tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88130579980123754792024-03-12T22:27:35.590-04:00The Body Image ProjectThe Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comBlogger186125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-64673717422531406402016-03-24T11:27:00.000-04:002016-03-24T11:27:35.842-04:00Age 21<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">When I was going into middle school, my mother moved me from the big city I lived in to a town with around 1,500 people. Kids are mean, it’s something we all know. But the people who stand as outsiders can really understand how mean they can be. <br />
<br />
I was always a little chubby. I mean, I was kid maybe 30 pounds heavier than I should have been. Believe me - they let me know. I was different and going through an awkward phase – kind-of “grunge,” kind-of “emo.” After about a year of bullying and torment, I had become a shell of who I previously was. I felt so alone and desolate. I missed the city - I missed not sticking out like a sore thumb, pretending I didn’t hear people call me the fat emo girl. I was tired of the façade I religiously upheld – “I don’t care about your opinions, I am me.” But the words were empty - something I could hide behind. I hated myself. <br />
<br />
So, I started to lose weight. 140 became 130, which became 120, which became 98. I was obsessed - not only did I frantically count every calorie I put in my mouth (gum included), I ate the same breakfast and lunch every day. I was so terrified one different meal would throw all my weight back onto me. I stopped getting a period and my body had no energy to deal with the 2+ hours of vigorous exercise a day. <br />
<br />
So, what happens when the fat girl nobody likes becomes thin? Well, I just became the “too skinny” girl with an eating disorder. The girls disliked me even more because the guys noticed me now. If only they knew their harsh words never left my mind.<br />
<br />
Well, my mother reacted like any reasonable parent and became frightened. She moved me and my sister back into the city hoping something would change. Something did change - I gained 20 pounds back and reveled in the compliments of others. It was a drug. I was pretty now, right? I was entering high school and the world of binge drinking and more drugs than I would like to admit. I still hated myself. The only difference was I grew into my body - I was blonde and people liked me now. I had everything I ever wanted, yet I still had to drink and do drugs several times a week to feel like the person other people saw me as. <br />
<br />
Then, there was a shift. After a destructive relationship and a few years of university, I decided I needed to find a way to live differently. I just wasn’t happy. So I lost about 20 pounds, joined a boot camp with supportive women twice a week and decided it was my turn. It was my turn to live a life where I cater to myself – not others. All I ever cared about was people liking me; the paradox was I didn’t even like me. I became a weak, co-dependent and was jealous of every girl I saw. This wasn’t me. I knew this wasn’t me - this wasn’t the smiling girl I was before the world happened to me. I wanted to be strong and independent. <br />
<br />
These fluctuating years were the best thing that could have happened to me. It made me humble. It made me realize I was born with this body and hell yes I am going to love it every step of the way. I am not perfect - I never will be. But I am happy - and not the synthetic happy I pretended to be before. I don’t need approval from people now and I don’t need to be hit on at every party to feel pretty. I know I am pretty. I know every single woman I look at (regardless if I know them or not) is pretty. We are mentally and physically stunning creatures. No matter how low you feel, I am there with you. No matter how much you hate yourself, I have been there. On the days when I look in the mirror and don’t like what I see, I remember that you are with me. We are in this together. <br />
<br />
I am telling you that now it’s your turn – it’s your turn to be happy. Please forgive yourself, and please do not give up on becoming the best version of yourself. I don’t care if this is a 250 pound you or a 90 pound you - it is you. When things get hard, just know I am with you.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-86103755312397546292015-12-20T17:30:00.000-05:002015-12-20T17:30:56.432-05:00Age 29<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to gain and lose. Society is always telling us to lose weight, gain muscle, lose wrinkles, gain confidence, lose the negativity, gain the positivity. In March of this year I "lost" my fiancé, and by lost I mean that I finally had the courage to end a relationship that I knew was not healthy for me.<br />
<br />
