Last week I poured my guts out, in hopes of showing you another side of me. This week I’ll talk about how a juice cleanse made me pour my guts out…. In a whole different way. I have tried just about every diet you can think of. I have dappled in the extreme stuff like anorexia, diet pills, and bulimia. I even resorted to spending a week only eating naked in front of a mirror. No matter what I’ve tried or how thin I get, my thighs still touch and I still shame my body.
The fact is that it wouldn’t matter what I looked like or how thin I was, I would still feel inadequate in the looks department. The reason being, it’s an issue of what is on the inside of me, not the outside. My “ideal” self is completely unrealistic and unattainable. Somehow I want to be curvy and perfectly waif at the same time. I want to be tall and lean and small and petite. I want a warm summer glow mixed with pale porcelain skin. I’d really prefer to wake up each morning looking like an angel from heaven as well.
Thus began my motivation for – The Juice Cleanse. Before starting this adventure, the word “cleanse” reminded me of purity, freshness, and crispness. By day three of my so called “cleanse” I had never felt dirtier or more disgusting. But it was all going to be worth it because, in the end I’d feel beautiful.
I read a lot of articles about how juicing leaves you feeling better and more energized than ever. I ended my cleanse feeling like I had emptied every organ inside myself. I was hollow and empty. Sleeping 13 hours a night become the norm. When I was awake I struggled to form a coherent sentence. But, the real horrifying part of this experience was the bathroom.
Ideally I’d like to skip this part and retain a classy, feminine, lady-like aura. That is simply not realistic. And if we, as women, are honest with ourselves, we can admit that a lot of the measures we take to look perfect are far less than appealing. So, I had the genius idea of doing my cleanse right in the middle of my work week. I am quite certain I spent less than 4 hours total at my desk that entire week. The other 34 hours, in the office bathroom or the bathroom at home. If I coughed or laughed just a bit too hard… disaster. I spent a lot of time running, not by choice. Fight, Flight, Or Freeze, became a haunting and ironic mantra. It’s possible that my hind quarters still have an imprint on them from sitting on the toilet too long. But it was all going to be worth it because, in the end I’d feel beautiful.
When my ridiculous diets and over the top workouts fail to give me the figure I want I resort to a new tactic. I like to call it the Transfer of Shame. Because hating my own body is too exhausting and degrading I transfer that disgust to other women. Perhaps if every other woman in the world is hideous I will somehow become more beautiful. I’m sure you’re thinking I’m a real bi#*h right about now. Stick with me though because I would be willing to bet you do the same thing.
When you see a “big” girl in skimpy clothes how do you react? Perhaps you have found yourself saying or thinking, “Girls like that should know they can’t wear short-shorts”, “Does she realize she has back boobs?”, or maybe, “She really needs to learn to dress for her body type”. We try to bury our own body shame with the ashes of the shame we spew on other women. This is Back-Ass-Wards but it is happening. Everywhere. Everyday. But it is all worth it because in the end we feel beautiful?
I am extremely insecure about my legs. They are thick and they have their fair share of cellulite. I avoid shorts at all costs in an effort to hide this insecurity. I worry about what people will think or say if they see my “cottage cheese”. Yet, when I see a girl with large legs and cellulite, in shorts, I judge her. I have no empathy. Honestly, 9 times out of 10 I even nudge my friend and point her out. I shame that girl without thinking twice. All in the hope that by making her legs ugly, mine will become beautiful. And you know what? … None of it is worth it because, in the end, I do NOT feel beautiful.
I don’t feel more beautiful when I take my own shame and try to give it away to someone else. I don’t feel more beautiful when I starve myself or go through ridiculous diets. I don’t feel more beautiful when I hide my insecurities and act like they don’t exist.
I feel beautiful when I share my shame with other women and find out that they feel the same. I feel beautiful when I notice the beauty in others rather than the flaws. I feel beautiful when I am my genuine self (flaws and all) and hold nothing back.
Sharing my shame is worth it because in the end I feel truly beautiful.