Today I caught myself looking in front of the mirror, disappointed with my image.
This is a feeling I am used to. It has been like this for decades. The image in the mirror disappoints me as I remember all the times my body has been subject to scrutiny — Not slim enough. Not white enough. Not tan enough. Not girly enough. Too wide back. The waist could be slimmer.
And even “Oh, we can see your boobs are starting to show up” when I was 8.
I was just a chubby kid.
And this is how my terrible relationship with my own body started.
I traded my childhood innocence for worries. Some of them concern my image and they shaped how I deal with food and photos.
I wasn't okay with anyone seeing my body. Including what they called "boobs", making me wear bras before I reached 10 years old. I didn't want to use bikinis anymore.
I forbid anyone to see me undressed, even when I was trying new clothes. And I felt betrayed by those peeks my mom made between the curtains.
I didn't feel safe from her either.
This wasn’t for a little kid to feel and think, but I did. When it comes to my body, I'm afraid I have to say I was attacked from all sides. School, family, friends, weirdos, society, doctors.
I remember clearly a time when I was showing my dad how full my belly was, outside of a little restaurant on the roadside. Then a small boy came running and he was way fatter than I was but he just pinched it and ran. My dad just laughed. Was it supposed to be fun for me too? I was six.
How was I supposed to grow up away from something imprinted on me so early? Was there another route and I just didn't find out?
I remained chubby until I was 16. Then it got worse.
It was when I used to get happy when I got sick and lost weight so people would say “Oh look at her she’s so beautiful now”. Like I wasn’t before.
I still hear this up to the current day. "Would you tell me your secret?"
I started making food therapy. Way too much. Then after having a hard time using all of those pinkish, extremely tight, weirdly girly with unicorns and glitter clothes, I decided I would only use men’s clothes.
Why can they feel comfortable but not me?
Mom wasn’t happy. But I was. And I resisted all her attempts to get me back wearing skirts, crops, and dresses – she was just going to tell me to hold my breath so I could look skinny in the pictures anyway.
I will never be skinny.
Then I found a terrible person who said I would be “beautiful if I lost some weight”. He was the first one to look at me "romantically" and we dated for two years. Sometimes I ask myself how could I have so little respect for myself.
So I started starving. But it usually comes with taking lots of food at small intervals to compensate. I couldn’t lose weight and started gaining it.
I went all the way up to 96kg (211lbs), which is a lot for someone with 1.65 (5'4).
This is still the version I see in the mirror.
I kicked my ex out of my life. Right after, got a one-night stand that wanted me to remain chubby because that’s how he liked girls. Well, I didn’t like him so we were done very fast.
But it still echoes in my mind. Why did they feel so comfy to tell me how I should be? Family, friends, dates?
Not surprisingly I developed an eating disorder. It almost made me rupture my esophagus, it wasted all my teeth and got me paranoid up to the current days. I know all the calories for everything you can think about.
I did not lose many pounds because of it, since I started having throat bleeding fast, but the few 5kg I lost in a month were enough to leave me some extra skin. And the mental damage was permanent.
I hate it.
I went all the way down to 58kg (127lb), without surgery. I “lost” half of me.
But I was happy because I started fitting clothes I never could because they didn’t have my size. Why don't they make clothes for all sizes, by the way? This is so humiliating.
Clothes shopping is still a nightmare. I can’t go shopping after I eat or I panic.
Even after I lost weight too fast, people were happy, and not worried. I lost this in 18 months, while living abroad and without professional supervision.
Did they believe I was healthy? Or did they simply not care about "how"?
“You’re so beautiful now” “How do I lose this much too?” and I'd reply “Simple, acquire an eating disorder and you’ll feel fear of eating forever”. I wanted to cause discomfort. And I did.
I was so angry because I felt like it was their fault too.
I got to the weight I wanted but didn’t have the muscles to fill up the spaces where fat was. It would take much more time. This brought me more issues.
I didn’t want to be naked anymore. I took lots of baths without looking at my own body.
I still hate mirrors. They terrify me. It's a constant reminder that I will never see what I want. Because I can't see myself anymore.
I developed body dysmorphia.
And then one day I decided to bring limits. It was time to raise a wall between people and me instead of building a wall on my eyes so I couldn’t see myself.
I have forced myself to take most clothes off and enjoy my own company. Writing, painting, whatever. I had to get used to my own body. The things I've done to it because I didn’t respect it enough cannot be written on paper or screens.
Once I learned how to eat again (4 years ago), I promised myself I would treat it right.
My body is all I have. I stopped listening to whatever people had to say about it. And got a pretty rude behavior towards them. They deserve it.
Going through plastic surgery may bring further comfort or only increase my identity crisis. It's a risk I won't take. At least for now.
I started to look at my body as a home for the babies I will have. This brought new perspectives, I now think it is easier to treat it well. But it will keep changing, with or without them, and it honestly gets me worried about how I'll feel after giving birth - Another theme for therapy.
As of now, I have just started working out without a shirt! It’s been six months. I never did this in 12 years, so I’m proud of myself. And proud of my body.
We got far. I didn’t even expect to be here writing this.
I am no longer accepting shame on my own body. It belongs to me and I will protect it. Like I always should have.
Facing me and whatever I see in the mirror is hard. Yet, I will keep doing it.
