Little Legs
It’s not often that I can remember what I have worn to the supermarket. Fifty-two weeks a year I shop for groceries, yet only once can I recall my outfit. Ten years ago, in a moment of bravery, I wore short jean shorts to my local grocery store in the United Kingdom. Cautiously exiting my car, I checked all directions to make sure there was no one I recognized in sight. In school one learns that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but I opted instead to take a zig-zagged path hiding between vehicles like a fugitive in a high stakes shootout. Relieved to set foot in the store without being noticed, I tiptoed along the perimeter in hopes of becoming invisible once I entered the crowded aisles of shoppers. I was worried that I would be stared at for my less-than-perfect thighs, although this thought was suddenly interrupted when I looked up and saw a shopper standing before me wearing pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and curlers in her hair. Only at that moment did I realize that no one was paying attention to me, except for me.
After my humbling supermarket run, it wasn’t until a decade later that I decided to wear another pair of short-shorts in public.
In my previous article, “Thanks, But I’m Wearing These Shorts” I shared about my struggle to accept the appearance of my legs. My negative opinions might have originated during childhood, but as the coronavirus pandemic has allowed ample opportunity for self-reflection, it’s time I untwist the faulty beliefs that I have tangled for many years.
I would love to say that I grew weary of the mental struggle of accepting myself and woke one morning to be radically in love with my knees and thighs, but something like that only happens in my dreams. In reality, change occurred slowly over time with a process that involved knowledge AND action.
Know the Facts.
Don’t beat yourself up if you are unable to blindly accept parts of your appearance without knowing the facts first. It was only once I understood the science behind cellulite and the role that my genetics played, that I was able to know what I was up against.
I discovered that cellulite has everything to do with the structure of our skin. We have the outermost layer of the skin, which is called the epidermis. Directly below the epidermis is the dermis, which contains hair follicles, sweat glands, and connective tissue. Under the dermis is the first of two subcutaneous fat layers. According to the Mayo Clinic, “Cellulite is caused by fibrous connective cords that tether the skin to the underlying muscle, with the fat lying between. As the fat cells accumulate, they push up against the skin, while the long, tough cords are pulling down. This creates an uneven surface or dimpling.” When the first layer of fat protrudes into the dermis, it causes the dimpling appearance, which we refer to as cellulite.
Simply put, women who have cellulite tend to have connective tissue that is arranged differently, and most of the time we can thank our parents for our genetic predisposition. Mother, I love you, but seriously?
So What?
Once I learned the facts of cellulite, I could now decide what to do with this information.
From previous experience, even at my thinnest which was barely over triple digits, I still had dimples on my thighs. Once I realized that I would be unable to completely rid my legs of all ripples no matter how much weight I lost or exercise I did, I began to accept that it was not worth the quality of my life to put forth such tremendous physical and mental effort to transform something that most likely would never change.
I could tell I had made progress when I found myself gazing into the mirror disapproving of my legs while simultaneously affirming, “You are normal.” I used to never utter those three words.
For years I kept my newfound knowledge tucked away in the basement of my brain like a tinsel tree that lays taped up in a box in the cupboard, only to come out once a year. While I had made progress in understanding that my thighs were the way they were because of my genetics and my epidermal make-up, it didn’t make much of a difference in how I lived my life. I still wouldn’t wear the shorts in public.
In order for real change to happen, I needed to take the next step.
Don’t Wait to Take Action.
“Right actions lead to right thinking. You, like me, are probably never going to think your way to change. Instead, you change your actions, and then your change in thinking will follow.”
It was only once I put on the shorts and walked out the door did my beliefs start to change. It needs to be noted that despite intellectually embracing that I was normal, I never once “felt” like wearing the short-shorts in public because I still didn’t approve of the way I looked. Nonetheless, I chose to wear them anyways in hopes that a change in thinking would eventually follow.
It might seem ironic that the more I wore the shorts in public, the less I became embarrassed and found fault with my appearance, even though I had more opportunities to see and criticize my bare legs. It was true that taking action did lead to small improvements in my mindset.
I still don’t love my legs, but I’m accepting of them. Perhaps one day I will arrive at a place where Byron Katie, the author who teaches a method of self-inquiry, says, “Some of us have learned to accept what is, and I invite you to go further, to actually love what is.” That is certainly something worth striving towards.
Perhaps your struggles look like mine. Maybe they don’t. Possibly they extend beyond your physical appearance into certain relationships where you keep trying to “think your way to change” but remain immobilized until you take action. Over and over I have thought that if I changed my thinking, the rest would naturally follow, but instead I was left discouraged when real transformation did not occur.
It might feel risky to take this leap of faith, but once you do, you will begin the process of untangling and untwisting the strings of your heart.
Whatever it may be for you, you must (figuratively) wear the damn shorts.
Today is a good day to start.
