myself in these moments of self-reflection...

 

“Why the desire for death.

A clean paper or pure white wall.
One false line, a scratch, a mistake.
Unerasable. So obscure by
adding million other tracings,
blend it, cover over.
But the original scratch remains,
written in gold blood, shining.

Desire for a Perfect Life.”
― Jim Morrison
 
So I dive down into some pouting, I may even give up for a moment. 

Soon I return to my roots (DNA, Social Climate, Religious Affiliations) and I want to BE more and try more. 
So conflicted! 
After all, what is the purpose of life if not to “dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Do not bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” (William Faulkner).  A cycle continues in almost every, even menial task.  Even writing this post.  I try and unless I am "perfect" I feel like I have failed.  I consider my options, strive for more and soon become discontent and in an essence paralyzed by the incriminating thought of not succeeding to the heights I once sought after.  This success, as defined by my unrealistic idealism, will not be achieved on my own.  And therefore I return to being sad. 

 

“If you wait for perfect conditions, you will never get anything done.”
― Ecclesiastes 11:4

 

As I was searching the scriptures and even modern thought to help encompass my depredated thoughts of perfectionism my thoughts eventually continue to hope. 

I am a most Christian girl and can find most needed self compassion in thinking a perfect man, even mankind's Savior loved me enough to die FOR ME: most imperfect, flawed and bound to stray.  When I am able to hold onto this thought that He was perfect and knew I would sin, knew I would fall short, knew I would need Him.  In this very thought I return from emotional distress and instead feel love.

 

“There is no fear in love; perfect love casts out all fear.”

John 4:18. 

 

Who better to cast out all fear than one who loved and lived perfectly? 

 

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”   (John 4:13)

Pretty universal is this idea of grace.

 In the midst of my utter failures, there is One who can and surely does make up the difference and the deficit that is impervious to my own talents, merits or effort.  At first my realization that I am not enough is devastating.  I can get some confidence... and am swiftly reminded of my mortality, my insignificance, my imperfections.  And I don't think simply recognizing my inability or mortality is the key to self satisfaction or even the original goal: to keep trying despite your ability to be perfect.  No, I think I have only brushed on part of it... but this is something that helps me. 

 

“The sin underneath all our sins is to trust the lie of the serpent that we cannot trust the love and grace of Christ and must take matters into our own hands...”  Martin Luther. 
 
To my original distress to be in God's presence, I must be perfect.  The missing link, is that we will be PERFECTED.  To ultimately achieve this perfection the Savior paid the ultimate price and by His grace we are made good again.  And I am not just saved someday, but most definitely lifted beyond myself TODAY, when I remember Him, when I ask for help beyond my mortality and to do lists--this is the keystone to my personal testimony of my Savior, and who He is.  Who He is today.

Without the knowledge of my Savior, and His plan to bring me to Salvation I would be far more invalidated than I already feel at times.  I would feel thwarted in my efforts. I am not sure how others attain any success in life without knowing the love of one who is perfect.

 
When I forget these truths, and try to be perfect on my own I live this quaint maxim, "'Nothing prevails but perfection,' may be spelled PARALYSIS.”   Winston Churchhill.

 

“Though we are incomplete, God loves us completely. Though we are imperfect, He loves us perfectly. Though we may feel lost and without compass, God's love encompasses us completely. ... He loves every one of us, even those who are flawed, rejected, awkward, sorrowful, or broken.”   Dieter F. Uchtdorf.

Weight. And it matters.

I am 155 lbs. 

I know dissent responses well :  Weight doesn't matter, you don't LOOK like you do, that's not that much weight, the scale doesn't matter, clothes sizes don't matter, pictures don't matter,  etc.

 

And yet, this is the heaviest I have ever been.  The extra pounds sneaked in such a silent way that nothing fits now, nothing, and all at once.  I was forced (ha I love me some shopping) to buy almost an entirely new wardrobe.  The necessary spree seemed to me overnight and with almost little to no resources, and motivation. Why can't clothes grow, too.

 
 

For seven almost eight months now:

 

re-invigorated my exercise routine.

consulted my Dr. about Thyroid issues.

attempted and succeeded at trying and completing 4 eating plans.

taken multiple "before" pictures for motivation

made a vision board. 

read books on Atkins, South Beach, Carb Cycling, Paleo and Gluten Free Options. 

continually eat 6 small meals a day. 

stopped soda and refined sugars.

taken gym clothes with me to work and attempt to sneak in cardio sessions midday. 

A little excessive and a one point had three gym memberships. 

read weight lifting techniques on fitness blogs

studied their expert tips, make lists and then try new things etc.

 

 

This could could continue --for now eight months worth-- as a tedious task list of attempts to shed my new plumpness... much to my vain chagrin these pounds are here to stay.

 

And I admit, I still view myself as a 'petite' girl.  In my head.  For all intensive purposes I still find myself at Nordstrom RACK looking at small's... so very funny.  I don't always feel huge.  Until I hug a friend, take a picture or forget that something in my closet is from... back when.  It's strange really! 

 

Only at dinner with a girlfriend and her talking to a most hipster waiter who had very little interest in talking to me, as a person let alone a conquest--I realized: 

 

My weight can now serve as the ultimate litmus test.

 

I am not in the current Utah, fashionable, thin single girl, down town dwelling "ideal." 

 

I am just me.  A little bigger than I want, than I find ideal.  But who's to say this extra has to be a curse?

 Why am I accepting of others, at any size, but feel I belong in some damned category every time I fluctuate?

