It has become a social norm to speak negatively about yourself, because nobody likes arrogance (thank you Mean Girls for reinforcing the ‘normalcy’ of promoting negative self talk). But what happens when you have an ‘ugly face day’ coupled with a ‘fat day’?

Then it continues on to the next day, and the next, and the next. And then, finally, somebody makes a comment about your weight. All your negative thoughts – validated, on the spot. You’re embarrassed, you feel ashamed of your weight / height / face / skin / size / what-have-you. I always described this feeling as a million needs trying to push their way out of your skin from the inside, all at once. It tingles, its numbing. Its cold. You feel flush. At least that’s how it played out for me.

My first memory of my weight being pointed out to me was when I was 7. I was in line for the pedal tractor pull, and all kids had to weigh in. Now mind you, I have always been 6+ inches than anyone my age (even to this day), and when it was my turn to weigh in, my cousin ran up, looked at the scale, and yelled out my weight. I didn’t think anything of it, until the other boys started making fun of me for weighing more than them. They were all laughing and following me around. I ran to our car and hid until they were gone. I felt ashamed for my size. I didn’t want to be seen. I purposely lost the tractor pull so we could leave early.

The next time wasn’t long after. I was at dance class, in between sessions. My mom always sent enough money for me to get a snack during break. I ran to the vending machine and got some Cheetos. As I am walking to the bleachers, one of the dance moms asks me to come over, so over I skipped. She immediately grabs the skin that is pinched between my leotard and my armpit and says “look at this chicken fat! You need to tell your mom to get you a bigger size leotard! You are too big for this one!” Then proceeded to pat me on the stomach, and told me to go sit down. I was mortified. I gave my friend the Cheetos, pretending I had enough to eat.

Instances like this continued, well, forever. I “dieted” a lot as a child. At 10 I decided maybe bulimia was the better option. At least I could still eat, and I could go puke outside. Nobody would know. This continued off and on until I was 15. Once I started working, it became much easier to simply starve. I could go days without eating. It was glorious.

When I got a fake ID I bought diet pills, which made it even easier. I never felt more beautiful!

Looking back, this is all insanely messed up, from the beginning. And up until recently, I’ve managed my food intake much better, but would still punish myself for days I “messed up” (which was me eating more than 1700 kcals). The punishment came in different forms: two-a-days at the gym, running until I wanted to pass out, running with my weighted vest on at a much faster pace than normal, fat burning yoga, etc.

It has taken lots of reflection, and intentional practice of self love, and even me thinking about what I would say to my daughter if she was feeling how I felt.

I don’t want to be smaller. Or shorter. Or Lesser. I just want to exist. I want to live in a world where my body isn’t constantly under scrutiny.

This one got a little deep, but I’m not sorry about it. Sometimes I think things need to be said in order for progress to be made. It also provides a little more backstory on why I am the way I am.

Bye for now friends, I hope you have the best day!