I am currently reading Phoebe Robinson’s Everything is Trash, But it’s Okay. Phoebe Robinson is a comedian/writer that if you haven’t read any of her essays, you should be reading her essays because she is smart, insightful and hilarious. I read You Can’t Touch My Hair last year and felt like this is one (of many) of those books you give to that one ‘friend’ who just doesn’t get the concept of white privilege. Phoebe Robinson is definitely on my list for that imaginary dinner party. She is also adorable and just might make my ridiculous Life List as Hug Phoebe Robinson. I am not far into Everything is Trash. Actually, I got stuck on page four for way too long because I couldn’t get past the idea of a Google search involving David Bowie and pets and if I too should try that Google search. I eventually made it to the essay titled I Was a Size 12 Once for Like Twenty-Seven Minutes where she talks about body confidence and the first two sentences grabbed ahold of me so that I nodded my head in understanding as I read the whole essay.

Since I was fourteen, my brain has been consumed with the ways my body is not good enough, meaning not attractive to straight dudes and/or failing to meet fashion-industry standards. Even now, at thirty-four, and with a deeper understanding of how we’ve been conditioned to have unhealthy relationships with our bodies, I still remember what I weighed eight years ago as if that’s important information.

I had some birthday money to spend at Anthropologie. They were also having a big 50% off sale items sale, which I can never resist. I didn’t really need anything, but if you tell me the price is going to be FIFTY PERCENT off an already marked down price, I am going to find something that I suddenly desperately can’t live without. In this case, it was a pair of pants, but because of the sale, the only sizes left were those that were not really my size. I bought the closest to my size and just hoped it might work. When they arrived, I immediately ripped open the package and tugged them onto my body. I struggled with buttons and the pants felt snug. I frowned, but then put them in my closet with the idea of making them ‘goal’ pants. Later on, Michael asked me about the pants. I told them they are a bit snug, but that’s okay because they can be something to aim for. He gave me a questioning look and said “Really? You think you need to lose more weight?” I shrugged and said something about losing a few more pounds. Then he asked me “What’s your goal weight?” and I couldn’t give him an answer. I don’t have a ‘goal’ weight because in my head, I can always stand to lose a few more pounds.

And that is FUCKED UP.

That says to me that no matter what, I will never be the “right” size or weight and the fact that this is in my brain, makes me furious. I should know better. I do know better! There are long stretches of time when I do not think about my weight or the amount of cheese I’ve eaten. I don’t step onto a scale everyday or even once a week. Last week, I missed two days of exercise because I had a sore throat and felt icky and I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for skipping the rowing machine or the barre class on those days. I do feel bad about cancelling my yoga class, but I’d rather be at my best when teaching yoga, than sickly. The thing is, my weight is not forefront in my mind. The awareness of my size is just hovering in my periphery, waiting for just the right moment to swoop down and make me feel like shit. I know I’m not alone in this way of thinking because all women have had to grow up in this male set/fashion industry standard.

Here’s where Phoebe Robinson’s essay really resonated with me. She went on to talk about how all of us have these feelings, but then she goes on to talk about how we do not support each other outside of our own feelings. Phoebe listed some statistics from a study that shows how obese women are less likely to be hired for jobs, even though they are well qualified to do the job. She went on to write about how often obese women are dismissed and ignored just because of their size and that is some straight up trashiness right there. It got me wondering if I do enough to support those around me. When was the last time I expressed my beliefs that all bodies are yoga bodies? Reading Phoebe’s book of essays forces me to look at my own problems and issues while reminding me that all of us are struggling and how we can lesson each others struggle by supporting, hearing and encouraging one another. That means doing more than just ‘liking’ someone’s Instagram photo. For me, this means creating a yoga class where every body feels welcome. The Zoom yoga space I am creating hopefully does this.

I put those pants on Saturday and there is absolutely nothing wrong with how they fit my body. Have I lost weight since the last time I tried them on? I don’t know. I don’t think so and I don’t care. Whatever my current weight is at this moment? That’s my goal weight.