Let me start from the beginning. I was heavier when my ex and I started dating. He didn't mind. I actually felt pretty around him. We started as co-workers, had known of each other for a year, and it was after a professional development day that he bought me a movie ticket when we went with a few friends. It started fast, like a roller-coaster. We were friends, and then all of a sudden he was going home with me for Christmas, going skiing with my family and I over New Year's, kissing my cheek when we were just sitting there with his friends. I literally told my friend in the school hallway at work one day, "I feel like I finally know what people mean when they say they are on cloud nine." At this point in my life, I had just survived a horrible car accident, run my first half AND my first full marathons within a few weeks of each other, and felt better about myself then I had in years. I stopped taking antidepressants and started living the life that I wanted to live. And, even though I saw red flags, I was in a relationship that I wasn't ashamed of - something that I had wanted for a very, very long time.<br />
<br />
With a combination of healthier eating habits, continued workout routine and active lifestyle, and no more drugs, I started losing weight. Over the next year I lost over 20 pounds and 3/4 dress sizes (depending on the dress, of course. I hate sizes.). I also caught my ex dirty texting with multiple people. Healthy body: check. Healthy self-esteem: not so much. I felt that it was somehow my fault. If I could look better, work harder, be nicer, cook better, really just be PERFECT, then he would stop doing those things. Our good moments were so good. Our bad moments were so bad. He commented on the outfits I wore. Commented on lingerie that I picked out for him. Got frustrated when I would wake up early to workout. Wanted me to rush home fast to get my workout done after work. (All this time he would never actually workout with me.) I didn't see it then. I didn't see that he was slowly taking every bit of self-esteem that I had (and it wasn't very much) and tying it to himself. His mood, his reactions, his everything. If he responded well to me, I had the best day. If he was displeased with me, I felt like my whole world was caving in around me. If I did something wrong, he shut me out. If he did something wrong, I was supposed to say, "It's ok," and go back to normal. I was losing myself.<br />
<br />
Over the next two and a half years, I lost many friends, lost a little more weight, lost a job (but got a new one), lost my close relationship with my mom, and lost my self-respect. I had also said yes to this manipulative man when he asked me to marry him, so - stay tuned - my parents and I also lost money. So, even though in March of 2015 I was the smallest I had ever been, the words "lost" or "lose" were not positive words in my vocabulary.<br />
<br />
Finally, in March of 2015, after spending an emotional but amazing time in NYC with my mom, aunt, and cousins, I came home and called off my wedding. It was awkward and difficult. I wanted things to be different, but they weren't. I will be discretionary here, but I finally told my family all that my ex had done to me - how he had betrayed me - how I, in turn, had betrayed him - how lost I felt, and the people that I hadn't lost came along side me and helped me get out of a very unhealthy situation.<br />
<br />
It has been almost nine months since we called off the wedding, eight months since I ended the relationship all together. In the past eight months, I have put on about seven pounds and a dress size. Lately, that fact has been all I can think about. It was consuming me until, last week, I was running one morning and realized how fast I was running. I had to get my run in in the morning because I had a Christmas gift exchange dinner with some of the most amazing women you will ever meet that night. Yes, in the past few months I may have over indulged more often than I usually do. And I may have missed a few workouts. But I missed those workouts because I was traveling with people that I love around Europe. I over indulged because I was enjoying the moment with new found, and old found, friends. I have been so broken at times, but I have been surrounded by people that don't make me feel the need to prove myself. I have gained honesty. I have gained lifelong friends. I have gained new memories and moments that now define the life that I once almost gave away to the wrong person.<br />
<br />
I am by no means perfect - ask anyone that has allowed me to open up to them this year - but I am me. 100%. I used to try to deny that. To change that. I am done trying to be someone else. Ten pounds heavier or ten pounds lighter, I'll own it. Because I am strong and brave. I took back control of my life and no one person and no one ideal will ever again take that away from me.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-56905994709950054252015-05-28T22:56:00.000-04:002015-05-28T22:56:11.449-04:00Age 22<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">When I look into the mirror, I try to just see a person. A beautiful, individualistic person who has nothing wrong with her body. <br />
<br />
Well, that's what I've been trying to teach myself to see. I'm young, only 22, but I've gone through stress about my body every single day of my life since maybe middle school. That's when I started to become more aware of who I was and how I looked to others. <br />
<br />
The thing is, I'm tired. I'm really tired. I'm starting to realize that I have no say in what other people think of me and that I'm the only one in control of how I feel. I am 200 pounds and that may seem big or small to some people, but for me it was a weight that I used to never think I would reach. I have a ton of stretch marks and about two spare tires. I get the feeling, though, like this is what was supposed to happen. That I should embrace my body because it was how I was made to be. <br />
