Summary

The author describes a transformative journey from struggling with body dysmorphia at age 21 to embracing self-love and body acceptance at age 29.

Abstract

The author shares a personal narrative detailing the evolution of their relationship with their body. At 21, they were consumed by body dysmorphia, obsessively counting calories, and exercising excessively, driven by a desire to change their body. They experienced intense self-criticism and a distorted perception of their self-worth, which was inextricably linked to their body image. Over time, the author has learned to love their body, appreciating every aspect of it, and has shifted their focus from changing their body to nurturing it. Now at 29, the author has a healthier relationship with food, exercise, and self-care, and while they still have occasional struggles, they are far kinder to themselves and no longer define their worth by the scale.

Opinions

The author once believed that losing weight would lead to self-love, indicating a societal pressure to conform to certain body standards.
They acknowledge that self-love is a non-linear journey, with some days being more challenging than others.
The author expresses regret for past behaviors towards their body but takes pride in their progress.
They emphasize the importance of eating what one enjoys and not restricting food as a form of punishment or control.
The author's perspective on weight loss has shifted from seeing it as an achievement to being a potential indicator of poor health or emotional distress.
They have come to realize that exercise should be a form of self-care, not a tool for body modification.
The author now views their body's changes with compassion and curiosity rather than criticism.
They have a more relaxed approach to the scale, signifying a reduced dependence on external validation for their body image.
The author's journey suggests that true self-acceptance comes from within and is not contingent on others' opinions or societal ideals.

How I Love My Body, Then and Now

A lot has changed from 21 to 29.

I used to struggle heavily with body dysmorphia. I hated my body and was constantly on a mission to change it. People would talk about self-love and body acceptance and I would think, once I lose five pounds, then I’ll love my body. My body image issues were too deeply rooted for me to see how problematic that was.

Learning to love my body did not happen overnight, and there are some days where I still struggle. If I’m having a bad mental health day, the way I view my body is often one of the first things to take a hit. I’m not always kind to myself, but most days I’m way kinder than I used to be. Most days I genuinely love my body, because it's mine. Every little blemish or perceived flaw is a part of who I am, and I’m done trying to change them.

Loving your body is definitely not always easy, but it’s absolutely a journey worth embarking on.

Since I’ve come so far, I often find myself looking back to the days when my body dysmorphia was at its worst. When I go to buy myself an iced tea, I see the zero-calorie option and remember when that was my go-to. I never bought the regular version of anything. Now, I immediately reach for the regular option. Eating what I want is my go-to.

Over the past eight years, things have changed so much for me. I’ve moved to different cities and had different jobs and met different people, and the way I treat myself now is different too. When I look back, I’m sad about the way I used to act towards myself and my body, but I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I make a point of looking back as often as I can, to remind myself that no matter what, I’m never going back.

21-years-old and I log into my calorie counting app after I eat some ice cream, after I eat a salad, after I eat anything. I get drunk and eat whatever I want and then cry in the morning. All I think about is food and all I do is count calories. I’ve always loved food, but somewhere along the way it turned into something ugly, something obtrusive. I think about it all day long because I’m constantly strategizing around what I eat and when I eat it. I have no idea what it feels like to eat what I want because I’m hungry for it. That feeling got lost somewhere and I don’t know how to find it again.

29-years-old and I’m pissed when I forget to buy ice cream on my grocery run. Sometimes I walk to Ralph’s just to buy ice cream, especially on days when I don’t think I should be eating ice cream. Those are the days I tell myself to shut up and go buy the damn ice cream. Those are the days when buying ice cream is most important. I don’t have it every day, but I have it whenever I want it. That’s still kind of wild to me.

21-years-old and the scale tells me I’ve lost weight, and I pat myself on the back for a job well done.

29-years-old and the scale tells me I’ve lost weight and I’m concerned. I wasn’t trying to lose weight. Am I not eating enough? I make a mental note to keep an eye on myself. I just want to be healthy, whatever that means for me.

21-years-old and I step onto the scale as soon as I get back from the bar and immediately start to cry. I set an alarm for myself with the weight that’s looking back at me, the weight I detest, and when it goes off in the morning as a reminder, I cry again. I’m rarely kind to myself in any aspect of my life. I dislike my body, and I also think I kind of dislike myself, too. It’s a cycle.

29-years-old and I step onto the scale absentmindedly. Sometimes once or twice a day, sometimes once or twice a week, sometimes less. Some day I’ll be brave enough to get rid of it altogether. For now, I am gentle with myself. It’s ok.

21-years-old and I go to the gym seven times a week. I walk multiple times a day. I weigh myself after every exertion. I’m a person who loves exercise, but not like this.

29-years-old and I love working out. I hike. I go to the gym. I do yoga. I walk all over the city I love. Some days I only take one short walk to ease my ailments and nothing else. I love exercise, but I’m not consumed by it; I’m liberated by it. It’s self-care. I do it because I love my body, not because I’m trying to change my body. There’s such a huge difference, and I’m so glad I finally realized that.

21-years-old and I lose weight because I’m sick or depressed and I see it as the silver lining.

29-years-old and I lose weight because I’m sick or depressed and I see it as a sign that things need to change.

21-years-old and I look in the mirror and hate who I see looking back at me. I criticize every curvy bit. I wish my tummy was flatter. I wish my boobs were smaller. I wish my face was thinner. I wish I was better. I avoid mirrors whenever I can. Nothing good ever comes from looking in them. People tell me I’m pretty and that they envy my body, and I try so hard to see it, but I just can’t. I wish I could.

29-years-old and I don’t avoid mirrors anymore. I look in the mirror and practice self-love whenever I can. Some days, I adore my reflection. Other days, it takes a little more work. Every day, I’m so grateful for how far I’ve come.

21-years-old and I weigh myself every day, so many times a day.

29-years-old and my scale breaks. I forget to replace it for a while. I still replace it, but hey, baby steps.

21-years-old and people tell me I look like I’ve lost weight, and I’ve never been happier. I beam and beam, yet still struggle to see what they see. Maybe just one more pound, I think. Then I’ll see it.

29-years-old and people tell me I look like I’ve lost weight and I shrug. I think maybe I’ve gained weight? Maybe not? I’m not sure. It doesn’t really matter. I’m good with where I’m at. Sometimes I get a twinge of the pride I used to feel, and I break out the ice cream again. Not today, body dysmorphia. I refuse to fall back into that again.

21-years-old and I’m not perfect, and I hate myself for it.

29-years-old and I’m not perfect, and I’m grateful every day.