January 12, 2023 5 min 52 sec read/listen

Last Sunday, I gathered with some of my women friends to create vision boards. I'd been wanting to do a vision board for years, but I just never made the time. There was always something else to do. Some deadline to meet, some long list I couldn't get to the bottom of. And all those photos and cut out words and images and good intentions would sit in an envelope waiting for me to arrange them into the master vision of my year. But it never happened.

This year, though, I made the time. It was Sunday afternoon. We gathered at a friend's hair salon that was closed for the day. We sat on the floor in a circle like a bunch of kids with art supplies and yarn and stacks of magazines, plenty of comfort snacks spread out before us. As we cut and glued, we talked and shared stories, named our desires, revealed deep truths, we laughed. There were some tears, more laughs, tons of support and connection. It was one of the best days I've had in a long time.

I picked up a magazine called Strength for Women. It was one that I had bought ages ago, and I never actually read it. And as I flipped through page after page of images of really skinny women, all spritzed with some kind of fake sweaty glow as they held their weights - and I need to add, no muscle tone - just skinny, pretty and glowing, I saw zero representation of me or any of the women I was with. I mean, I was looking for inspiration for my vision board, not impossibilities or reminders of my younger eating disorder days. It also saddened me to see these women. And yes, I know they are there by choice, but I'm wondering when things are really going to change.

Anyway, I tossed the magazine and grabbed a Vogue only to find myself gazing at emaciated young women models who looked at the camera completely devoid of emotion, upstaged by airbrushing and heavy makeup. “Look at this,” I held the magazine for the women to see. Then one of the women, a mom of two young kids, said, “I'm so tired of hating on my body.”

There were a lot of nods. A lot of “hell yeah, me too.” Well, me too. I'm in my early fifties, and my face and my body are changing. And I can feel the pull, the seduction to resist, to hate on it. But I won't. I refuse. I worked too hard to learn to love and accept myself, and I'm still on that path.

And I will be forever. And I am damn grateful to be on it and off the old path of self-loathing. Oh yeah, I trip and fall, but I get back up. As I write this, my friend's words keep playing in my mind. “I'm done with hating on my body,” she said.

And I can't help but think - What else are we done with? What else could we choose to be done with?

And then I found myself riffing on what I and maybe most of us are done with when it comes to our bodies, our hearts, who we are, what we desire, what we need, what we want. So here we go. Let's all be done with hating on our bodies. Actually, let's be done with hating on ourselves.

Let's toss standards and perfection out with the garbage. Not the recycling. We're done here. Garbage it is. Let's not suck in our guts or throw stones at our hearts. Let's not compare ourselves to her or even her. Let's tear the pages of all the “You should look like this, sound like this, think like this, walk like this” magazines out and burn them in the embers of the fire still burning with our bras.

Let's not count the points and calories of our food. Let's toss the scales over chasm cliff edges. Let's cancel the language of self punishment and reprimand. Let's not frown and squint in the mirror looking for more lines and sags to criticize. Let's not call ourselves imposters or failures or even impossible superheroes. Let's not allow the voices of others who tell us we are too much or too needy or too sensitive to be louder than the voice of our own hearts.

Let's not put our worth in the hands of others. Instead, let's learn to fall in like and maybe in love with our bodies. And maybe, oh maybe, ourselves. Let's dance imperfectly and let our bellies bounce and flop, and cellulite ripple to the rhythms, free from our sucking in and holding and bracing. Let's sprinkle fairy dust on our hearts and celebrate her and her and her and all of their and our wins and losses and near-misses and found truths.

Let's dance around the fire and eat s'mores, weightless in our joy. Let's celebrate all the edges that invite growth and the spread of our own wings. Let's look close up in the mirror and smile and whisper “I love you” until tears pour from the unlocking of the cage we've carried ourselves in, and the grace of seeing the lives we've lived thus far evident in our expressions and our bodies and our wisdom.

Yes, let's be sensitive and bigger and more. And let's only ever have the measure of our worth come from our own hearts. This let's not and instead let's rant was inspired by a piece my friend Maya Rachel Stein wrote. She started this ball rolling and I picked it up and riffed. Let's keep it rolling, shall we? If you feel compelled, get your journal and write out what your let's not and your instead let's are.

I'm Jenn and I'm a professional actor, a writer and a “hell yes, love yourself so you can love your life” coach. I've got an upcoming seven week journey for eight women called Embrace How to Create Space for You and Why It Matters. If you are tired of not being a priority in your life or you're struggling to fit yourself in, barely finding time to take care of you and connect with you, maybe this is for you.

You can find info on Embrace at www.jennforgie.com.