<br />
I've fought it in the past by going to the gym and I've gone on diets, but it's just hard. Maybe it's partially genetics, or maybe I just eat a lot. Either way, I'm learning to come to terms with my body. <br />
<br />
I don't think it's possible to ever see myself perfectly, but I hope to come very close. Reading magazines and watching movies growing up taught me that I needed to be smaller because that is what is attractive. It's very difficult to shed this mindset since I've grown up on it my entire life. It's important to me now to stop and take the time to realize that if I step outside of my constrained body image bubble, that there is an amazingly beautiful planet that I live on that gives me many blessings every day. The more I do this the more happy I feel. <br />
<br />
So, that's the goal - to just enjoy waking up every day and seeing the beautiful sky outside my window. And when I go to see myself in the mirror, I'll just see a person. No labels, no criticisms, just a beautiful creation that is me. <br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-90154867327510203262015-04-17T20:10:00.002-04:002015-04-17T20:10:57.439-04:00Age 23<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">“That girl over there is so thin, I would love to be like her.” And so it began. At a mere ten years of age, I began to notice, and indeed analyze, women’s figures and weight. <br />
<br />
I was lucky enough to have wonderful parents who provided my siblings and I with healthy, home-cooked dinners every night. Takeaways were unheard of in our house. We were taught to have a positive attitude towards food and we understood and appreciated the necessity to eat nutritious food in order to stay healthy. We were also taught the value of staying active and fit. Family hikes, cycles and tennis matches were an integral part of our childhood. And yet, with this one comment made by a childhood friend of mine, everything I was taught about nutrition and exercise was partially sidelined, as I began to focus more and more on physical appearance, as opposed to physical health. <br />
<br />
Throughout my teenage and college years, I worked hard to maintain a slim figure. At various points throughout these years (usually when I was stressed about other aspects of my life), I developed an obsession with my weight. I would calorie count – keeping my intake of calories well below the recommended daily intake, whilst simultaneously engaging in vigorous exercise. An eating disorder is characterized by an abnormal attitude towards food that causes someone to change their eating habits and behavior (HSE). In hindsight, I can recognize that my attitude towards food was indeed abnormal, and in fact, it had major implications on other aspects of my life. Food and exercise were constantly on my mind and I never felt truly happy with how I looked – despite consistently remaining a size 6. I always thought I could “be thinner,” “look better.”<br />
<br />
In September 2014, I started a new job. I joined a gym which was close by to my workplace and found myself settling back into old habits – calorie counting, excessive exercise. I was training hard and running quite a lot so I entered a 10km race to have something to work towards. I ended up coming 4th in the women’s section of the race and it was this result that began to change my attitude towards my body. My body had done something amazing – it allowed me to train, compete and achieve something I never thought I could do. My body is amazing. <br />
<br />
And it is that thought that I want to share with the world. It saddens me that there is so much focus put on achieving an unrealistic figure presented to us in magazines and on runways. Young women want to be “thin,” “slim,” “have a flat stomach” and I too wasted so much of my life aiming for these ludicrous ideals. This is not what our focus should be on. We should not be starving ourselves of nutrition and putting our bodies under strain with the aim of achieving the unachievable. Our bodies can produce amazing results if we fuel them and look after them correctly. As a nation, we should be encouraging everyone to get the most out of their body, as it has so much to offer. <br />
<br />
Since decisively changing the way I view my body, I have adapted a positive attitude towards food. Each day I ensure I am feeding myself with enough nutrients and protein to fuel my training and as a result I have gained 2kg of muscle in two months, making my jeans a bit tighter! In the past, this would have made me stressed, unhappy and obsessive about losing more weight. However, I am now healthier and happier than ever and feel physically fantastic. My positive attitude towards my body has improved my quality of life as a whole – I spend less time worrying about food and exercise which has allowed me to focus on other aspects of my life. <br />
<br />
The human body is a spectacle – it fights illness, creates new life and enables us to achieve so much in life. Why has society taught us to look at it critically, and often in disgust? Our body is a powerful instrument. If we fuel it appropriately and look after it with the love and attention it deserves, it can help us to realize and accomplish our goals. Our bodies are amazing. <br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-79948916974266865382015-03-17T10:31:00.000-04:002015-03-17T10:31:05.729-04:00Age 20<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I see you every day, and I want to look away.<br />
