I Was Labeled ‘Too Skinny’ When My Body Was Its Strongest

Why we should stop arguing whose body-shaming trauma is worse

It’s been exactly a year, and I feel ready.

I’m ready to confront my body shaming ghost. To say the things I should have said back then. And to free myself of the painful memory.

It all started when I first learned I had Lyme disease, last summer.

Anyone can catch Lyme disease from a simple tick-bite, or when an infected mosquito feeds on your blood. At first, it just looks like an allergic reaction to the bite, but in reality, you have Lyme bacteria parasiting on your body from the inside, poisoning your blood, and feeding on your bones (literally!).

If left untreated, it quickly develops and causes aching bones and joints, lack of energy, unexplained fatigue. Sometimes your whole body feels like it’s about to shatter into a pathetic pile of broken bones.

I remember canceling on friends a lot, as I was often exhausted by early afternoon. Or I’d wake up with intense pain at the back of my neck, thinking I needed a new pillow. I was 34, but felt like running on 70.

My body was fighting this battle exceptionally well.

As soon as the doctors detected the Lyme in my bloodstream, they run a complete bloodwork for me for free. (Let’s just say I was grateful to the NHS long before this pandemic).

The results were amazing. Everything was just as it should be, and my body was showing a significant boost in white blood cells, as it has already started attacking this parasite.

I was put on a long course of antibiotics and started supporting my body in the fight, in any way I could.

I didn’t care about the weight loss. I was simply just grateful for all the help.

That’s where the story should have ended.

But it didn’t.

Fast forward a couple of weeks and I felt better and started to proceed with most of my plans.

However, I was met with a lot of backlash. Not in terms of my progress, and neither did an army of further ticks come to munch on my blood in my sleep. This backlash came from people.

Comments about my appearance started piling up. I waved the first few ones off. But soon, they started to ring in my ears. After all, every slap leaves a mark.

‘You’re so thin’, said my grandad upon seeing me for the first time in months, using a tone that would suggest I just lost an arm.

‘You need to do something, it just doesn’t look healthy’, said a friend, after my attempt to explain I was actually doing great, given the circumstances.

‘You better eat a whole pig, before you disappear into thin air!’ said a real-life troll (who only just met me the day before), convinced of his own hilariousness.

And hilarious it all became indeed.

I started covering up my bony shoulders regardless of the sweltering summer heat. I expected people to judge my shape before they even opened their mouths.

I realized comments like these hurt so much more, when you actually are ill.

‘Yep, there is something wrong with me’ I thought every time, ‘thanks for the reminder.’

I saw a different person in the mirror. Doubtful, insecure, wanting someone to say I looked good, and at the same time afraid of hearing it. Was I no longer worthy of being seen for who I was regardless of my shape?

And the irony was, all that time I was making far healthier choices than most of the people criticizing me.

I avoided processed foods and sugar like the plague. I moved my body as much as I could considering, and I wouldn’t go anywhere near a glass of booze. I went completely sober as soon as I knew about the Lyme; it was clear that poisoning my body any further was out of the question.

Furthermore, remember how my bloodwork came out all impressive?

Well, none of it seemed to be good enough.

‘You’re painfully thin’, said a relative, stuffing his face with a pasta-bake dripping with pig fat.

‘Eating only healthy food is unhealthy’, said a chain-smoking friend.

‘Skin-and-bone alert’, said a prick at the poolside, while spilling beer on his gut because he couldn’t stand up straight.

At this point, I had questions.

Regardless of whether people did or didn’t know about my disease, what exactly did they expect me to do with their remarks?

It’s not like I could just run to the nearest corner shop and buy 5 kilos of fat to inject under my skin.

Secondly, since when was blatant body-shaming even on the menu?

And most importantly, why did I even care about their subjective beauty standards and shallow perceptions? Shouldn’t have I known better than that?

I overreacted a couple of times, and I wasn’t proud of it. I allowed myself to swallow the poison someone else’s words released into the air. I let the pain in my heart turn into anger.

But these reactions forced me to stop and realize this experience was something I needed to learn from, otherwise, it was going to suffocate me. I needed to get my firm ground back.

I knew I wanted to do all I could to stay loyal to my body.

Deep inside I knew the truth — I knew how incredibly hard every single cell was working, and how strong my body really was.

In fact, it was stronger than ever. Because despite fighting the parasite and dealing with antibiotic side-effects, I felt better.

I knew that doubtful, secretly insecure person wasn’t me. At all.

So I did things to show myself I could overcome all this unfair judgment.

Despite everything, I stripped down and jumped in a deliciously refreshing freshwater lake in front of the very people commenting on me.

I made a point of having an amazing time without alcohol. (Because yes, you bet, of course, I got comments on being sober too.)

Every day before bed I wrote down everything my body was doing that I was grateful for. I noted down all the reasons why I felt incredible in my skin.

This intentional appreciation created the mindset shift I so desperately needed.

Finally, I had clarity.

When it comes to insensitive comments about bodies, I realized strong reactions are justified. Sometimes, they’re even beneficial (I believe my anger gave that person a much-needed lesson).

Bodies need to be empowered by strong minds. They need our mind’s support to fully heal.

Shallow criticism can hurt even when deep inside you know it’s bullshit.

In the insecure world of poor body image and fragile self-esteem, there’s no such thing as a harmless comment. Even if the person seems to be ok on the outside.

Poor body image is created by external triggers. Most of us aren’t born hating our bodies. Society makes that happen for us. There’s always someone lurking around the corner, eager to feast on our insecurities.

I remembered that before all the comments I didn’t even take notice of my weight loss — I was just grateful for knowing what’s causing me trouble. I was happy I could hope the medicine would help, however nasty.

And it was clear that sometimes, no matter how much you try reasoning with people, they’ll still end up playing the same old record.

All body-shaming is traumatic.

No matter the shape. Nobody is ‘too’ this or ‘not enough’ that. That’s just your perception, and it’s subjective.

Commenting on someone’s frame without knowing the first thing about their history, is always harmful. No matter whether you say it to their face, or behind their back.

Of course, we can be concerned about our friends or those we love. But we have to find a way to be gentle with our remarks. Chances are the person is already hurting inside, and the last thing we should do is to think they need tough love.

And amongst us who have experienced body shaming, we should just stop arguing who’s experience is worse. Nobody’s trauma is less valid, even if it happened on a smaller scale when compared.

In fact, let’s stop comparing altogether.

Let’s use the full scale of our individual experiences to help others with processing theirs. The same way we sometimes need medical help to heal the body, a lot of us could also use some insight from people who’ve been through more, to heal the mind.

Part of our own body positivity journey is helping others to find theirs.

Truly empowering others means holding space for their trauma, even if it seems smaller than yours.

As for me, the final piece of the self-care process is saying the things I should have said back then:

I don’t have to meet anyone’s beauty standards. I don’t have to tell you all about my illness, just to explain my body shape.

I don’t have to excuse the shape of my body, either.

I don’t care whether I look healthy to you or not. As long as I know I’m doing all I can to get there.

As long as I remind myself, every single night and day:

My body is strong.

It fights for me, and keeps me alive. It’s the best body I could’ve ever wished for.

And trolls don’t get to have any say in that. Whatsoever.