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I tend to be a perfectionist, like I'm sure some of you reading this. This can be both a good thing and a bad thing - it's a motivator and a driver, but also a destroyer and a stressor. I have been wanting to write this post for two years now, but I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to be fully healed, to share some magical insight I had gained, something that emanated the peace I found - so much that the reader found it too. This, however, is not the story of a girl who found peace. This is the story of a girl who found love and a girl who is a work in progress. This is not the story as told at the top of the mountain, this is the story as told by the girl sweaty, bloody, and covered in dirt on the journey of climbing to the top.
We all have our reasons for doing things, our ways we define ourselves. I, having the annoying characteristic of 'people pleaser', tended to define myself by others' views and ideas of who I am. Relationships, of any sort, shape who we are as humans - they provide us with the ability to learn and discover the depths of our soul. In the past, I had always thought of a failed relationship a direct reflection of my character. Whether I was the one breaking up or the one being broken up with (each had their time of day) all were incredibly draining on my own self perception of worth. When you define yourself by your ability to please someone else, you will never feel fully stable. You will always be striving to be better/different/morphed into this idea-of-a-human that you convince yourself will be great. For me, that form took on a literal weight.
Here I am, 5' 8" and 95lbs, wondering, "am I enough?"
I couldn't sleep on my side, because my legs hitting each other was too painful. I could no longer snowboard (though, let's be honest, I was never good at it anyway) because I didn't have the energy (calories) to walk up the hill. I hadn't eaten sweets or any form of junk food in over a year, exercised consistently (though to be honest, not excessively), and my lips frequented a state of purple because of the extreme cold I felt. To this day, a shiver of cold weather brings back strikingly ingrained memories of being so cold that my bones ached. A kind of cold that is inexplicable, one I never would have been able to fathom possible.
5'8" 110lbs wondering, "am I too much?"
Skip a couple years, cooking dinner around a campfire with friends, having only an apple because I had eaten "too much" that day. Tried to make it up by hiking miles upon miles, and when everyone else went to nap for the afternoon after that long morning of hiking, I walked around the campsite, fueled by the desire to burn more calories, to get back to the idealized thin girl who though shivered at all times of the day, was able to seemingly blissfully not care about the opinions of others, as she knew she had done everything she could to make herself smaller.
5'8" 119lbs wondering, "am I too much, to the point where I'm not enough?"
The blurriest of photos, but where I spent a significant amount of time in my later years of college - in the basement, alone, walking tens of miles to try to make up for the "too much" while simultaneously running from the "not enough". Blaming myself for breakups, thinking that if I had been/was thinner, I would be light enough to carry - light enough to not be a burden - light enough to stay out of the way - light enough to disappear. I would have a day of overeating (which, in retrospect, was probably not the kind of overeating that most people think of, but enough to make me feel horrible nonetheless) and then spend the following day having one glass of 5 calorie juice while walking 10 miles to burn off the shame I felt. This cycle got worse and worse, happening weekly. It was getting harder and harder to love myself when all I felt was an immense amount of shame for who I was and how I couldn't seem to control my own actions.
5'8" 145lbs wondering, "will I ever be happy?"
This photo was taken after having one of the most difficult summers. I had been desperately trying to lose weight because I knew the very people that I had self-proclaimed were my definers, those of whom I wanted to be light enough to be worthy, were soon to see what a mess I had made of my chaotic eating habits. In a desperate attempt to have the ultimate weight loss, I ended up developing rnhabdomylosis and preventing myself from working out for most of the summer, resulting in a forced mask of self acceptance and a few "you should work out more" seemingly useful but ultimately painful comments. Stomachaches upon stomachaches had forced their way into this body, so much so, that a night without a stomach ache felt abnormal. By this point, many psychologist were seen, many conversations held, all leading up to: "well, don't eat so much. Well, do things in moderation. Well, take care of yourself." Such simple, realistic goals, and yet such a seemingly unattainable reality.
