Your Body is a Temple Part 3
- Mattie Jo Cowsert
- Feb 5
- 5 min read
As I implemented this practice of sitting and breathing, just like with realizing how often I was mean to myself, I saw how often I felt this skin-crawling feeling. And how, instead of sitting with it and letting my body send me a clear signal when it came up, I’d spent my entire life avoiding it. I wouldn’t deal with the root of this skin-crawling feeling, I’d avoid it and layer a new problem—disordered eating—on top of it.
These moments of sitting and breathing were the first time in my life I felt connected to myself. The first time I felt what it was like to hear, feel, undeniably sense a message from my body and actually listen.
Had church gotten this wrong too? My body was not to be feared, she is to be trusted.
Over time, I observed that my bigness became an issue for others. So I became insecure about all of my “out there” qualities.
In those moments of skin crawling feels — that I learned is called “anxiety” — the following messages would populate in my deeply lacking-self-belief heart:
You will never succeed as an actress. Why did you even move here?
You’ll always just be a poor girl from Missouri, no matter where you live.
No man will ever love you now that you aren’t a Godly woman. No one wants to date a slut.
All your friends got husbands because they are good. They are lovable. Not you, Mattie Jo. You chose sin. You chose your flesh. You will never find love.
God is so disappointed in you. He gave you all these blessings and you are turning away from Him.
You are a terrible singer and suck at auditioning. No matter how many auditions you go to to prove you’re a determined hard worker, it won’t matter. You are not talented enough to do this.
You are too much. No one likes a “too much” woman. Give it a rest already.
You are bad, so you will never have anything good.
Well, fuck.
Jill was right. It was not about the weight. It was never about the weight.
I thought about when my deeply lacking self-belief thoughts first began. It was around 8th grade, when I started to really “shine” I suppose. I did well in sports, I was in the gifted program at school, I had a lot of friends, and A LOT of personality. Some of my teachers loved me, some of them absolutely hated me.
I was either getting nominated for student of the month or getting "written up." I was what some may call “polarizing.”
As my personality grew, so too did my body. I became suddenly very aware of how . . . present . . . I was when walking into a room. Whether it was a classroom or the multi-purpose gym/rock-climbing facility/sanctuary at my church. I was a PRESENCE.
The thing was, I loved being that presence. That’s why I became an actor! All actors feed off giving an A-plus performance — in life, onstage, on camera — it’s part of how I was designed.
But over time, I observed that my bigness became an issue for others. So I became insecure about all of my “out there” qualities. I feared I was “out there-ing” myself as “too much” on the regular, which made me an easy target for teasing and getting in trouble.
I decided then, if I had moved to New York for refuge, refuge I would have.
As my body grew, my mom’s comments on how I was developing to look “just like her” felt constant. My mother was always on some crash diet. Always talking about how fat she was. How men like women with small legs and tiny tummies and her boobs are so gross and if I’d married rich I could get a boob job. I’m going to eat popcorn for dinner now.
I don’t know why it mattered to her so much what “men” liked. She had my dad. And weren’t they, like, super horny for each other? It was confusing, but I absorbed these messages nonetheless.
My body was like hers, so it must be unattractive. And I must do everything in my power to make it more attractive to men, regardless of how I felt about my shape. Attractive to men meant smaller. Smaller thighs. Smaller butt. Flatter tummy. Stay. Small.
It was never about the weight. It was always about me not loving me. It was about me feeling like too much and not enough all at the same time.
It was about me feeling at war with the truest me constantly, never celebrating or uplifting any part of myself. This self-hate drove me to self-harm. My internal war was wreaking havoc on my body.
It was about hearing, from respected women and men leaders in my life, that my body was not for me. I didn’t get to call the shots on what made her desirable, attractive, or comfortable to just be in. Someone else had that power, and I accepted that as absolute truth.
I reflected on why exactly I’d made the move to New York.
It was because, four years prior upon my first visit, I finally felt free to expand. To grow. The glass ceiling didn’t exist here. And also no one was paying attention, so I would get to do this whole expanding and growing thing without being the center of everyone’s gossip. New York City was supposed to be my refuge.
I decided then, if I had moved to New York for refuge, refuge I would have.
I didn’t know exactly how to untangle myself from all the messages that had landed me doing breathing exercises on my twin size bed in the maid’s quarters of a penthouse, coming to terms with how much I hated myself since basically right after I stopped watching Mary-Kate and Ashley movies, but I was determined to, at the very least, take a step towards self-love.
Learning to love, and eventually, trust all of me was a long journey. But after those personal training sessions with Jill, I had at least stepped on a path towards knowing the fullest embodiment of treating my body like a temple.
I didn’t want to abuse her anymore, I wanted to be on her side. When she was ready to tell me something with things like anxiety and fear, I didn’t run to the cupboard, I sat still and let her speak.
My body was not just a temple. She was my temple.
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