My friend Lesa is dying of ovarian cancer and all I can think about is how disgusting my stomach looks. I’ve grown obsessed with the thickening spare tire around my midriff. Then I feel guilty because I’m not thinking about Lesa and then I catch sight of my midriff bulge and…it’s a loop, an obsessive loop of depressing and degrading thoughts.

Lesa is 54, I’m 54. I was with her the night she met her husband Roger. Sixteen years ago I had benign ovarian tumors removed, shortly before Lesa was diagnosed with stage 3 ovarian cancer. We shared some physical history and I lucked out and she didn’t.

Lesa’s story is a novel but it’s a hard book to read. She was born in Greenville, South Carolina a Southern belle to the bone,  beautiful, funny, smart, artistic and so entertaining to be with. She always looked put together. Always dressed appropriately, very feminine and the girl could accessorize with the best of them. My biggest regret is that I didn’t get to turn her into a radio star. She has this exaggerated Southern belle accent complete with locked jaw that she would put on and then just ad lib the funniest dialog. She was better than our local comedy theatre ladies at Cafe and Then Some, she was that good. I taped her and got to run the bit a couple of times when I was still on the air but the jerk I worked with killed it and I regret that. She was a comedic diamond in the rough.

I’ve been trying to sort out the meaning of my obsessive thoughts about my stomach at this particular time and I think it has to do with my womb, which lies behind my thick torso. How can I hate something so strong and healthy that allowed me to give birth to a perfectly healthy child? If I hate my stomach I hate myself and that’s not a good thing. My struggle to love myself is rooted in a negative body image. I guess being told that you are fat every day of your childhood does affect how you view the body you live in. The media myths about women’s bodies add fuel to the shame with those air brushed photos of women who give birth (Heidi Klum) and then immediately return to the Victoria’s Secret Runway with not a stretch mark in sight. For a quick reality check here’s pictures of women who’ve given birth and their unretouched bodies.

http://www.upworthy.com/this-photograph-sparked-mothers-to-show-us-what-their-post-baby-bodies-really-look-like?g=2&c=upw1

All this to say…How can I hate a body that my friend Lesa would give anything to inhabit? How can I waste my precious time on obsessive negative non productive thoughts? Why do so many women waste so much time and energy on feeling bad about the bodies we live in? There are those rare but beautiful women who simply don’t give a damn. Who love themselves and their bodies enough to wear what they want even though it exposes lumps and bumps and hold their heads up high and just live. That’s who I want to be. This isn’t about fat acceptance, I’ll always be in the fight to be healthy and strong.  This is about not wasting the rest of my life worried that I’m not thin enough to buy that bathing suit or go on that trip or do everything I want to do. In a poll of more than 4,000 Oprah Magazine readers, 43% said that they had missed out on a trip to the beach or pool because they weren’t happy with how they looked another 32% of women said they’ve skipped sex because they didn’t feel good about their bodies. It’s normal for conversations among women to touch on body issues, in the Oprah poll 65% said body issues always or sometimes dominated their conversations. When asked if they could magically change a body part 63% chose their stomachs. So…I’m obviously not alone in hating my Buddha belly.

I never really noticed how negative my thoughts and words were until recently. At a ladies luncheon the leader directed us to be “positively positive” in our discussions, as a result I was silent through much of the social hour. I’m working on my self talk, trying to catch myself thinking those degrading thoughts about myself and my body and I try to substitute with the phrase, “I’m strong and healthy.”

I found a couple of online videos on this topic that I found interesting. In one women of all sizes and ages were asked for one word that described their bodies and the answers were horrifying. The descriptors  included, disgusting, fat, lumpy, stumpy, thick and ugly.

Be it resolved that 2014 is the year I truly begin to love myself so that I may be more open to loving others. Can I get an amen?

Postscript;

Jann Lesa Ingram-Dyar beloved wife, mother, friend, sister and artist died of ovarian cancer on

May 13, 2014. She will be missed but never forgotten.