"For as long as I can remember, nothing I did in the name of wellness had anything to do with health. It was about being smaller; smaller body, smaller clothing, smaller appetite, taking up less space in this world. As an adolescent of the 90s, Kate Moss’s notorious mantra was forever ringing in my ears “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” I’ve exercised for hours in front of a blazing fireplace, convinced myself chewing green juice for days on end was close enough to eating to satiate my growling stomach. A slave to puritanical beauty ideology, I saw my deprivation and extremism as transcendent, elite, a badge of honor.

When I became a mother to three beautiful, vibrant baby girls, I would hold their soft, squishy bodies in my arms and shudder at the thought of them ever thinking, doing, feeling, literally anything I ever had about myself, or my body. I promised to do better, to be better, and I have been really great at faking it all these years. When they ask why I don’t eat dessert, I lie and say I do it after they go to bed. When they push on my stomach, I resist the urge to push their hands away. I act so cool, while the pressure cooker in my brain still messages the same old self loathing thoughts.

For the past 3 years, my health and wellness have been relegated to the back burner. Between Covid, 5 weeks of postpartum bedrest, losing beloved family members, ailing parents, a big move, discovering we have a neurodivergent kiddo, and my Covid baby going from cardiac patient to a toddler with a complex seizure disorder. I find myself in a body that is unfamiliar, and feel completely disconnected and uncomfortable in this new skin suit. In an effort to make a change, this past weekend I went sight unseen into yet another wellness retreat. I had heard of Kara Duval in casual conversation, and driven purely by aesthetic appeal, I liked her vibe, so why not.  I expected to sweat, reacquaint myself with my long dormant core, and kick start another frenzy of becoming less. Instead, my mind, my heart, my gut and my soul were cracked wide open. 

Kara sees herself as just one of the gals, and she is, but she is also a disarmingly raw, honest revolutionary. Moving with Kara felt like coming home to myself, and my body. As I spiraled, hydrated my joints, created my own wind, I felt like I was getting reacquainted with an old friend. As my muscles reignited, the healing movement gave them a warm hello, and a welcome back. Range thanked them for their service not only in carrying my body all these years, but creating and carrying, and nourishing the lives of my daughters. It was healing, finally treating my body with the honor and reverence she deserves. 

This was only part of it. Alongside this transformative movement, I ate lush, nourishing food, climbed and scrambled my way up a literal god damn mountain with the 6 week post Covid lung capacity of a gerbil, and let this sisterhood of fellow black sheep chip away at my ever present armor, to get to soft, vulnerable bits underneath. We cackled until we cried like all good witches do, libations in hand under the moonlight. We let the tears continue to flow as we had to say goodbye to one another. This was supposed to be an instagram caption, not a manifesto, but gosh, I guess I had a lot to say. Kara, Range Girlies, thank you for everything. This is not goodbye, it’s see you later. Also, I need everyone's sizes and color preferences for our team tracksuits. Slay queens!

I've finally discovered that you cannot loathe yourself into health, but fuck if I didn't try to for decades. So here's to loving, laughing, crying, and moving ourselves there, with a side of s'mores. "