My Body Tells Me No

For most of my life, I’ve 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 the way I look. As a young girl, I would stare in the mirror and pinch the fat on my belly and groan in disgust. I would look at my dark brown eyes and wish for lighter ones. I would do sit-ups on the floor before bed so I could 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗻𝘆. I would try to make my lips look smaller. I straightened my hair every day. I did what ever I could to remind myself that I was not beautiful. I needed to 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 myself beautiful.

The biggest issue here is that I 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱. I still pinch the fat on my stomach. I balk at the dark spots on my face. I despise the heavy bags under my eyes. I want to cover myself so no one knows just how terrible I look.

It’s 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹. Even at my lowest weight, I still hated the way I look. Looking back at pictures from that time, I cringe seeing my collar bones being visible all the time. I cringe knowing I 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 thought I was 𝗳𝗮𝘁.

Talk about unresolved trauma. 🙄 I 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 to love my body for everything it’s been through. I 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 to love my body even when it fails me. I 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 these things so badly, but I can’t escape the thoughts of 12-year-old me, standing in front of a mirror, hating what she sees. That 12-year-old girl is still inside of me. Maybe one day, she’ll go away, and I’ll love me for me.