Come back, where do you think you’re going is what you always say.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, and you always promise truth.<br />
But here I am in front of you, nothing but lies produced.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, and nothing seems to change.<br />
I look right at you, and my heart fills up with rage.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, something never feels right.<br />
Why do you have this hold on me, no matter how hard I fight?<br />
<br />
I see you every day, and here we are again.<br />
You’re always quick to point out my knobby little butt chin.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, and always end up froze<br />
As you remind me that I have a crooked nose.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, dreams reaching toward the sky.<br />
But here they come crashing down as you point out my eyes.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, and always let you win.<br />
Why must you always mention this uneven skin.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, with joy in my soul.<br />
Until quietly you whisper, cover-up that mole.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, but today it’s not the same.<br />
I’ve realized something beautiful; maybe you’re not to blame.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, but now I know who’s at fault.<br />
I’m the one who fills you with all these mean insults.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, the mirror in my room.<br />
You only reflect this self-hatred by which I am consumed.<br />
<br />
I see you every day, but today I look away.<br />
Because I’ve found my inner beauty.<br />
And it is here to stay.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-27590588881963934512015-03-03T18:02:00.001-05:002015-03-03T18:02:22.378-05:00Age 22<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">What do I see? I see imperfections. I see flaws. I do not see me - not the real me. I see and feel ugly. I feel powerless to stop the self-loathing and negativity my reflection invokes.<br />
<br />
I started puberty at fourteen and ever since then I have hated myself. All I want to be is beautiful. I want to have the body of my dreams - toned, slim, healthy. But when I look in the mirror I see myself, my reflection, and I'm instantly depressed.<br />
<br />
I have to hold back tears. I have to hold my head high and pretend that I am a drop-dead gorgeous woman when I don't feel gorgeous. My facade is good. People don't see through it. My armor impervious to the scrutiny of others, but underneath that armor I'm the same.<br />
<br />
Fat. Ugly. Imperfect.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-50388242176443035162015-02-19T16:44:00.001-05:002015-02-19T16:44:13.867-05:00Age 15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have always been a heavy girl. Always. I remember when I was in elementary school right up to about the start of seventh grade, I was the overweight, "fat" girl of all my classes. I felt like I was hideous and ugly and desperately tried to change myself since elementary. Can you believe it? A ten year old going on Google and typing "how to lose weight.” I never did it to please others as much as myself. Even the doctor said I had to lose weight and that's why I was trying to change myself - for my health - just like any person should. <br />
<br />
But middle school changed everything. It was fifth grade and I was being bullied by a group of boys who called me a range of names. Anything from comparing me to the Star Wars character Chewbacca, to calling me an elephant, fat or ugly. It bothered me severely - I started eating more instead of less. I gained more weight going into sixth grade. I was obsessive. My mother put me in karate, but I never lost weight doing it. <br />
<br />
Sixth grade was bully-free, but the impact of the bullying from the year before left me eating emotionally. I wore sweatpants and t-shirts most of the time to cover up what was underneath. <br />
<br />
Now it was time for seventh grade. This is where I began losing weight and not because I was being healthy, but because the bullying began once again. One boy was placed in the same class as me. He was one of my former bullies and, my God, gave me the hardest time of my life. <br />
<br />
Everything was changing in the seventh grade for me. I was moving houses, my family was homeless for a month and he just piled on more crap. He was, and always will be, the boy who made me despise almost every aspect of my being. Everyday he called me names and got a few other boys to call me names too. One of them even told me to, "Go find a treadmill.” I would tell teachers and they would talk to him, but he wasn't one for change. <br />
<br />
I started eating less. My mom took notice and sometimes even forced me to eat. She asked me, "Why?" I just said, "I wanna lose weight." We left it at that. She had no idea about the bullying. I was so uncomfortable with my body it was scary. Of course, I didn't get skinny, but I lost enough weight for people to take notice. But thankfully, seventh grade came to an end and I never saw that asshole again.<br />
