I think my body is disgusting. Not in the way of having an off day here or there; no, this is a deep-rooted hatred that comes from my core.
I am not sure of the exact day it started, or rather, I noticed it; it is more like one day I got curious of what it could be like to be someone else, and I haven’t stopped searching for my answer yet.
I made the mistake of looking at my thighs the other day. (Never do this, if you can avoid it.) Where I wished that all I could see was smooth soft skin, I was met with dozens of scars and dimples reminding me that no matter how hard I try to fight it, I am human after all. I have my moments where I can appreciate my stretch marks; sometimes I like looking in the mirror and being reminded of the beauty of the imperfections we all carry. But other times, I only see them as reminders of my own inability to control another aspect of my life. When you think your body is disgusting, there is only so much you can do to quiet your mind.
It is like each day when I have to get dressed, I am going through a war zone. I never quite know how I will feel or what is lurking just out of sight. There are days when I look in the mirror, and I feel remarkable, and then there are days when I cannot even look at myself. Those are the days that are the most difficult to get through. In a world where we are constantly surrounded by mirrors and bombarded with images of anyone and everyone who is seemingly better looking than ourselves, it can difficult to even leave the house. How can you possibly go outside when the sight of yourself is so sickening?
Through my struggles with my body image and eating disorders, I have come to understand that I cannot always trust the image I see reflected back at me in the mirror. Our minds can do a great job of showing us things in the worst possible light. But lately, I have been wondering if this is just the excuse I have been telling myself to try to cope with the fact that my body is changing.
I’m getting older. Now at the age of 26, I am sure most people would think that was a ridiculous statement to utter. But it’s true. I am not 21 anymore. I do not have the metabolism that I used to, and I have developed curves in places where all I used to see was bone.
It is so difficult to be at peace with this fact.
It’s so easy for me to accept others as they are and to see their beauty despite what the world tells them are imperfections, yet when it comes to myself, I have found that I cannot be anywhere near as kind and understanding. I will stop at nothing to make sure others feel whole and confident and beautiful, but I would give anything to be the perfect image I tell them they don’t need to aspire to.
Call it hypocritical or just plain sad, but I don’t know if I will ever be able to give my body the respect I know it deserves. It is like no matter what I do I will never be satisfied. I wasn’t happy at 100 pounds, and I am not any happier now at 120+. No one wants to wake up and put on their favorite outfit and realize it has gotten just a little too tight.
Tell me, how would you get through your day when one of your favorite things lets you down.
I have been with exactly one person who made me feel comfortable in my own skin. He was the only person who praised me for the curves I had always been conditioned to hate. It was like he knew exactly which parts of my body I hated the most, and it was those that he had the most love for.
But then he left.
And when he left, so did the confidence I had slowly started to gain in the changing body I call my home. I know you aren’t supposed to base your happiness with yourself on the opinions of others, but having someone you genuinely care about love you for exactly the way you are is absolutely everything. I hope one day I can find this again.
And I hope you do, too.
I think my body is disgusting, but I will never stop trying to love it.