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I’ve never hated my body. Even when I wasn’t eating enough to maintain a healthy body weight, I never looked in the mirror and thought, “Ick. You enormous heifer, what’s wrong with you?” When I weighed 20 pounds less than I do today, instead of feeling hatred, it was more like I was disassociated from my body.
Disassociated is really the perfect word to describe how I felt. When I looked at myself naked in the mirror, I didn’t feel like the body reflected back at me was really mine. It was separate from who I felt like I really was, even though it was taking so much effort to maintain that weight.
Instead of feeling hate for my body when I was going through my too-skinny phase, for me it was more like I didn't want to feel like a failure. (Failing in what? Not being able to maintain my willpower? I don’t really know, but there was definitely an aspect of not-wanting-to-fail involved. I felt like if I gained any weight back once it had been lost, people would look at me and say, “See? I knew she couldn’t do it.”)
It was stupid to think that way. Nobody would have cared if I gained five or ten pounds, except for me. In fact, they probably would have applauded me for it.
The funny thing was, at the same time I was restricting my food intake, I hated the thought that other people might be going through the same thing I was. I didn't like knowing that other people were feeling hungry because they were scared of gaining weight, even though that was exactly what I was doing.
When I weighed 20 pounds less (if you’d like to see visuals, I usually reference the photos at the bottom of this post), I was hungry, morose, and always without energy. I even tried taking Paxil, an anti-depressant, for about six months – but one of the side effects of that medication was lethargy, so it just made me feel worse instead of better. The funny part? While I was taking Paxil, the rational part of my brain kept saying, “If you would just eat more, and stop obsessing so much about the numbers on the scale, you’d be okay.”
But at the time, I wasn’t ready to give up my unhealthy practices. It took years – a very gradual process – for me to get out of that mindset and back to a healthy weight. Even after I gained 15 pounds and people stopped saying how worried they were about me, and stopped asking me if I was sick, I still hadn’t completely gotten past it. I’ve made noticeable progress in the past year though, and I’ve already written about that in the post about how fitness changed my life.
So, yes, I’m better. I feel better, and I look better. I’m stronger, both physically and mentally (I even got a tattoo last month to reflect that). Instead of people telling me how skinny I look, the feedback I get now is, “You look HEALTHY.” (Those are the comments I received when I posted some photos of myself that were taken last weekend.)
But even though I’m “better,” I honestly don’t believe that someone can go through body issues for as long as I did and ever say that they’re completely cured. Don’t get me wrong – I never want to be that skinny again. I’ve moved on from that mental place. I gave away the clothes I used to be able to wear; the ones that no longer fit me due to The Gaining of a Boo-tay. (And I actually think it’s fun to say that. The reason I have a boo-tay now is because I do weighted squats, and leg presses and such. This gainage was on purpose, so I’m completely fine with it.) But those insecure feelings I used to have so often? They will always have a place inside of me, because I will always understand.
I understand what it’s like to weigh yourself every day, even long after you’ve stopped doing so. And I understand what it’s like to count calories. Even though I don’t beat myself up – as much as I used to – on those days when I eat more
