me and this body

I think I was like - the last of my friend group to figure out about being self conscious about my body.

Every thirteen year old it seems has this moment of like “oh my god, I’m supposed to hate being chubby?” Well imagine me, a baby-faced ninth grader, finding out I’m supposed to be kinda hot now instead of cute. There were so many feelings that came with that. Because I had friends with long hair and straight teeth, and my braces were still months away from coming off, and because I wasn’t ready to give up heaping servings of spaghetti.

I could not, at the time, come to terms with the fact that I was supposed to desire skinniness. In fact, I never even thought I was ‘big’ in the first place. 

Then that pivotal moment happened. I think I was 14. We were getting ready for a party and trading clothes, how girls do, and someone quietly noted how they could never fit into my clothes because they were ‘way too big.’

Ugh. My heart still breaks for the me who heard that.

I never thought I was the smallest girl in the group but I always felt like I fit in, ya know? So that hurt me, I guess you could say, because it confirmed everything I’d been denying about my body since like, the beginning of time.

That continued to happen, it still does even now. Where people point things out about you that you never even noticed before and now it’s this stain on the body looking back in the mirror.

Something shifted that day. I started noticing things like diet tricks, and other girls talking about calories and things I never understood until that day. I looked at my sandwich and thought about how bad it would be if I ate it all, even though I was hungry. I forgot that as a growing teenager, my clothes would eventually not fit anymore and I’d have to get new ones, I always thought it was something I was doing. I felt guilty every time I ate something that wasn’t green.

Nothing changed about me for years after that happened. I hated that I worried about my body but I couldn’t stop. It was this obsessive need to pick everything apart even though I knew it wasn’t that bad, and I wasn’t even doing anything to cope. Not taking steps to change what I was eating, not going to the gym, not talking about it at all with anyone. In fact, the only ways I learned how to cope came with adulthood.

1. The teacher sent from Heaven

Sally. She was this warm little light on the third floor of the library who taught a well-being course. Looking to fill extra credits, I sat in thinking it was going to be another four-month rant about being open with your mental health…

It wasn’t. Turns out it was mostly about nutrition. Something Sally said stuck with me since that first day.

“You will never have a healthy lifestyle if you don’t have a good relationship with food.”

That’s it that’s all.

She talked a lot about forgiveness, and patience and trust in your body, that it was going to do all the right things to process your food, turn it into all these amazing things your body needs, and how being mindful about self-talk is a major contributor to creating that good relationship. She reminded us that if you want to have two pieces of cake on your birthday, to just trust that your body will adapt and also that you’re not going to be morbidly obese by tomorrow.

I’m not trying to get all life-coachy on you but that’s the first thing I held onto. 

One time I saw a full grown adult take a bite of chocolate out of their mouth because they remembered they were on a diet. I felt for them a lot and I choked up for second because I just wanted them to enjoy it instead of be scared of it. I wanted that for myself.

What Sally taught me, and all of the other first years in my class, was that food is not this big and scary thing that makes you a monster when consumed. You are in charge.

2. Girl crush on the city bus

My stupid car wouldn’t start on the coldest day of the school year. And my roomate was already gone. So there I was, miserable on the city bus, strapped in a puffer coat and wet winter boots, loaded down with a backpack full of textbooks and water bottle, feeling heavy and wide, and being breathed on by the old man behind me. 

The last thing I wanted was to find a reason to be happy.

Then I noticed a girl standing across from me. I can’t remember what she was wearing I just know it was cropped, and she had her hand above her head holding on. I looked at her, almost like I was seeing myself in a mirror, and examined what was different about her and me and what was the same. She had beautiful dark skin, she was taller than me, and she was obviously cool enough to rock a crop top in the dead of winter so I was awestruck to say the least. But what I really noticed was her chin.

Cue the audience “?????”

Yes, her chin. Sort of like mine, not this chiseled jawline that could cut diamonds. It was sort of chubby and round. Exactly like mine. I wondered first whether or not she was self conscious about it the way I was. And I realized next that that was the last thing I had really noticed about her. And it didn’t look bad at all. I still thought she was this stunning girl standing across from me on the bus.

I went home that night and looked long and hard at myself while the shower water got hot. I tried not to look at my face, just my body, and asked myself if I was just another girl on the bus would I think she was fat?

Would I think her chin was the reason she’s going to be alone forever?

Would I think she was gross, or disgusting, or any of these words I thought about my own self?

No. Not even for a millisecond.

Because who I saw standing in front of me was this normal person. Who a lot of people love and care about, who I needed to learn to love and care about, and decided she was worthy of it all right there.

3. Eat, Pray, Love

Now. I held off on watching Eat, Pray, Love, as long as I possibly could because I knew it would ignite something inside of me. (It did.)

I was at home, doing laundry, and decided to throw it on so I could really push the limits of my mental health. 

There’s a scene set in Italy where her and her new friend get authentic Italian pizzas. They sit down, ready to enjoy this major milestone of a true Italian getaway, and the friend pushes her plate back before taking a bite, claiming she can’t eat it because all of the rich food she’s had on her trip is making her jeans too tight and she doesn’t want to be fat.

Main character takes a big bite and says something to the effect of: “have you ever gone home with a guy, you’re standing there naked, and he looks at the width of your hips and says ‘ew get out of my bed!’?”

Friend says “no.”

Main character says something like “then eat the pizza, really enjoy it, and we will go and try on new pants together tomorrow.”

Two newsflashes here: 1.) being fat is not a bad thing nor the worst thing that could ever happen to a person and 2.) clothes are supposed to fit on you, you are not supposed to fit in clothes.

And at the end of the day, nobody cares if you ate the pizza and you shouldn’t either. That extra weight is your life. It’s there to remind you that you’ve enjoyed things, you’ve experienced yummy food, you’ve relaxed, it’s there because you’re a human being.

These are three moments I come back to when I start to spiral out of control a little bit. I remember that I was born simply to exist and enjoy, and my body does not affect my ability to exist and enjoy. 

That’s another thing. To have the body I have, that functions fully, with all these working parts, is something to be grateful for in and of itself.

My body has helped and healed me from broken bones, cuts and bruises, surgeries, heartbreaks, hair loss, growing pains, anxiety, and has been with me while I enjoy all the other amazing parts of my life like dancing and pizza. My body has hugged a million people, exercised hard, learned to play piano, listened to stories from everyone I’ve met, so many things more than just existed to be ridiculed by me.

I hate that I took that happiness away from myself when I was just a little kid. I hate that I still forget that I shouldn’t care. I hate that there’s always going to be things I wish I could change about myself.

I wish I could tell you guys now that I’m this righteous, body-positive, feminist icon, but I’m not. There are days when all I want to do is throw out my wardrobe and restart because I swear none of it fits anymore. All I can tell you now is that it’s so much easier not to wake up and pick myself apart these days. It’s much easier to just eat the pasta and trust that my body is going to work it out. It’s much easier to let the pressure of being skinny fall away next to my desire to be healthy for my future.

It’s not easy, but it’s easier.

And I promise I’m not just saying this, there is not a single person I’ve ever met in my life who I would talk about the way I’ve talked about my body in the past. Not even one. So why would you do it to yourself?