Updated: August 2, 2016
Originally Published: July 14, 2016
At the tender age of 10, I first became aware of my weight. While trying on outfits for the upcoming school year, I distinctly recall a dark blue T-shirt and plaid shorts that felt uncomfortably tight. In a moment of vulnerability, I found myself envying the slender figures of my peers, and the harsh fluorescent lights only magnified my insecurities. That day marked the beginning of a long journey filled with tears over my body image.
Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I faced relentless teasing. Even children grasp the societal message that “thinness equals beauty,” creating an internal struggle for many. My weight has been a constant battle, fluctuating between obsession and moderation. By the age of 19, I was grappling with an eating disorder; bulimia became my coping mechanism, coupled with intense workouts. I was fixated on losing weight, and ironically, the more I lost, the more my obsession deepened.
Despite reaching what was considered a healthy weight, I still didn’t feel attractive. I longed for toned arms and a flatter stomach, trapped in an anorexic mindset. It became evident that society placed a high value on my appearance; friends and family praised my looks, and even strangers treated me with more kindness. In this new reality, I wielded a kind of power that was intoxicating, particularly in social settings.
Yet, this newfound attention came with its own challenges. After shedding pounds, I faced an almost sexual assault from a friend and experienced various forms of harassment in the workplace. The unwanted attention, which once felt validating, soon became a source of anxiety.
Now, a decade and two children later, I find myself at my heaviest outside of pregnancy. I attend the gym three times a week, yet my efforts to diet have proven difficult; my metabolism simply isn’t what it used to be. I’m learning to embrace this reality, as the unwanted attention has shifted to wary glances from cashiers—a far cry from the compliments of my past.
However, there’s an unexpected comfort in anonymity. As much as I once craved attention, I now find solace in not having to navigate those social dynamics. The challenge lies in finding a balance; I aspire to be healthy without slipping back into obsession. As a mother, I must be mindful of my words and actions, knowing my daughter learns from my example. I refuse to let her hear me label myself as “fat.” Instead, I want her to recognize her worth beyond the scale, celebrating her creativity, intelligence, and strength.
My goal is to model self-acceptance and body love, flaws included. Each day presents a struggle against negative thoughts, yet I can confidently say that while I don’t always love my body, I no longer harbor hatred towards it.
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In summary, my relationship with weight has evolved from one of obsession and fear to a more nuanced understanding of self-worth. I’m committed to fostering a healthy mindset, not only for my benefit but for the sake of my daughter’s future.