I was a late bloomer. However, I hit puberty right on time. In fact, my two best friends and I got our periods around the same time. I was ‘late’ because I did not have my first kiss until I was 16. After that revolutionary kiss, everything else seemed to fall into place quickly with dating and having new experiences.
Yet, something was always missing. Either they were not the right person, or I just felt extremely uncomfortable with my body. I assured myself that once I got into a loving, reciprocal and healthy relationship, the feelings of self-doubt and self-consciousness would magically vanish. I wanted to receive validation about my body from others in the hopes that it would help my mental health and cure my insecurities. However, obviously this never happened.
At the beginning my first year of university, after I just ended a summer romance, I met an extraordinary girl. We instantly became friends, and soon after, something more. It was embarrassing and awkward at first, albeit minimized; I had found someone who wholeheartedly saw me the way I wanted to see myself.
After all of the ‘firsts’ of dating someone new had come and gone, it was then time for the real work to begin. I didn’t feel the need to impress her with makeup or perfume or matching underwear. She loved me, to my genuine shock, two weeks after I asked her to be my girlfriend at the National Art Gallery with a poem of all of our inside jokes. She loved me when I made dumb jokes, she loved me when I was mean and stressed out, and she loved every curve and ripple of my body.
Personally, I hate my body. There is not one part of it that I can say I like. I am not overweight and have never experienced any negative comments about my body. I recognize my privilege in that I am white, cisgender, able-bodied and don’t present myself with any stereotypical queer markers. I am no model either; I carry my gym bag to campus every day in the hopes that between class, work, meetings and studying, I can find some time to work out. I have a rather harmful perpetuated notion that I am nothing more than ‘average.’
A single day has not passed in this year, before, during, or unfortunately after the relationship where I did look at my body with contempt. In fact, throughout the entirety of the summer, I was not in a single picture with my friends or otherwise. I refused to be photographed and now have nothing to look back on as a result. These are moments that are not captured and memories that will fade, but when an opportunity to be photographed, even spontaneous, presents itself, I literally run away.
Growing up in an outwardly feminist household, my family has consistently asked me how I can reconcile my own disdain for my body and my advocacy for women’s rights.
At one moment I would express support for body positivity and loving yourself, while at the same moment I would starve myself and almost pass out at the gym. It makes no sense to those around me, but accepting myself the way I am is something I don’t know if I will ever be able to do.
I write my journey to self-acceptance as a way to see my jumbled thoughts on paper and this time, I am not looking for validation. I write in a reflective sense, looking back onto the relationship that just ended and looking forward to how I can change for the better. My insecurities are prevalent in all aspects of my life and undoubtedly affected my relationship. On days I would not eat I would be irritable. On nights I could have spent with her I would be at the gym and I can now see the pressure I put on myself affected those around me.
These insecurities about my body are no one’s fault, except maybe ‘society’s’ insatiable need for perfected and uncomplicated women. I don’t think I will ever come to terms with myself. But I am trying.
University is a place for learning, and not just in the classroom. As students, we are at an extremely vulnerable place in our lives. We have to remember to check in with ourselves and give ourselves a break every once in a while. Crappy grade? You can do better on the next one. You’re tired? Take a nap. Ate a cookie? It is not the end of the world. These are all easier said than done; I know as well as anybody. But for me, the first of many steps to recognizing my unhealthy relationship with myself began the moment I admitted I had a problem.