<br />
In tenth grade, which is now, my best friend used to jokingly call me ugly. I called her one day and started crying. I said, "I know I may look like an ogre, but you don't have to remind me. I know I'm ugly." She started crying and told me it was a joke and didn't mean it and thought I was beautiful, but I feel like subconsciously, somewhere in her head she thinks I'm ugly. I do too. I think about it and still cry. Words like fat and ugly stuck to me…especially coming from someone I love.<br />
<br />
But I guess I'll be okay. My best friend stopped calling me fat and ugly. Two boys in my class once called me fat and ugly, but don't anymore. And once my friend called my fat and ugly, but I told him that he can't say things like that to me. After three years of self-harming and hating myself, I've finally began to repair my body image. I'm working on loving myself and my body. I hope one day I can come to terms with my body and accept how it is. I hope one day I can stop worrying about being skinny. Because skinny isn't beautiful, just like fat isn't ugly. <br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-48388430170760382482015-02-08T17:38:00.002-05:002015-02-08T17:38:37.411-05:00Age 56<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I used to be bigger. Not fat bigger. Not taller bigger. I mean muscular bigger - as in I could heft grocery bags without breaking a sweat. As in my arms didn’t sag like a basset hound neck. As in I wore clothes three sizes larger than I now wear. I used to be a bigger, stronger, mightier woman. And I liked it.<br />
<br />
I’m 56 and want my old body back. In the past decade, in spite of lifting weights and working out, my muscles seem determined to wither away. The diminishment in body is followed by a diminishment of spirit. I am losing weight and losing heart. Without my armor of muscles and yes, fat, I feel like I don’t take up enough space in this world. <br />
<br />
Most woman want to be smaller, not bigger. Even with education about eating disorders, the weight (excuse the pun) of societal expectations of how women’s bodies should look has done little to change how woman feel about their bodies. Lithe may be the new skinny, but muscles are cool as long as you are still zero body fat. Just look at any CrossFit infomercial and you’ll see size zero women with six pack abs. Sorry, but that’s just wrong. The kind of body I miss is one with muscles and enough fat to cover them.<br />
<br />
Back in the day I raced bicycles. My thighs were marble-like wonders that allowed me to sprint and push a big gear with minimal effort. It wasn’t just my legs that were super-sized. I was all over bigger - twenty pounds more than I now weigh. My butt was rounded, and my breasts, always larger in proportion to the rest of me, were a cup size bigger as well. I worked in a bicycle store and spent my days carrying steel bikes up and down a long flight of stairs and racing up and down hills on the weekends. I wasn’t Wonder Woman, but I was a strong, fit woman. I could kick ass and I felt good about it.<br />
<br />
“There is something profoundly upsetting about a proud, confident, unrepentantly muscular women,” writes David Chapman, co-author of Venus With Biceps: A Pictoral History of Muscular Woman. “She risks being seen by her viewers as dangerous, alluring, odd, beautiful, or, at worst, a sort of rare show. She is, in fact, a smorgasbord of mixed messages.”<br />
<br />
Women have always had, and will continue to have, a complicated relationship with their bodies, especially when it comes to depictions of strength. From mythical Amazons and Rosie the Riveter showing off her Popeye biceps, to a ripped post-menopausal Madonna in Versace ads, the ambivalence about women with muscles has always been a delicate negotiation for both genders.<br />
<br />
I remember taking care of my grandmother. She was in her late eighties and suffering from dementia, I was in my early twenties and affected with the hubris of post-adolescence. One of my tasks was to bathe her which meant undressing my grandmother and seeing her stark naked as she stood in the shower. As embarrassed as my grandmother was to stand unclothed before her granddaughter, I was the one who was horrified. What had become of her once robust body? What I saw when she stood before me resembled a child’s body: skinny, hairless and in need of protection from the world. “My body will never look like that,” I vowed. <br />
<br />
Three years ago I broke my left arm and wrist in a bad fall. The limb took close to a year to heal. When I began using my left arm I found I could barely lift a tea kettle much less resume my regime of push ups and power yoga postures. In spite of physical therapy, to this day, the arm remains weak, the muscles flabby and compromised. I’ve yet to accept it won’t bounce back to its pre-fracture form.<br />
<br />
