I have been terrified of that room for as long as I've been going to a gym. There are mirrors everywhere, fit people, good looking people, fitness savvy people. If I did go, I would sneak in quietly and leave as quietly and hope no one had seen me on the machines or by the dumbbells. It has been a place of extreme discomfort. It holds all of my insecurities in one place. The mats haunt me with their slick blue facade and their dingy surfaces. The overhead lights zoom in on every flaw on my imperfect body. Other people's sweat taunts me with their high profitability potential. I. Hate. That. Place.
But for the first time, I worked out without my amazing friend and partner who has been my security blanket, and I didn't feel in the slightest uncomfortable.
I carried a book around like a dork. I was in typical gym clothes that were faded from multiple washes. I was doing squats and walking with that weird jump rope thing that makes you walk like you are about to birth a baby. My hair was matted to my head. My muscles timidly peeked out from under my layers of fat. My mascara had abandoned my eyelashes. And yet, I beamed with confidence.
I can only attribute this sudden reversal of esteem to what is usually a temporary burst of tenacity. During these stints, I feel content with who I am. Comfortable in my people clothes. I feel satisfied with being a single momma. Happy with my choice of career. Enthusiastically progressing in my business and spirituality. Contented with how I look. At ease with my personality.
When I was younger these moments of good self esteem were few and far between. I have found that lately, however, they take up the majority of my existence. And the terrorized, insecure Rebekah is the temporary person.
I wish I hadn't wasted my youth on insecurity. But perhaps the sweaty, gym induced triumph now wouldn't be so sweet.
I can only attribute this sudden reversal of esteem to what is usually a temporary burst of tenacity. During these stints, I feel content with who I am. Comfortable in my people clothes. I feel satisfied with being a single momma. Happy with my choice of career. Enthusiastically progressing in my business and spirituality. Contented with how I look. At ease with my personality.
When I was younger these moments of good self esteem were few and far between. I have found that lately, however, they take up the majority of my existence. And the terrorized, insecure Rebekah is the temporary person.
I wish I hadn't wasted my youth on insecurity. But perhaps the sweaty, gym induced triumph now wouldn't be so sweet.
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