The Great Ego Purge, Drinks To Be Served After: "the women I'm no longer losing weight for"

Day: 11

Where: At Home

Type of Yoga:Gentle Yoga (Part One) 
Source: HULU PLUS-Yoga Zone Channel

Time: 22 min.

*"Sensitive Sallys": consider this your warning before continuing to read on*

After reevaluating yoga class last night, I  have decided to purge and renew. So, purging now of the dark, creepy, negative junk . Renewing by clearing the space to bring the truth into the light for the very first time about...

BODY IMAGE

My body image. (big deep breath) Yep, I'm going for it.

This confessional may sound a bit like "Sybil", but bear with me, because I am addressing today's confessional  to all of the mean girls. Not the real ones, the ones whom I have created and only exist in my head. They are there, I have learned, for the sole purpose of  letting  me know that I don't make the grade on an almost daily basis. I am doing this because after going all the way down the rabbit hole of negativity and pushing through to the other side, I have realized something: 

My weight loss is not for anyone else. Real or otherwise. All of these women have been living in my subconscious for far too long. I am cleaning house today, because these bitches haven't ever paid rent. 

(*Disclaimer-Okay now, I feel super guilty about using the term "bitches paying rent" and then the next paragraph beginning with "my mother". But, it was a really good line and I simply had to use it. Besides, this is not about my mother in truth/real life, it is about the one I have created in my head. In reality my Mom  is the sweetest, kindest woman who would lay down her life for me, I admire her above all other women...but she is freaking perfection..really. And  being the quirky offspring of freaking perfection can reeeeally do a number on you. In truth, my mother has never in my adult life made me feel bad about my body from her own doing. She has in fact been nothing but supportive and has done an A+ job to never be critical about what size jeans I was squeezing myself into any given year. And i love her for it.*) That being said...

I am not losing weight for...

#1 My Mother-This is the chica in my head I HAVE CREATED who resembles my mother (the Ego is a crafty one) but is instead pure evil...yep, she gots to go. I am clearing her out, and will instead focus on cherishing the diet advice my actual mother has given me over the years, which is basically equivalent to reading a Cosmopolitan magazine circa 1974.  Break out the Fondu and Polyester folks. This. Is. Priceless:

-Tip #1 To fight food cravings. Mom says: "Oh any time I would want to eat I'd just grab a diet coke and a smoke." Yes, who needs food to nourish their bodies when there are the sweet treasures of Nutrasweet and Nicotine? Hmmm...pass.

-Tip #2 (my personal favorite). Mom says:"Erin, sometimes when I was on a 'really good diet', I would just go to bed early and I would lay there with my stomach growling and think "this must be what those starving kids on tv must feel like at night." Really? Ok ignoring how ridiculously crazy it is she just compared herself to STARVING CHILDREN IN FREAKING AFRICA; let me break the last part of it down for you...when my mother says "really good diet"  in reality she means she's starving herself like Kate Moss losing 10 pounds for a shoot on Tuesday. That I cannot do.
-Tip #3 Fat Burning. Mom says: "I would wrap myself in Saran Wrap and sweat it out." Whaaat? Noooooo-wait-does that really work-no-what am I saying? I'm not doing that.
-Tip #4 Tan fat is always better then skinny fat. Mom says: "Honey put on a little of that Panama Jack Accelerator I brought to the beach today, it will give you a 'good base'." Ummm, I'm looking at my pale Irish skin and her pale Irish skin and I'm thinking this is a bad idea. I have been (literally and figuratively burned before) by learning that if my mother starts blanching your arm skin by repeatedly pressing her thumb into it and proclaiming "ooooh you're getting  some 'good color' today" pack up your beach chair and leave the death rays of the sun immediately, you are fucked. Take your lobster ass to Sam's and buy aloe in bulk, fill up your tub and soak in that shit for 24 hours because your ass is fried. 

Oh my dear, sweet Lord. I love her. 

#2 The Starlet- Over time, I have morphed many of these ladies into one ridiculous Tour de Force in stilettos and skinny jeans rocking 0.0 percent body fat the Tuesday after giving birth to triplets. She's the worst. I mean, this perfect little thing is a real imaginary pain in my ass. You know this girl. She is a mix of famous people and nobodies in tv commercials and magazine ads. She stares at you in the checkout line like she knows something you don't. This one is even the star in each and every jewelry commercial they run at the Holidays. I hate her. Don't get me wrong, I love the aloe-infused socks my man gave me this year, but I can't quite show them off like the pear cut diamond necklace she received on Christmas Day. Apparently every one of her kisses do in all actuality, begin with Kay. 

