telling a story

I want to preface all of this by saying that only on one or two occasions was I invited to tell some kind of story. I’m recalling a movie where a woman sat in front of a group of children at a library and took her story-telling to a level exceeding inappropriate for the little ones – she was dealing with … things. I had to applaud her, though, because in that moment she needed to voice her story. I think that’s what brings me here today. I’m not telling a story for an audience. I’m telling a story for me. Because I’ve learned that in my own journey, there is no better way for me to get it out other than to write (type, I know).

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why it’s like learning to ride a bicycle

I’ve been mulling over what I’m going to share when it comes to my self-esteem/self-image/body issues nonsense I’ve been dealing with for pretty much … well, as long as I can remember.

For now, let me just say that its a little bit like the first time you ride a bicycle. I know, I know – that makes no sense.

Here’s my train of thought: Connor and I went for a ride last night, albeit brief (and slightly painful), but it reminded me of how young he is and how he is still fairly immature when it comes to pedaling a bike on his own. I still feel much the same when I consider my own issues.

Connor didn’t believe he could ride his bike until I shoved him down the yard a couple times last year. He had what he needed (including his helmet, goshdarnit), but the confidence just wasn’t there … without the push.

I need that push. I have everything I need to do to get better. Its not about a diet, or an exercise regimen, or feeling comfortable enough to wear Spandex tight-fitting workout clothes; its about believing that I am healthy and strong as a result of all the work I’ve done and that I shouldn’t feel ashamed because my body doesn’t fit some perfect mold. It was carefully created for really big things and I need to believe that and let it propel me … right for where I’m headed.