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1. I now realize that my body’s curves express a balanced life.  It is not only about appreciating certain anatomical curves —the standard ones the outside world tells me are acceptable— it is about embracing each and every curve and how they co-exist, come and go. The ebb and flow of my curves helps me power through a 35-miles bike ride or stick with poses during a tough Pilates class.  Nice to realize this at nearly 58 years old.

2. My curves help me to not buy into weird food games. I love food as both nourishment and recreation. By embracing my curves I gravitate toward real food, not junk. Nor do I under eat or deprive myself to try to squeeze into a shape that is not mine. Cooking real food is a joy in my life, as is eating, drinking and appreciating culinary delights from creative chefs. To reap the most profit, the big food companies own the major diet “programs” and products. I’ve been there but I won’t go back – the Big Food diet companies won’t get one more dime from me.

3. My curves show that I am proud of the fullness of a healthy body and I don’t buy into rampant body dissatisfaction. A friend just asked me: “What would it be like if we all loved our bodies completely?” She celebrates her “curvalicious” body and is setting a remarkable example for her two teen sons as she proudly rocks comfy clothing while dancing joyfully in her backyard.

Alternatively, I have another friend who suffers from eating and body issues. She spends her valuable summer time consulting with five plastic surgeons, and is about to undergo major procedures. I am convinced she has body dysmorphia, a mental illness symptomized by perpetual negative thoughts about appearance, and obsessions with minor or imagined flaws. She is a beautiful woman; I fear that plastic surgery will likely never make her truly happy about herself.

4. My man loves my curves and has never criticized my shape. Unlike past men in my life, he only uses the word “thick” or “doughy” if he is talking about pizza. Yum.

5. My curves harken back to my hearty heredity. I am proud of my Eastern European ancestry. My grandmother cooked a fantastic peasant dish: rolled cabbage stuffed with pork, and tomatoes and rice. As a little girl, Grandma Sylvia’s curves comforted and  welcomed me while I smelled the spicy aromas that she magically created from the most simple of staples.

So, do as my curvy daughter is doing right now: stop purchasing women’s magazines with their silly diet tips and makeovers. Show some skin on the beach this summer and wear your bikini proudly.

Curves rule!