And then there's me now, fluctuating as usual, sometimes feeling much more stable and sometimes slipping back into old patterns, fearful of permanent return. In all those years previous, I had defined my worth by the ability to make someone happy. I forced the idea that the reality of where I was, was a direct result of who I had rejected, or who had rejected me, in its most flagrant state.
There was of course a point during this last year where things changed drastically. Discovering a lie I had convinced myself was truth and a truth I had not known was a lie. I have not reached the top of the mountain, as I said before, but with each cut and bruise as I cling to the rock face, scraped knees and sweaty palms, I find the energy to continue because with that struggle comes great strength, fueled by a courage I never knew I had.
It's been surprisingly easy, on this journey, to pick out those that struggle with some sort of disordered eating. Some are of obvious size and shape, whether over or underweight, but some appearing to be "healthy" and of "normal weight". Some choose to keep their struggle silent, something I respect because it is both their right and where they are in this moment, others have yet to admit to themselves that they are struggling - convinced that they simply cannot have this or that for one reason or the next. All in their own stage of their journey, all just trying to figure out how to define and love themselves in a world where externalities falsely provide status and fallacies of success.
I had, for a long time, proclaimed that the state in which I was in was a direct result of the treatment I deserved due to the lack of ability to make certain people happy, to be enough for them. Now, my own reality has finally announced that it was I, all along, had been the driving force of this self perception of worth of self as defined by numbers. The excuse no longer applies, the responsibility, the beatings, the harm, came from the very hands that pinched my own stomach, that meticulously measured my own thighs - that person telling me I was not worthy was my own reflection. Somehow, those hands found a sense of purpose, and, most importantly, the love discovered from my own reflection.
This journey is hard, I'm not there all the time. I climb 5 feet and I slip down 3, but I keep climbing. Determined to make it to the top, the view is no longer this debilitating desire to reach that mountain top, but rather the journey of the love I have found in myself while climbing.
So whether you're struggling with something like this or not, whether you're hating or loving your own reflection, whether you think this is all superficial or realize that physicality is not the point of this message, know that love of others and yourself, will always be our most powerful weapon, our most cherished jewel, our biggest legacy, and the voice of humanity.
We all have our reasons for doing things, our ways we define ourselves. I, having the annoying characteristic of 'people pleaser', tended to define myself by others' views and ideas of who I am. Relationships, of any sort, shape who we are as humans - they provide us with the ability to learn and discover the depths of our soul. In the past, I had always thought of a failed relationship a direct reflection of my character. Whether I was the one breaking up or the one being broken up with (each had their time of day) all were incredibly draining on my own self perception of worth. When you define yourself by your ability to please someone else, you will never feel fully stable. You will always be striving to be better/different/morphed into this idea-of-a-human that you convince yourself will be great. For me, that form took on a literal weight.
Here I am, 5' 8" and 95lbs, wondering, "am I enough?"
I couldn't sleep on my side, because my legs hitting each other was too painful. I could no longer snowboard (though, let's be honest, I was never good at it anyway) because I didn't have the energy (calories) to walk up the hill. I hadn't eaten sweets or any form of junk food in over a year, exercised consistently (though to be honest, not excessively), and my lips frequented a state of purple because of the extreme cold I felt. To this day, a shiver of cold weather brings back strikingly ingrained memories of being so cold that my bones ached. A kind of cold that is inexplicable, one I never would have been able to fathom possible.
5'8" 110lbs wondering, "am I too much?"
Skip a couple years, cooking dinner around a campfire with friends, having only an apple because I had eaten "too much" that day. Tried to make it up by hiking miles upon miles, and when everyone else went to nap for the afternoon after that long morning of hiking, I walked around the campsite, fueled by the desire to burn more calories, to get back to the idealized thin girl who though shivered at all times of the day, was able to seemingly blissfully not care about the opinions of others, as she knew she had done everything she could to make herself smaller.
