Trying to be nicer to myself
I’m going to start this by saying I certainly have some body dysmorphia and have had expectations for my body since pre-pubescence that were not based on facts. So in essence, my body complex is imagined. I have never had to live as a fat person and deal with the marginalization and threat to their safety every day. I also have a lot of work to do externally for the fat shaming that I have imposed internally. This is my small perspective on the massive problem of diet culture.
I am not a fat person. And I also have been really afraid to be fat since I was 10. I can remember the first time I was called fat. I went to a small, Catholic school and the same 35 kids were in my class from first grade through 8th grade. That’s the community equivalent of incest, ok? By 5th grade, the boys had rallied together together to be assholes. They had been broken enough by society at this point to think that calling girls fat was the ultimate blow. And in that moment, it became earth splitting for me. Being told that my belly stuck further out from my boobs, when I didn’t get my period for a few more years, was burned into my brain.
I still kind of direct my feelings towards my body against one particular little asshole but that’s not quite fair. The idea that we should be smaller was pushed on all of us for as long as we’ve been alive. I’ve been on and off diets since high school. And my anxiety has instilled it as a core part of my daily concerns.I look back at pictures of myself regularly and think “you thought you were fat then. You should see yourself now.” That’s fucked.
Sitting in a yoga class on Monday night, I picked a mantra for myself that I am trying to ram so hard into my brain until it works. I am not a heady yogi. I’m more the bendy yogi that loves to stretch until I can’t remember my anxiety anymore. But my new mantra “I love me” is something I have been screaming at myself when the idea that I am disappointed in my body pops up like a poop of prairie dog in my head. Truth be told, I don’t really love me completely. I love plenty about me but I also relish in stewing in the things that I don’t love. This is where I tell you that I am currently in need of a new therapist :) Mine moved to Nigeria. I miss her.
So until I can love me, I am just lying to myself that I love me. I am not writing all of this for pity or compliments. Mostly just to air my thoughts and reinforce for you that your feelings of self hate are GARBAGE TOO. Let’s all try and get better. Therapy, self love, prioritization, really great pharmaceuticals, whatever it takes. And then be able to be better to everyone else. Because being fat isn’t a real problem. But being an asshole is.
xox,
e
