I was recently watching an episode of the Steve Harvey Talk Show while he was interviewing Whitney Way Thore. Whitney is now becoming famous for her No Body Shame campaign, which is often called No B.S. I just love saying “No B.S.”! Anywho, Whitney details her journey with weight and took to YouTube to share some of her major dance moves that could put an “In Living Color” Fly Girl to shame. She can move, y’all! Check her out below.

http://nobodyshame.com/whitney-breaks-it-down-with-steve-harvey/

More than the dance, it was her attitude and candor that captivated me. Through all her ups and downs she’d arrived at a place of self-love and acceptance.

Fast-forward to the week of my birthday and my bestie, Edith Arms sent an old photo from my 20s that showed me at one of my lowest adult weights. I was too thin. My arm looked to be just an ounce or two bigger than the wing of a pigeon.  With the exception of the time I went to the Student Health Center to be placed on a weight-gain plan by-in-large, I had no clue how small I was. Take a look at how I looked.

(That’s me at 115lbs as a 20-something-year-old. For a person that is 5 feet, 9 inches tall, that is thin. OAN, If you see the not-to-be-named “boyfriend at the time” pictured above tell him he’s made it to the big time in one of my blog posts.)

Rewind back a few months ago to me searching for pictures of myself for a #TBT (Throwback Thursday) and I found some reminders of my unwanted relationship with the other side of the scale also known as the 200s…as in pounds. I cringed when I saw the pictures, but oddly enough I don’t remember at all feeling too bad about myself when I actually was this way. Just like my thin years, through my thicker years, yes, I was aware of the weight gain. Yes, I definitely wanted to be smaller and yes, I wanted to be healthier, but I never stopped loving me and seeing me how I wanted to be.

Through medical trials, a hint of laziness, genes or whatever, I just can’t recall beating myself up for not being where I wanted to be. Now, absolutely, there were times I was frustrated to no end about clothes, or going from the smallest to the not-so-smallest in my circle, or had a bit of beach trepidation, but it didn’t stop me from loving me. Through the wiggles, jiggles, “oh mys” and “what in the world is going on with the scale” I decided to love me. Look at all I had to love:

(Say cheese! It’s me, at a 225lbs and smiling. Check out those rosy red cheeks and that hot red hair too!)

(Here I am at 215lbs and still smiling.)

(My sister’s wedding was a special day. I was not only on a cane, but in a size 20 dress and still cheesing.)

The thing about when I was larger, as with the thing about weigh back then when I was too tiny, is that I didn’t let how I looked define who I was, or how I carried myself. Call me crazy. Call me caught up in what my Daddy (God) and daddy (Sylvester Scott) have said about me, but after a brief fling with low-self esteem in my teen years I just decided to love me even when I didn’t like what I would see.

I’ll be honest and say that my physical body is still not where I would desire it to be. Suzanne Somers and I have a regularly scheduled meeting with a Thigh Master. Recently turning 42, I realize I’m getting older and want to take care of some minor problems before they become major. I’d love to be able to go into any store and be certain that my size is available. I’d love to break up with the cellulite on my thighs. Plus, I’d love to be one of those people passed around with “ohhhs and ahhhs” on facebook as a “fit at 50” or “Can you believe she’s this age”. But for now, I’m super cool with Angela and love her regardless.

I thank Whitney Way Thore for the gentle reminder of tolerating no B.S., especially when it comes from within. Regardless where you are in the scale of life don’t stop loving you.

@AngelaMMoore316