Head of the Class

Last week I wrote a post about how, after being inspired by my yoga teacher, I was going to stop hiding in the back of the studio and move myself up to the front of the room.

I was going to stop worrying about how I looked or the fact that I still am relatively new to yoga and not able to do many of the poses very well.

And someone left a comment after that post saying,

“I just went back to hot yoga after a VERY LONG time away… maybe next time I will even put my mat in front (I used to years ago) and those young, skinny girls can see what back fat and cellulite looks like when you’re almost 49!“

I’ve been thinking about that comment.

Because I’m not young. Or skinny.

And you know what? I don’t want to be.

Sure, I’ve got wrinkles starting to show in places I’d rather not see them.

Like on my knees. (What the hell?)

I’ve got the beginnings of age spots forming on the back of my hands.

I can see where my cheeks are starting to sag a little, and my eyelids are a total shitshow.

While I have zero desire to be skinny, I wouldn’t mind being about 15 pounds lighter.

But if and when I do get to that point, the skin on my stomach will never look like it did before I had kids.

That’s okay.

Because you know what? I like my older, not skinny 45-year-old self.

My young and skinny self was a fucking disaster.

Depressed and lacking confidence and pretending to be something I wasn’t.

I don’t miss that.

I rather like being older and not having that pressure.

That pressure that society (and I) put on myself to look flawless.

My skinny me thought that’s all there was to me.

The number on the tag inside my pants.

I have officially entered that stage where I’m fine with looking good… for my age.

I accept that my body is changing. That it won’t ever look perfect. Not perfect for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, anyway.

But perfect for me.

For the first time ever in my whole life, I am taking care of my outsides and my insides.

And it feels really good for my goal to be overall health instead of overall size.

Rather than chasing some old one-dimensional picture of myself, I’m moving toward the strongest, most well rounded, multi-dimensional version of myself I’ve ever been.

I might be getting a little more wrinkly with age. But I’m also getting better.

And I think I should be in the front of that class.

Because those skinny pop tarts in their skimpy yoga get ups ain’t got nothin’ on me.

Sure, they might see some cellulite or back fat.

Or both.

But they’ll also see a bad ass mom who realizes that those things don’t define her.

And that wouldn’t be so bad at all.

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