5'8" 119lbs wondering, "am I too much, to the point where I'm not enough?"
The blurriest of photos, but where I spent a significant amount of time in my later years of college - in the basement, alone, walking tens of miles to try to make up for the "too much" while simultaneously running from the "not enough". Blaming myself for breakups, thinking that if I had been/was thinner, I would be light enough to carry - light enough to not be a burden - light enough to stay out of the way - light enough to disappear. I would have a day of overeating (which, in retrospect, was probably not the kind of overeating that most people think of, but enough to make me feel horrible nonetheless) and then spend the following day having one glass of 5 calorie juice while walking 10 miles to burn off the shame I felt. This cycle got worse and worse, happening weekly. It was getting harder and harder to love myself when all I felt was an immense amount of shame for who I was and how I couldn't seem to control my own actions.
5'8" 145lbs wondering, "will I ever be happy?"
This photo was taken after having one of the most difficult summers. I had been desperately trying to lose weight because I knew the very people that I had self-proclaimed were my definers, those of whom I wanted to be light enough to be worthy, were soon to see what a mess I had made of my chaotic eating habits. In a desperate attempt to have the ultimate weight loss, I ended up developing rnhabdomylosis and preventing myself from working out for most of the summer, resulting in a forced mask of self acceptance and a few "you should work out more" seemingly useful but ultimately painful comments. Stomachaches upon stomachaches had forced their way into this body, so much so, that a night without a stomach ache felt abnormal. By this point, many psychologist were seen, many conversations held, all leading up to: "well, don't eat so much. Well, do things in moderation. Well, take care of yourself." Such simple, realistic goals, and yet such a seemingly unattainable reality.
And then there's me now, fluctuating as usual, sometimes feeling much more stable and sometimes slipping back into old patterns, fearful of permanent return. In all those years previous, I had defined my worth by the ability to make someone happy. I forced the idea that the reality of where I was, was a direct result of who I had rejected, or who had rejected me, in its most flagrant state.
There was of course a point during this last year where things changed drastically. Discovering a lie I had convinced myself was truth and a truth I had not known was a lie. I have not reached the top of the mountain, as I said before, but with each cut and bruise as I cling to the rock face, scraped knees and sweaty palms, I find the energy to continue because with that struggle comes great strength, fueled by a courage I never knew I had.
It's been surprisingly easy, on this journey, to pick out those that struggle with some sort of disordered eating. Some are of obvious size and shape, whether over or underweight, but some appearing to be "healthy" and of "normal weight". Some choose to keep their struggle silent, something I respect because it is both their right and where they are in this moment, others have yet to admit to themselves that they are struggling - convinced that they simply cannot have this or that for one reason or the next. All in their own stage of their journey, all just trying to figure out how to define and love themselves in a world where externalities falsely provide status and fallacies of success.
I had, for a long time, proclaimed that the state in which I was in was a direct result of the treatment I deserved due to the lack of ability to make certain people happy, to be enough for them. Now, my own reality has finally announced that it was I, all along, had been the driving force of this self perception of worth of self as defined by numbers. The excuse no longer applies, the responsibility, the beatings, the harm, came from the very hands that pinched my own stomach, that meticulously measured my own thighs - that person telling me I was not worthy was my own reflection. Somehow, those hands found a sense of purpose, and, most importantly, the love discovered from my own reflection.
This journey is hard, I'm not there all the time. I climb 5 feet and I slip down 3, but I keep climbing. Determined to make it to the top, the view is no longer this debilitating desire to reach that mountain top, but rather the journey of the love I have found in myself while climbing.
So whether you're struggling with something like this or not, whether you're hating or loving your own reflection, whether you think this is all superficial or realize that physicality is not the point of this message, know that love of others and yourself, will always be our most powerful weapon, our most cherished jewel, our biggest legacy, and the voice of humanity.
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