Today I hate my thighs. I hate that the feel flabby, that they rub together more than I ever remember them rubbing together. I hate that I can see visible consequences of my least favorite part of myself; I hate that I have made them an obstacle in my fitness. I hate how tight they feel in not only shorts but some of my skirts.
I think I also hate them because they are a direct object to place the emotions that hate captures. I can send my hanger, disgust, desire to change, and twinge of sadness to the twelve inches on my legs and at least it’s out of my head. What does processing that hate look like? What does letting it motivate me to action mean?
Right now, trusting God, my body, and feelings, means creating space for me to not love the way I feel and remaining in that space. It means making healthier choices each day, not hating myself for past choices, and cultivating a thankful heart for who I am. It means not creating space for the devil to get into my heart long term. And what is interesting is, just writing out that I am hating certain physical things about myself is so freeing. I am okay that I am in this place.