I wake to a sharp brightness pressing behind my eyes, reaching for the light switch—until I realize it’s just sunlight slicing through the blinds at six in the morning. I roll around in bed, sighing to myself because I know what this means.
Summer is finally here.
Every day, the Sun sets later. My palms turn sweaty and sticky if I walk in the heat for more than 10 minutes. I wipe them across my denim jeans, cursing at the dizziness in my head. I add Gatorade to my grocery list for the week reluctantly knowing that my thirst for all things cool and sweet is inevitable.
For most people, summer represents a pleasant time of their lives. There are so many out there excited for those long days, those damp hands, and icy treats. Growing up, I was like that too. At some point in my life, however, summer became synonymous with restlessness instead.
It meant waxing off body hair more regularly and running a blade across it every second day. It meant slathering myself with sunscreen because, as a brown girl, I was scared of becoming tan. It meant short shorts, tank tops, and time by the pool in bathing suits that go progressively smaller. It meant comparing myself to girls online because everyone chased after their dream ‘summer body.’
Summer transformed from careless days spent in the sun to careful steps taken every day to preserve my appearance. My mind became a cesspool of negative thoughts every time I looked in the mirror. My stomach was not flat, my thighs were muscular from working out but thick, and my arms still had a bit of flab when I moved them. I began shifting my wardrobe to oversized tees over shorts, dresses that flared at the waist, and didn’t hug my body – any effort to beat the heat in ways that made me look somewhat presentable.
I guess the question for readers now, is why not just workout? Or eat healthy?
Things get a little complicated there. I have a condition where any kind of inflammation aka heat tires me out, causing me to be in pain and constantly tired during the summer. Workouts are futile, as I go down in weight classes and pass out the moment I’m back. Living with a chronic illness is horrible as is, during the summer, it feels like hell on Earth.
My friends are always telling me I dress cute, unaware of all the decisions that have gone into picking outfits to hide my body, the deliberate choices made, and the time I spend comparing myself to my winter body.
It is so easy to fall into self pity during this time. But I try everyday to see it as a personal challenge to overcome. With this struggle, comes growth at the end. I learn to appreciate the cooler days more. I become creative with my sense of style to feel comfortable in my body. I experiment with different forms of exercise that aren’t solely weight lifting. My chronic illness is something to live with not fight, and so is my body, mine to keep, mine to take care of even on those insecure days.
If you find yourself struggling with body dysmorphia during the summer, I hope you know that you aren’t alone. Do what you need to in order to feel comfortable with yourself, but also know that there is strength in showing up just as you are as scary as that might be. I remember someone telling me when I expressed these concerns that, “No one has the time to stare at your body.” Definitely not as long as I do every time I pass a mirror. That lesson is something that I try to remind myself, writing it out on my journal, pushing it the front of my mind when I reach for loose pants and a loose shirt.
The Earth goes through it’s own seasons, why shouldn’t I too?