Diva called on us the other day to be honest. I do not make New Year’s resolutions because I feel they are dishonest. They are usually goals I set that I have no true intention of keeping—if I did, I would have accomplished that resolution one of the first fourteen times I promised. I do however find myself at the end of another year looking over the themes that have influenced my past. And then deciding which I want to continue into my present and future.

This year has been one of love, acceptance, happiness, abundance, joy, lowering expectation but still encouraging excellence. It has been a beautiful year and a year I feel that I have grown, come more into myself, created the life I am meant to live. There is one issue that still causes me strain: my body.

I don’t suffer from low self-esteem. I do, however, suffer from low self-appreciation. No doubt, part is shoved into my brain by media influences, but even more than that, by the emotional scars from childhood. Scars that should’ve been healed over and gotten over at this point.

Case in point, I was raised by a nearly sainted Mother. She is still one of the most beloved people in my life. She is love incarnate. I remember being 12 years old and she walked into the bathroom after I had just bathed. She glanced quickly at my burgeoning body and said: “Oh honey, you already have stretch marks on your breasts. I’m so sorry. You’re so young!” I will guarantee you that my mother does not remember this statement. It held no malice, but that sentiment has haunted me ever since. It told me that there was something wrong with my body and from that point on, I have taken pains, and I do mean literal pain, to hide it.

At 14 I wore a girdle that cinched me in from the bra straps over my shoulders to mid-thigh. At 15 I began sleeping in a tightly cinched belt because I read that would make my waist smaller. The diets began around 10 I think. The extreme workouts that lasted for hours began about 12. No matter what I did though, I was still never good enough.

So this year, as well as many years before, I will continue to try to love my body. I will look at it as beautifully functioning instead of flawed physicality. Tamika has told me to quit justifying the attributes of my body and instead to enjoy it. At times I do enjoy it, but I don’t know if I will ever look at my abdomen and think “You sexy thing, you!” I have done the self-love practices. I have sent my abdomen love and gratitude—it did accommodate my two children. It does do all those damn crunches I demand of it. I realized though that my abdomen wears the scars of its job on the outside, and I therefore judge it with my eyes. I don’t do that to my heart or my brain or my kidneys, all of which have had degrees of damage from just the passage of time and life. I mean truly, how beautiful could a colon be? Am I ashamed of the shape of my colon? If I had a polyp would I run and hide? But my thighs…that is a different story.

The epiphany is that you do not get to see the damage I inflict on my insides. You can’t look at my heart and say “Ah, Stacy you shouldn’t have had those fries. Look at that plaque buildup in that artery!” Common Joe can’t see the dead brain cells from that extra glass on wine I had last week. But he can see if I have cellulite on my thighs, if I have rolls around my middle, if my upper arms have their own swing sets. And therein lies my problem. If I look at myself with judgment, I expect the same of everyone else. And unfortunately, there have been plenty of people who have lived up to that expectation. If I am to suspend condemnation, I must first quit brow-beating myself.

I know I will not lose the swim dresses. I know I will not be a nudist or an exhibitionist. This next year will not see me flashing myself to the world, but it may—and my husband would be so pleased—find me showering with the light on, changing at a leisurely pace instead of the Superman-in-a-phonebooth sprint, and even maybe, just maybe moving candles to the nightstand instead of leaving them burning vainly hidden in the corner of the “marital” bedroom!

I wish you all peace, love and self-appreciation this year and every one to follow

-Stacy