Bitch.

Listen Starlet, this has to stop. I am so done thinking I can't live up to your phantom, skinny, mean-girl ass. I just need to realize that you do not actually exist. Besides, I'm pretty sure most kisses begin with tequila shots. 
Now hit the road.

#3 The Erin I could have been: if only i were skinny. This is for all the skinny little things I see in real life. The ones on the beach, at the pool and running through my parent's posh neighborhood as if their bank accounts depended on it. 
This Could Have Been gal even mucks up my thinking so much that I pretend to like, but secretly hate the sweet chick who lives up the street. Why? Because, she is perfection. Her body is amazing, her children are always dressed like a Zulilly ad, her house is perfect, her golden retriever is perfect, as is her yard, and every thing else. The other day as I was driving by her perfect house, her gorgeous husband was in the front yard with the dog and kids, in perfect jeans cut to perfection and playing a song for all of them on his guitar. I took one look at this and said to myself:

"He even plays the fucking guitar." 

Unbeknownst to me, this was not an internal monologue, because my seven year old then asked me "Who plays the guitar Mommy?" 
Oops. Yeah...I have a problem. 

This Could Have Been hooker in my head really needs to go.
I have learned instead of cursing the blessings of others, to recognize what that does to the truth about mine. Cursing the blessings of other women like, the neighbor, is just one way that keeps me in direct dialogue with the Could Have Been, which is no 'bueno'. That Could Have Been gal keeps me from focusing on all of my actual blessings. And when I clear her out, I can finally see without comparison to anyone, how truly blessed I am. RIGHT NOW. 

So, Could Have Been Perfect Erin, I'm over it. 'Mazel' to you,  really, you and all of your amazing-ness. 
Now beat it.

#4 The Erin I Used To Be: I have a picture of myself at Lollapalooza  circa 1997-ish. I was there for the music of Korn and Snoop Dogg and several others I don't remember seeing. There I am, young, tan, blonde Erin in the army green tank top, cut off frayed and bleach spotted daisy duke jean shorts and my Jansport. I was getting a piece of my hair hemp braided (probably next to the "Magic Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich Tent" Ahhh...the 90's.) and I weighed maybe 5 damn pounds. It was the highlight of skinniness for me and what I thought of as the epitome of my youth. 

I have tried in the past to put that exact picture up on my fridge as a reminder to motivate me to get back to THAT girl. But, I don't want to be THAT girl anymore. If I'm really, really honest with myself, THAT girl wasn't all that happy. Hell, THAT girl thought she was fat. She dated THE WORST possible "man-boys" and... she was kind of, well...dumb. Nope, I send much love to THAT girl, I'm not even mad at her, but I no longer think getting healthy is the same as looking like THAT girl again and I finally, finally don't want to her to occupy anymore head space. 
Bye-bye.

I don't need to worry about any of these women any more. I am blessed enough with all of the lovely souls I am surrounded by. Maybe now that these four are out of the way, I can finally see this experience for what it is. 

'Namaste' is something we say at the end of every yoga class, right? Really take a moment to wrap your head around that word and absorb the meaning of it:
"The Divine in me recognizes the Divine in you." 

So...
For the dear sweet ladies in my yoga class, I know now that you weren't and aren't judging me. You are all there for sanctuary, for yourselves. 
For my dear sweet yogi with her ability to make every movement sound even more beautiful as she pronounces yoga poses in a French accent. You are both an inspiration and the cutest little stinking thing ever. I am so grateful to be in the midst of those good vibrations, I love all those ladies for it and I know that, even without knowing me, they love me back.
For my friends who see what I am doing and who give me the space to go there, wherever the windy road may take me; even if I hate myself along the way or hurt myself along the way. They give me the space to figure it out FOR ME.

What physically transpires from this knowledge I don't know and I honestly don't care, I know that getting here is a better place then where I was. I'm going to go ahead and soak up all of this and be content that i have arrived HERE. I will STOP SEEKING APPROVAL from any of the four who were taking up my head space, and from anyone else. I will love me. Right where I am, right now, without conditions.

And for my skinny, tan, sassy, fabulous Momma who only wants what is best for me, and has loved me through it all...Namaste.