(Outfit Notes: Tank-Old Navy/Earrings-Handmade by Me/Jeans-Apt.9 at Kohl’s/Peep Toe Flats-Mudd Brand)
I can’t really ever remember liking my arms. Over the years, I believe I have even uttered harsh language at them for being so rounded and fleshy. Whenever I look at photos of my wedding day, I often find myself fretting more about how fat my arms look in the pictures than able to focus on my happiness that day. And that, that is just sad and it needs to stop.
Warm weather has returned (mostly) to Maine, and last week we even hit the 80’s in temperatures with quite the humidity. On one particular day, I was all dressed, and then as soon as I got into the car I began sweating. So did Jeramy, and when he ran back into the house to change his long-sleeved shirt, I did as well. I put on this cute new tank top that I scored on sale for only eight dollars at Old Navy, and we hit the road.
I was so much more comfortable temperature-wise, but I also felt extremely uncomfortable in my own body. We stopped into a little store to grab some bottled water for our drive, and as I walked through the store all I could think was: “I feel so naked, so exposed. Surely, people are looking at my fat arms with disgust.” I could not stop obsessing. When I got back to the car, I grabbed the 3/4 length sleeve shirt I had started the day wearing, put it back on, and thought: “Who cares if I am too warm, my arms are covered.”
Later that day I told Jeramy about all of this and he reassured me. I remained unconvinced, however, until a couple of days later. I started thinking about my recent resolutions to love the body that I have. If I am able to accept my soft and rounded belly, why can’t I get over my hatred of my arms? Then I began thinking of all the wonderful things my arms do for me:
~They allow me to embrace my loved ones.
~They allow me to create art.
~They enable me to hold and cradle my child.
~They enable me to reach.
~They will help me to tend a garden someday.
~They allow me to cook.
~They help me to care for my home.
~They allow me to drive.
~They enable me to carry things.
~Even right now they are helping me to type these words, run my fingers through my hair, and sip my iced coffee.
If I lost them or the ability to use them I would realize that I was silly to hate them for their curves. To care for them I can do some strength exercises, such as a few of my favorite yoga poses. I can also stop using words like “hate” and “ugly” when talking about them.
My arms may not be slender, they may have extra flesh to pinch, they might bulge out when I flatten them to my body, but I appreciate them. They are the arms of a Mumma who lifts her toddler. They are the arms of an artist who raises her paintbrush. They are the arms of a wife who embraces her husband when he comes home. And they are the arms of a woman who is learning to love every single part of herself.