I have always had a contentious relationship with my body. When I first started actually seeing my body in 8th grade; it was an understanding that this was a body to be shaped and morphed. I started feeling ashamed, fat, and overweight. I hated my stomach. When I would go swimming, I tried hard to cover my stomach because of the red lines that appeared because of the rolls on my stomach that created them. On the days we would go to the pool, I would work on standing straight all day in order to not make the red lines any more pronounced. I hate being anywhere with my shirt off. I hated my hair, my teeth. I had no love or appreciation for my body, and unfortunately, a lot of that still lingers today.
I still wake up, look at my naked body in the mirror and see every flaw. Too much belly fat, too much pec fact, not enough muscle despite being in the gym all the time. Hairline is receding. Too much hair on the shoulders. Weird hips. Stretch marks around the side.
I itemize every little thing about my body as I create a mental catalog of everything that could be possibly wrong about my body in my willing hope to change my body while simultaneously doing absolutely nothing to change my body for the better.
At least that is how it feels.
And that is usually on a good day.
On my worst days, that voice creeps in and says the quiet parts out loud.
“YOU’RE FAT.”
“YOU’RE GROSS.”
“YOU HAVE A HUGE STOMACH.”
It makes living each day extremely hard. I must carry this body around. I know I can’t hate my body into change, but I do wish I could.
Another contentious relationship that I have is with food. There is safety in food. Safety in sugary and salty food. Safety in making my own choices.
Simply eating anything throughout the day can pose many challenges and causes of anxiety.
“It’s just food, Gideon.”
I wish it was so simple, but in my mind, food is the goal. I base a lot of my life around food, I can’t say no to food.
Recently in the break room at my work, there were free snacks to take. I felt an impulsivity take over as I grabbed several bags of chips, some oreos, and other items that my body felt I had been starving it from for too long.
The embarrassment set in, and afterwards, the embarrassment turned into shame. The cycle and contentious relationship continues.
Saying no to food is not possible for me.
My body fights this. It knows food is safety. If I deny myself safety, I place myself in a position of vulnerability.
I am not allowed to be vulnerable. I must protect myself. I must protect myself with food.
Food feeds my body. Extra food is stored in my body. The extra storage must go into places in my body where I wish extra storage to not exist.
It has been like this for years, and years, and years.
I imagine it will continue like this for a while.
I hope the cycle will break eventually.
One day, I hope for the freedom that I will love my body for the beautiful space it occupies. I long for the ability to see food without guilt or shame, or any label other than sustenance.
I hope for the loving relationship that my body deserves from me. I will get there, eventually.