Clap Your Hands If You’re Happy With The Way God Made You

A few weeks ago, I saw a news story about Tess Holliday. She was beautiful, seemed to be happy, and had just signed a modeling contract, despite being a size 22. Her genuine self-confidence shook me to my core. When the interviewer asked her about her health, she answered perfectly: “Health is a personal thing.” That was it. No explaining, no defending—nothing. It was beautiful.

That whole interview got me thinking about myself, and I realized I was disappointed in who I had become. Not too long ago, I was happy and frequently clapping my hands. But recently, I’ve noticed that I stopped clapping my hands.

I’ve wrestled with poor body image issues for as long as I can remember. My first memory of feeling self-conscious about my body was around age 6 or 7 when an aunt said, “If you keep eating that way, you’ll be as big as a house.” Then there was my first ex-father-in-law, who gave me a hard time whenever I ate and constantly mocked my nose. My second ex-husband even said, “You’d be so pretty if you just lost 20 pounds,” adding to the mountain of self-loathing I had already begun to build.

Then, I started a bakery and found joy and excitement. I was too busy to worry about my weight or my growing buttocks. I was clapping my hands every single day! After selling the bakery, I was fine for a while. Then, I began a new diet program. While it was effective—I lost a few pounds and about 20 inches—the old demons of self-criticism crept back in. I became obsessed with my appearance again, feeling a familiar sense of dread. I was not happy; I was not clapping my hands.

I was reminded of a conversation with my mom a few weeks ago. My mother is a beautiful woman who looks nothing like a typical 70-year-old. She runs circles around me and seems never to tire. When she visited, I asked if she wanted to go for a walk, and she eagerly agreed. She needed exercise clothes, so I gave her some that I had saved for “eventually fitting into.” She fit into them beautifully, and I thought she took them with her. Later that week, I found them in the dryer. I texted her, saying she looked beautiful in them and asking why she didn’t take them home. Her response: “Really? I never thought of myself as beautiful.” That comment made us both sad.

I don’t want to be sad about this anymore. I want to always be clapping my hands. I don’t want my mother to be sad either, and I want her to always be clapping her hands. I’m lucky to have a husband who loves me exactly as I am and tells me every day that I’m beautiful; I want to feel worthy of that compliment. I will be healthy and happy. I will be myself with the confidence of Tess Holliday, and I will be clapping my hands every day.

To all my friends, men or women, young or old: Be happy, be healthy, and most of all, keep clapping your hands every day.

Gina DeNicola is a former Bakery owner but still loves baking.