In my sixth decade, it’s unlikely that any amount of supplemental hormones and weight lifting will return me to my former physique. Biology is conspiring against me. Which leaves me with the choice of accepting my smaller, weaker body, or railing against the inevitable changes in muscle tone, fat and skin. It’s the weight of my mortality that I need to lift off my shoulders. And no amount of gym time can train me for that.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-13923156646035361632014-12-23T13:57:00.001-05:002014-12-23T13:57:53.922-05:00Age 46<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I really hate it when friends post pictures of me on Facebook. I rarely look good on film. Yes, sometimes I do post my own photos, but they are carefully selected by ME. They are ones I feel I look decent in. This is becoming a problem for me and I bet there are others out there that feel the same. What exactly do you say to someone? “Please don’t tag or post a photo of me online?” “Why?” “Because I look fat and ugly.” Then what do you say when they reply “No, I think you look good.” Yikes. Is it wrong for me to want to control my own image on the internet? By merely starting this conversation with friends, I open myself up to:<br />
<br />
1. Being a bitch.<br />
<br />
2. Admitting I have a terrible body image and hate the way I look.<br />
<br />
3. Facing my own insecurities about my physical appearance.<br />
<br />
None of the options are appealing to me. For now, I just change my settings to “give permission” for photos. But that doesn’t stop anyone from putting them up on their wall and just not tagging me. Mutual friends will see the snapshots and know it’s me anyway. <br />
<br />
Don’t get me wrong. There are a lot of things in like about me. I am smart, I am a working professional, I have a lot of friends, I am funny. I just don’t like how I look.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-15525575857849610082014-12-02T14:42:00.000-05:002014-12-02T14:42:10.038-05:00Age 37<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">When I look in the mirror, sometimes I see beauty. Then I see a picture of myself and realize...my mirror lies.<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-45504532239691477742014-10-24T18:24:00.000-04:002014-10-24T18:24:04.163-04:00You're Not Fat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/bCGUJUPLIv4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-77603768470139071282014-10-24T18:04:00.002-04:002014-10-24T18:04:46.669-04:00Age 21<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I see a lie, a betrayal, a bad experience and a challenge. <br />
<br />
There are only two mirrors in my little apartment, and the one I actually look in only shows my body from the bust down - from this angle it is very easy to fool myself into believing that the worried glances my family gives me about my weight are overreactions. <br />
<br />
When I look in the full-length mirror, I am punched in the gut with the disgusting feeling of the body looking back at me that doesn't feel like the one I believe I have. That mirror betrays me every time by taking away my false sense of security which is why I rarely look in it for very long. <br />
<br />
I can trace my weight gain to high school - sixteen and at a new school where I ended up a very lonely girl no one talked to or bothered to learn my name. I became completely sedentary when the depression of being invisible hit. <br />
<br />
But luckily, life isn't over after one hard blow - I get to go back into the ring for another round. College is a beautiful place where everyone is respected and listened to and people remember your name. <br />
<br />
Taking on the challenge of going to college and working part-time gave me the courage to save up for the trip of a lifetime in Europe that I leave for in 9 months. Signing up for that trip gave me the courage to realize that I am not happy in this body - not because it doesn’t fit into society's standards or because I feel a need to fit into a certain size. I simply don't feel good in this body and I want to feel alive again and am slowly succeeding in that goal - losing 4 pounds in just one week of being active and drinking water! <br />
<br />
Doing it because I want to has made all the difference and I am slowly learning not only to understand and listen to my body, but to love it and the person who lives in it too. <br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-3611438758771575752014-10-10T12:38:00.000-04:002014-10-10T12:38:07.653-04:00Age 45<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I tend to stay away from looking in the mirror for fear I may not be happy with what I see. I'm overweight. Not obese…well, according to medical standards, borderline "obese." I curse that machine at the local grocer by the pharmacy. At 5'7", I weigh 190-ish pounds. I say "ish" because for the last couple of months, I have fluctuated all over the 190 to 200 pound range.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I am thankful for a body that still works. Nonetheless, I find myself feeling so completely fat and unattractive when looking at other women. It's hard, but I will sometimes like what I see and think, "Yeah, I have some attractive qualities." And then I'll be somewhere and see how younger and much thinner women get all the attention. They may even be not as attractive, they can have a not-so--pleasant personality even, but if they’re thin (it is my experience to see most male species do this), they will always get looked at first – both in social gatherings or on the job.<br />
<br />
