I’ve struggled with myself for as long as I can remember. The mirror has been a drug that only hurts me and sends me into a repetitive downward spiral. It’s so much more difficult than people imagine to be proud of how you appear.
I’m more often ashamed than confident of the skin I’m in.
Yes, I understand that society has progressed and the curvy culture is now embraced by many.
But the oppression my mind still confronts me with has done more harm than good.
Everyone around me can tell me I’m worthy or that I’m beautiful, but unless I’m a size 2 again, the words are meaningless.
I’ve starved myself before. Calorie counting has become second nature. When it’s so ingrained in you, it becomes a habit to estimate how many calories you’ve eaten — and how many you need to expel to make up for the mistake you’ve ingested earlier.
Food has been the enemy for so long, and it’s difficult to explain to people. Quite honestly, I’m embarrassed.
I’m not your stereotypical girl struggling with an eating disorder, I’m a real girl struggling with one.
It’s taken so long for me to come to terms with the reality that I am not comfortable in my own skin, no matter how much I try to tell myself I am.
I jiggle. I have stretch marks. I have rolls. I get upset after eating. I make myself to get rid of food. I have never once felt good after sitting down for a meal.
I am constantly flooded with thoughts regarding my self-image, and I’m tired of having to go through this alone.
Social media has only added fuel to the fire that is continually ablaze in my head. Stick thin models left and right, big butts and bigger boobs, hourglass figures — None of which are characteristic of the real women I know.
I’m aware that real women are beautiful, regardless of whether or not they fit society’s standard. Beauty is more than skin deep, yet I still grapple with believing that about myself.
Self-love has been a journey for me, one which I’ve made progress in. Yet, I still need to work on me.