If you were to ask me to pick my body out of a lineup, I don’t think I could. I know it sounds absurd, but if you were to line up similar bodies to that of my own, I genuinely don’t think I would be able to find it. And it’s not because I don’t look at or observe it enough. It’s that I’ve spent too much time doing just that. My routine visits to my reflection leave me with more questions as opposed to answers. I can’t seem to identify what is true and what is my mind playing tricks on me. My mind likes to create alternative narratives to what is fact. The narratives don’t always have to be lies, but they definitely sting. They’re cruel. They leave me uncomfortable in a vessel that’s supposed to feel like a home.
It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. It used to show up in little ways, like making the conscious choice to swear off two-piece swimsuits when my mother finally let me wear them, or my mood being completely affected when my dance classes began enforcing a strict leotard uniform. I wanted to do everything I could to hide what my body actually looked like. Looking at it made me anxious, so what would happen if others saw what I did? What would they think? What would they say?
Over time, it came to a point where it affected the way I chose to fuel and move my body. Any enjoyment that once came from active activities like hiking, playing sports, or riding my bike was gone. Exercise was now all a matter of equations and calculations. I started moving more and eating less. It merely became a method I used to shrink myself in search of comfort that always seemed out of reach. I thought there would be a point when it would be in my grasp, but the more my body changed, the more desperate I became. I was broken and clearly needed to be fixed. Nothing else mattered except my quest for this solution. I never found it and would instead be forced to thrive through the discomfort.
It took me a while to actually understand that what I was doing wasn’t okay. From many tearful arguments with my parents, awkward doctor’s appointments, and rage-filled counseling sessions, I was challenged in ways I never had been. Why was I doing such self-destructive things? Why was I convinced that an unhealthy version of myself was what beauty looked like? Why did it matter?
I had to reframe the way I thought about myself and my body. I learned to celebrate all the ways it helps me navigate life. I remember hearing an Olivia Colman quote talking about how our bodies are our instruments, vessels, and houses through life. How they look doesn’t matter as much as the experiences they allow us to have. I tried to intentionally channel that anytime I wanted to revert to unhealthy habits.
Olivia Colman wasn’t my only inspiration, though. Believe it or not, the Gym Bros of TikTok positively affected my attitude towards food and exercise. I know it sounds crazy and slightly counterproductive considering the culture of the bodybuilding world, but these guys truly did change my life. They were charismatic content creators with similar lived experiences to mine. They turned my dark, complex thoughts into comedic bits that made me feel less alone in a time when I felt isolated from the rest of the world. Inspired by their comedy, I started to playfully gaslight myself into pretending I was a gym bro too. Anytime eating felt hard, I would just say things like, “Guys, I’m literally jacked af” (in reference to my muscles) or “It’s all in the name of the bulk.” I don’t actually consider myself a gym bro by any means, but pretending like I was one of them really did help me through one of the hardest times in my life. They gave me a sense of knowledge and perspective that I did not have before. I’m the type of person who feels more empowered the more knowledge I have at my disposal. Educating myself about what nutrition looked like beyond the calorie content allowed me to recognize just how integral each aspect was. To this day, it’s still a running gag that I’m the Gym Bro of the family, and the mental strength I garnered from their physical strength allowed me to move on with my life healthfully.
Now that’s not to say that I still don’t struggle. Like I said, I live in a constant state of subtle discomfort that I don’t think will ever go away. Instead of using it as an excuse to make myself the smallest version of me, I use it as an excuse to make myself the strongest version of me. I truly do not believe I will ever be able to identify what my body actually looks like, and in all honesty, I am okay with that. In a world where beauty’s strict definition seems to cause more pain than joy, I choose to reject it. I choose to be strong. I choose to be bright. I choose to see beyond what my reflection tells me.