This article is a sort of response to Emily Wirt’s Taking Ownership of Myself: Learning to Feel Beautiful.
I used to do this exercise, alone in my room, where I would stand in front of a mirror and try to find parts of my body I liked. This was a sort of self-soothing activity; I was overly aware that I did not like most of my body; I knew that my judgement of the way I looked was irrational, so I tried to find positive things. The problem is, I wasn’t convinced it was irrational. I would end up staring at my thighs and stomach and every inch of cellulite on my body instead.
I was always very conscious of my physical weight. I made sure never to lean on people fully, so that part of my weight wasn’t on the person. I hated letting people give me piggyback rides and insisted on never being picked up. If any of these things occurred, if somebody God forbid) was feeling the full brunt of my weight, I would instantly panic. I knew that they knew I weighed too much. They knew I was fat – oh my God, they knew. They knew.
Bikinis are something I forced myself into. I didn’t want to wear them, good God, but girls my age were supposed to, so I did too. But once I was out of the water, I almost always had a towel wrapped about m or an oversized t-shirt. I did not want too much of my legs and stomach showing.
Food made me feel guilty. I have a serious sweet tooth and come from a family of great cooks. But a piece of cake could make me start reeling, and I would internally scold myself because I believed I didn’t deserve the cake. An extra helping of pasta and I would lay in bed, my heart pounding, feeling my stomach expanding.
I never purged, or did any extreme dieting. I never overly restricted myself. But I sometimes wished I could, that I could just be thin and beautiful. I thought this behavior was normal and that I was just trying to be healthy. And it was normal, in that so many people feel this way. But it’s not healthy. If someone asked me if I’ve ever had an eating disorder, a year ago I would have said no. Now, I’m not so sure. My thinking and behavior patterns were not overly extreme, but did fall on the spectrum. I’m not trying to overly diagnose myself, or feel special in this. Rather, I think so many people fall on this spectrum of dangerous and destructive thinking.
I have had an incredibly unhealthy relationship with my body. I have hated myself. I have lied about my weight and felt guilty about food and cried in front of a mirror because I was too fat, too big.
Then, this summer, I had a particularly unpleasant experience with a doctor who was supposed to help me with my sleeping issues and instead called me obese. Let’s be perfectly clear; I was not, and never have been obese. Not even close. She was simply looking at my BMI, which as a measurement of health has been discredited, as it takes away from the reality of different body types. Not even my most destructive, evil thoughts about myself had ever thought that I was obese. It was so ridiculous, so stupid, that something in me snapped. Because a part of me was terrified and believed her; that part of me sobbed on and off for two days. And the other part of me, a bigger part of me, got angry. I thought about how at my fittest, at my strongest, I had only weighed about 15 pounds less. I thought about how I ate more salad and vegetables than most people I know. I thought about the amount of emotional BS I had put myself through with this and other things, and that I would not let her add to it.
And so a few days later, when my mom invited me to go to the gym with her, I said yes. Not because I wanted to lose weight. Not because I wanted to be thin. Because I wanted to prove the doctor wrong, and I wanted to feel strong.
Going to the gym was not new to me. It was something I’d done on and off all through high school. But I had always gone to get thinner, to lose weight. That never worked. I would give up, a few weeks in, because my body still looked terrible to me and I didn’t see the point. Going to the gym to release anger, and to feel strong felt so different. It was addictive, and made me feel like for once, I was in control. I owned my body, no one else.
I didn’t instantly not have body image issues- my exercise just had nothing to do with my body image. I noticed my anxiety decrease quickly, which only gave me reasons to push harder. Now, if I go more than two days without working out, I can actually feel my anxiety get worse, and make my whole body shake. I work out 5 to 6 times a week, every week. I run, which I never thought I could do, and I lift.
3 months in, and my body does look different. I am more muscular, and a little leaner. Regardless of that, I mostly feel very differently about my body. My body is not what it looks like in comparison to other girls- it is what it can do. It is running and jumping and climbing. It is cartwheels and lifting. It is feeling strong, feeling capable. My body is no longer just an object to me, meant to look good- it is its functionality. And as such, it’s incredible.
I’m not saying exercise is a cure-all. I don’t suddenly not have any body image issues. But for me, it has changed the narrative in my mind. Because now, when I look in the mirror, I see strength.
Image Credit: Feature, 1, 2, Writer’s Own