This May, Monte is inviting you to join her for the Move For You Challenge. This month is all about showing up for yourself—just 10 minutes at a time.
For 30 days, Monte and her community are committing to 10 minutes of movement each day. Walk, stretch, dance, or simply take a moment to breathe. This isn’t about pushing yourself or being perfect. It’s about reminding yourself that you’re worth showing up for. Monte’s goal is to raise $25,000 to provide 555 hours of mental health care through TWLOHA’s Peer Support Groups and Treatment & Recovery Scholarship Program.
I regret spending so much of my 20s hating my body.
Like a lot of girls born into the 90s, we were inundated with “heroine chic” thin models with sunken cheeks, protruding clavicles, and sharp shoulders. The early 00s low-rise pants and fitted crop tops left no room to have anything other than a rail-thin stomach. And the MAGAZINES!!!! Did you know that there are 300 ways to get a flat stomach in 14 days? Me either.
But I wasn’t one of those girls growing up. I was overweight, nerdy, shy, young for my grade, and convinced that I was ugly and unworthy. At nine, I stood in front of my mirror and cried at every inch of fat I saw, every unsmooth portion of my child body. Unworthy. Ugly. Worthless. I just knew it.
I grew up in a purity culture that told me my body wasn’t mine—it was my future husband’s. I was told that being overweight was a sin and that no good man would ever want me if I didn’t look thin and pleasing.
From the pulpit at church to the grocery register, I was convinced I was only as interesting and worthy as my body, and I didn’t look like “those girls.”
My dad would mercilessly bully me about my looks and my weight. He would often tell me, “You’ll never be as pretty as your sisters,” or paint a picture of what I would look like as an adult if I didn’t shape up. Now, keep in mind, not only was I 10, but he wasn’t teaching me anything about nutrition or hydration. After church every Sunday, when we’d go eat at the Chinese buffet, he’d watch me eat two heaping plates of food and not say a word. I didn’t know then that sometimes, when you grow up in a broken home with lots of abuse and violence, you turn to food for comfort.
But a person can only take so much bullying. I was young for my grade; by the time I was in 8th grade, I was only 11. My dad decided I’d be joining the track team in my very small Christian school. I’m sure you can imagine how well that worked out. It was deeply embarrassing, and I hated to run. In case you were wondering, though, I was a pretty decent discus and shot put thrower. He put me through the humiliation ritual again during my freshman year. But when sophomore year rolled around, I decided I wouldn’t do it. Now, I was not a kid who defied my father, ever. This time I did. I told him flat out that I wasn’t going to do it. He screamed that I’d get so fat and that I’d never lose it. In a rare moment of defiance, I thought, “Watch me.”
The thing is, I did want to play sports, I wanted to compete. I wanted to feel comfortable in my body. I didn’t want my knees and ankles to hurt. And so, slowly, I started reading about nutritious food and simply doing the best I could with what was around me. When I started, I could only run a quarter of a mile. But I ran every day and worked myself up to a mile a day and I NEVER missed my mile. That mile became two. A couple of upperclassmen showed me the basics of the weight room. I felt so powerful. I had so much energy, I felt so proud. In a world, life, and family that left me very little control of my life, I had this one thing. And it was the beginning of a journey that would slowly help me heal my relationship with my body. As a teen and in my 20s, you wouldn’t have been able to convince me that I would be someone rapturously in love with my body and what it can do, but it happened.
Movement gave me my power back. Exercise gave me, a girl from a high-control religious lifestyle that gave me next to no choice or autonomy in my life, a million little decisions I could make to choose myself. Those million little decisions led to bigger decisions that helped me become the woman I am today.
A snowflake can build into an avalanche.
Movement carried me through the parts where I felt I had to be a certain weight, look a certain way, be perfect. It also helped me get strong, build my confidence, and believe in myself. It gave me a way to process my hurt and heartache when I refused to cry and couldn’t find the vocabulary or the courage to tell someone else how I felt. It was my daily friend when my dad died, and I couldn’t process the new reality that I lived in. It’s helped me mentally. It is a daily ritual that helps me feel like I’m not going to lose my mind with everything going on.
But it’s TRULY for me now. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
You are more than a number on a scale or a measuring tape. You are human. Messy and whole, capable of so many good things, regardless of your body’s shape. We encourage you to use TWLOHA’s FIND HELP Tool to locate professional help and to read more stories like this one here. If you reside outside of the US, please browse our growing International Resources database. You can also text TWLOHA to 741741 to be connected for free, 24/7 to a trained Crisis Text Line counselor. If it’s encouragement or a listening ear that you need, email our team at [email protected].
Jane
♥️♥️♥️ important message