promis je pleure plus jamais.

So I've been thinking about self-acceptance and what that really means.

Before I continue, I need to make it abundantly clear that these are MY thoughts about MYSELF and nothing else.

I feel like my thoughts are those of two different persons sharing the same body. There's the fat me and the new me. Actually, those are bad characterizations. There's the careless me and the mindful me. There, that's better.

Careless me used to hate just about everything about my body, but careless me was still confident to dress and act how she pleased. Careless me never let anything stop her because careless me had a high degree of self-acceptance.

Okay, reality check: that last line is a lie.

What was really happening was that careless me had simply accepted that NOTHING WOULD EVER CHANGE. I was a fat baby, a fat kid, a fat teen, and therefore fat for life. Careless me had accepted that and decided it wasn't going to stop me from being happy.

There is merit to that kind of thinking, and to be honest if I had the chance to go back and change things I'm not certain I would. The only thing I wish to tell my younger self is how important health is and to treat my body accordingly. The problem is, you're healthy until you're not and the moment the bomb drops is the moment you realize all your regrets.

I spent the last week at my parents' house for the Thanksgiving holiday absolutely petrified that I was going to come back to my regular life being five pounds heavier. In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I was thinking of all the ways I could cut calories, how I could eat less (or not eat at all) in a manner that no one in my family would notice. I was subconsciously planning times to slip away from the house to go running, I even went so far as to plan TWO runs in a day. It was secretive, destructive behavior that I have NEVER in my life engaged in and it caused more stress than it was worth.

I only let myself get away with that for two days before I took the time to think about what was motivating this, and that's when I realized: I was planning a food binge and my subconscious was trying to make up for it with unhealthy tactics. My brain was hoarding the idea of food, dreaming of all the unlimited servings of mashed potatoes and dinner rolls I would enjoy DAYS IN ADVANCE. Somehow I got it in my head that Thanksgiving dinner wasn't about nourishing my body, it was about gluttony.

And that's a problem.

Before things got too out of control, I took a stand against myself. It was a full-on wrestling match between careless me and mindful me and I am so happy that mindful me won.

On Tuesday, after two days of poor and irregular eating, I went for an 8km run in a cemetery by my house. I went out with the intent of running for calories, but it turned out to be exactly what I needed for my mind and my soul. I ran for an hour allowing my mind to sort out all my food and mood problems (funny how they go hand-in-hand) and when I returned to the house I was delighted to realize that my body was screaming for fruit and water. The feeling carried on through Wednesday, which was a designated rest day, and I was extremely proud of myself for not letting copious free food and alcohol get the best of me.

Thursday morning was a rush with an overcrowded house and I took that as a sign that I needed to run. I went to my trusty cemetery with no distance goal in mind, running half for pleasure and half for hunger moderation. I managed 8.32km in 58 minutes, and while it's a distance I am extremely proud of, I knew I could have gone further but time constraints held me back. Regardless, I spent a beautiful hour in the park with dozens of other runners, bikers, walkers-of-dogs, and those scattered few that came to honor the dead. My family thought I was crazy for going for a run on a holiday (it does seem like an odd thing to do) but even without the calorie expenditure, I will always argue for an hour of exercise if only to clear my head.

Mindful me won the exercise battle by a landslide. I'm very happy that I am able to see the benefits of exercise beyond the merits of burning calories (because let's be honest, we all think "hmm... I just burned off _______" even though everyone knows it doesn't work like that). But careless me still thinks "those mashed potatoes would feel great in my mouth." Careless me always wants another glass of champagne. Careless me always says "yes" to pie and ice cream, even if my stomach is full.

But.

Careless me would never walk into a store and buy bright blue skinny jeans. Because even though careless me thought she had reached self-acceptance, in reality she had just given up. Given up trying to lose weight and be healthy, given up keeping with fashion trends, given up caring. Who cares if my pants are a size 18? Who cares if I look bad? Who cares if my outfit is shapeless and colorless and without thought?

"It is what it is."

Too many times, careless me gave into that type of thinking and too many times careless me missed out on something greater because I gave up fighting in the name of "self-acceptance." It was just defeat in disguise.

I ran off to a clothing store on Thanksgiving day to cash in on a sale. It was 7pm, I had the store mostly to myself, and I walked straight up to the rack of colored skinny jeans and I debated between the red and the blue. Both were terrifying options but I was tired of looking at all the trendy girls in public with a jealous eye wishing I could be as bold. Bold indeed: I took the blue. In a smaller size.

Mindful me was being reckless as I took the jeans (along with 40 other items) to the checkout counter without having tried them on first. I told myself I would take them home, throw away the tags and receipt, and I would hang onto them until they fit AND I wore them in public. If they fit right away, I would wear them right away. That's what I promised myself.

Imagine my terror when I found that the button buttoned and the zipper zipped. In order to keep myself from becoming a liar, I HAD TO take the jeans out in public. I don't look like Kate Middleton, nor will I ever, but mindful me was BEAMING out in public on Friday feeling fabulous in my bright blue jeans, black tank, white fleece, and black wedges. Mindful me wasn't worried about the size of my thighs, how my butt looked, or what people thought of me.

I felt fabulous.

So maybe the jeans are begging for attention, and I'll probably get it every time I go out. Maybe it's flashy and out there, but who says I don't deserve it? If you ask me, I think that's what self-acceptance is all about.