 

Do I judge a "man" if he is 10, 20, lbs overweight, not "sculpted" or perfectly proportionate? 

Why no.

 

Normally I gravitate towards someone less extreme looking in their fitness ventures.  This is good news! I am attracted to those that are not so ripped, tanned, and tailored.  I have now philosophized the logic in THAT man would also prefer a woman that isn't perfectly svelte, or lean and starved. I don't expect some bachelor model and he is relieved to know that personal fitness is not my number one priority either.  Which is honest, which is true.

 

I went from feeling awkward, depressed, fat (is this an emotion?) out of place, not acceptable and rejected to feeling overjoyed, grateful and confident!  I am a bigger, curvy, "average"(ha), healthy, above average, voluptuous, womanly, strong, built, roundish lady.  And who's to say I need to reject myself the way that very slight, pretentious waiter would reject any of my sisters that are struggling with ANYTHING.  My struggle is currently displayed on my petite (5'5") frame.  For the world to see, reject, disagree with, encourage and also give their two cents on how fitness should really be done.  Don't work harder Sara, work smarter.  Fortunately I could teach a class on what should be done, how I should create my body to be an engine designed to burn calories and melt to nothing.  I have done this before successfully. 

 

Perhaps my emotional hesitation this time around is this inner voice that says, "Sara, focus on other things."  So that is what I am doing.  I am washing my hands... er my body, of these pounds. 

 

I am loved, I work hard, I love others... and most especially them curvy girls.

Heartbreak.


"I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.  People feel with their hearts... and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him."
~Emily Bronte



“I never heard weeping like that before or after; not from a child, nor a man wounded in the palm, nor a tortured man, nor a girl dragged off to slavery from a taken city. If you heard the woman you most hate in the world weep so, you would go to comfort her. You would fight your way through fire and spears to reach her. And I knew who wept, and what had been done to her, and who had done it.”  
~C.S. Lewis



“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.”  
~Charles Dickens Great Expectations

 

Enlightenment.  

I had been praying to see myself as beautiful... It was a prayer in my heart before meeting Jon. 
It was such a timid prayer I hardly ever felt my Father in Heaven paid mind to this emotionally ridden obsessive desire to know, yes physically, I was worthwhile. 
The vigil in my heart was sweetly answered one summer with a handsome burly man from Montana.  He took me in his arms and by surprise that he indeed knew I was beautiful.
And he did treat me like I was, he believed.
I will never let go of those fleeting, but time bending moments where I could appreciate who I was even physically. 
I now know more how this life's journey is contingent on the experiences we have in a body. 
This body.
My body. 
Well, the one God gave me.  
A body that will serve its purpose in my life's mission.

And years I felt my myself, my body, damaged goods, embarrassing and treated accordingly. I felt the damage on my heart trickling its mark on every small yet fatally flawed feature on my frame.

 

I am now shamefully stricken: I look, and gaze, even gawk at all kinds of people and images and creations and invariably persist to find beauty....

  

...what about myself that I am excluded?

I was thinking this last night in a yoga class as I admired my
classmates... their form, and free expression. I was soon and even now overwhelmed.
We are far more destined for beauty, grace and eternal love than we can realize.

We are beautiful.

 

 WE ARE BEAUTIFUL, simply, because we were CREATED to be that
way.

To this cause of creation, beauty is not a matter of opinion, fashion statement, BMI, a pair
of designer jeans... even a wedding dress.  These items were made far after your
divine worth was secured even sealed in blood by choosing to be born on this
earth and follow our Savior's ways.  These same worldly markers will
fade and die long before you do-- you will be resurrected!  You were
made beautifully, you were made for forever.

This is a rough start but yes, I wrote a SINCERE list of things I like
about my physical appearance, about this body I have been given (it
is amazing how guilty and uncomfortable I feel comprising this list.)

 

 Sara's Body List

 I like how strong my legs are, that when I walk they rumble.  
Thunder always rumbles before lightning strikes, powerful
Lighting might appear more impressive as a quick flash,
but rumbling legs MOVE earth.
I like that I build strength quickly.
I am not a waif.
I am not svelte, or a thin girl.
I am a strong woman.
I like my round hips and belly, and lower back: they are curvy and no
matter how small I ever get those curves don’t straighten.
I like my freckles.
I like my petite hands and feet, I can always find a shoe sale

 ...and will always need a custom ring.
I like that I have recently gained some weight in my rear, it now
sticks out far, and makes me proportionate and athletic looking

 I like that the only place my pants have hard time fitting is THERE.

I think I may just rumble all over now.

I like my hair right now, the natural color, the fly a way's in every pony.

I like my small teeth, that they sparkle when I smile.

I like that my unruly ostentatious brows, they frame my face and

aren't perfectly sculpted for a reason-- I like them that way.

I like that my body can do so much more than I ever thought possible,

this past month I am so much stronger, with better endurance.

I like that I am not the same waif I was ten years ago.

I have endured much, and my body can show that I am different than I was.

This is a small maybe silly step, but in my heart a very sincere turning point and offering to arrive at self acceptance. 

I love God's children, His mountains of grandeur, and feel touched often to tears seeing a flower growing amicably amid the weeds.  

How can I truly feel immense appreciation for these tender creations, the flowers even my fellow beautiful yogi, but exclude myself from His list of beautiful creations?  

Can I, a mere mortal, decide just what IS and ISN'T worth praise?  

In the 13th article of faith it says not only do we love virtuous and lovely but we SEEK AFTER THESE THINGS.  I am worth being sought after, and so are you:)