Recently, I had an epiphany though. I am so tired of being sick and tired and feeling ugly. I am going to push through my fear of failure. I am going to focus on what I do have – nice long hair, big brown eyes and a large chest – and work those qualities! I am going to try to implement healthier eating habits and get some physical activity in my life. Not going to go crazy, just take it…"one day at a time." Most importantly, I'll be doing this for me. Which, in turn, can be beneficial to my family. The way I see it, if I start with me, I can then take care of those I love – mainly my hubby and two boys – for years to come.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-13871312136819896042014-09-30T15:47:00.000-04:002014-09-30T15:47:08.844-04:00Age 15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Every time I look down at my legs, a feeling of disgust, satisfaction or extreme happiness overcomes me. At different times of the day, I feel completely different emotions regarding my body – one second I think that I'm too thin, the next I feel as though I'm too fat and other times I finally believe I'm perfect.<br />
<br />
I'm a high school long-distance athlete, so my legs have lean muscle. However, just a few months ago during spring track my legs were literally half the length as they are now. Back then, when I had my small legs, people would comment on my body saying, "You're stick thin." "I wish I had your collarbones." "I wish I had your legs." "You look sick with legs that tiny." "How much do you even eat? You're so tiny." "Your legs are absolutely perfect." So many contradicting comments filled my head I couldn't decide which ones to believe. Over the summer, I gained weight and my thighs grew with the rest of me. I didn't know what to think of my legs…and to be honest, I still don't. I grew into my old jeans that used to be so saggy and loose that I couldn't wear them, even just around the house. My thighs touched for the first time in a year and a half.<br />
<br />
I started eating more unhealthy foods this past summer and my relationship with food started to get distorted. As soon as I noticed this, I tried to eat healthier to mend my relationship with food before it got bad. I began a journey to a healthier lifestyle. From the time I began this journey to now, I can say I feel more confident with my body. I now know that since I feed my body healthy, plant-based, homemade food then I must be healthy too.<br />
<br />
So forget thigh gaps, ribs, hip bones and collarbones, we never needed to see these things anyway. Bones are meant to be kept safe, not protruding like some walking skeleton. If you see an animal where their ribs protrude, you wouldn't say, “Oh, how beautiful.” So why say that to yourself?<br />
<br />
Nobody needs a thigh gap. And you know what? Believe it or not, I actually like my body more now than I did before. Skinny doesn't bring confidence, healthy does.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-47774228817488370152014-09-28T20:15:00.000-04:002014-09-28T20:15:41.294-04:00Powerful, Heartbreaking Image<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9tw78qLL3UorOW-2e3z0GjSPKPwqZI8EZXj_Bf8MMwNX50JbWRA8qrh7v0SI0Y53be4RVXxTPbzGplPWoM-QtWoh9bNdgkg2xpvka-091phMGu7sww4LcHnwkZsKsgXGUKESOirs0bQp/s1600/IMG_1362.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9tw78qLL3UorOW-2e3z0GjSPKPwqZI8EZXj_Bf8MMwNX50JbWRA8qrh7v0SI0Y53be4RVXxTPbzGplPWoM-QtWoh9bNdgkg2xpvka-091phMGu7sww4LcHnwkZsKsgXGUKESOirs0bQp/s320/IMG_1362.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-14141238938054235392014-09-23T18:43:00.000-04:002014-09-23T18:43:20.630-04:00Age 42<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have a healthy relationship with food even though I measure my portions and count my calories - I have learned the hard way that I gain weight easily, and because of my small stature, a little becomes very noticeable very quickly and it is much easier to maintain a healthy weight than to lose it once I have become overweight. I like food and eating out and indulge when we eat at restaurants - not binge, enjoy - but most days I cook healthy meals for our family. I often wish I were still a picky little kid who spent hours sitting at the table because I wouldn't eat things I didn't like, though - it would be much easier to maintain if I still didn't know that cheese came in flavors other than orange, or that fried chicken prepared properly is one of the most delicious foods ever.<br />
<br />
As that picky little kid got older and junk food became an easy substitute for the unappealing meals that my stepmom prepared with my dad's unrefined palate in mind, I gained weight for the first time in middle school. I was still very active outside the house - I had two PE classes (regular and something alternative, such as aerobics or swimming) and ran track - but after school I was mostly confined to the house and there was little to do but eat and watch TV.<br />
<br />
When I finally moved from dad's to my mom's, I magically dropped 15 pounds without even trying, and probably maintained that weight for years after, although I don't really know how much I weighed anymore than I knew what I really should be eating or how much. What I did know was, regardless of weight, I hadn't been an attractive kid, and I didn't feel like an attractive teen, and marrying a guy who was always critical of my appearance (especially my big ass) didn't help. I also had no idea how to dress and wore baggy, oversized clothes most of the time - not that I could afford to properly attire myself anyway, as that same husband was a chronically un/underemployed spender, so we were constantly struggling even just to pay the rent.<br />
<br />
As the years passed and the husband who had always made derogatory comments about my weight gained and gained himself, my eating habits got healthier. I stopped drinking regular soda (I still sometimes drink diet, despite how "bad" it is supposed to be for you) and eventually, less junk food (although I've never stopped entirely, because, again, it's good to indulge sometimes!) When I left him, I weighed 112 pounds.<br />
<br />
From that point on, my weight went up (127!) and back down (107?) as I went through life changes and at one point got a gym membership. When I met my current husband, I probably only weighed about 107 (at 5'1") but I probably still felt "fat" because, the thing is, no matter how little I weigh, I always have fat on me.<br />
<br />
Today, (after having gained a bunch of weight again, all the way up to 145, and then whittling myself back down to my current 120-ish), I would say that I have a VERY healthy body image. Not because I think my body is perfect, or even because I accept its flaws, but because I am realistic.<br />
<br />
I look in the mirror and I see that most of my body is fine. Good even. In some places, even THIN. Because I work out, my arms have just a little definition to them - not so much that they look lumpy or manly, just enough - and in that chest area above my boobs, you can kind of see that upper rib definition that many people equate to "skinny". BUT. My waist isn't super small - it's fine, and on a good day, I can even see some ab definition without even flexing those muscles! But other days, my "muffin" flubs over the tops of my pants, or my belly protrudes like a kid in a third world country.<br />
<br />
My legs aren't great, but in a pair of heels, my calves are shapely and pretty well defined, and my quads are also defined, but not too bulky. The problem comes in that area from my belly button to about halfway down my thighs - when I am facing the mirror, blobs of fat hang off my otherwise toned legs. Saddlebags. Squarebutt. Whatever you want to call it. When I turn to the side, I can clearly see my "second" butt, or underbutt. Like an extra cheek underneath each normal cheek.<br />
<br />
I actually get a lot of compliments on my appearance, on my body - even on my blobby, fat butt - mostly because I have learned how to dress in a way that disguises my shape, that smooths the lumps and bumps and makes them just look like curves. With my clothes off, it is clear that those lumps and blobs of fat are alien, they don't belong.<br />
<br />
Realistically, I know that they will probably be there forever, no matter how much exercise I do or how carefully I eat. That doesn't mean that I won't stop making the effort to melt them away, that I won't stop trying to be the best me I can, that I'll ever stop researching the best foods to eat or new ways to burn fat. I don't accept that imperfection in my body, even if I do realize that I probably can't change it, or that, overall, I'm doing really well. I'm healthy and fit, and in the big scheme of things, as attractive as anyone else, even if some of my features are awkward or unusual. I'll never leave the house in dumpy sweats, or without doing my hair or putting on makeup, but when I do step out, I don't feel bad about the way I look. Only when I stand in front of the mirror undressed.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-33087407437372394502014-09-09T20:47:00.002-04:002014-09-09T20:47:17.677-04:00Age 16<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">When I look in the mirror, I see my past, present and future play out before me. I am in recovery from anorexia and it has made me hyperaware of each and every detail of my body. When I was a child, I was told I still had my "baby fat." I was called "chubby" and "out of shape." After I went through puberty and a natural growth spurt, people told me they were "jealous of my body." They called me "pretty" and told me I "could be a model." When, out of fear, desperation and deep sorrow, I starved myself and exercised to exhaustion, people told me I was "skin and bones" and called me a "disgusting skeleton." <br />
<br />
None of those labels define me. I am INTELLIGENT. I am STRONG. I am BEAUTIFUL. I am WHOLE. I have a future, and no one's opinion of my body can change the fact that I accept myself fully and completely. I am imperfect and flawed, and I love it.<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-23840877327407139442014-07-26T16:48:00.000-04:002014-07-26T16:48:27.838-04:00Age 25<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/YfpLwDSnrvQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-44599815784510313032014-07-25T10:29:00.003-04:002014-07-25T10:29:44.317-04:00Age 24<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Sometimes when I look in the mirror I feel powerless. <br />
<br />
My once perfectly flat stomach is rounded and hangs over my jeans when I bend over. My thighs are naturally voluptuous and covered in self-inflicted scars. My body makes me aware of its imperfections as I carry out daily activities. My thighs rub together when I walk, it takes me ten minutes to pull up the zip on a dress; I find crumbs in the creases on my stomach when I am eating in bed. <br />
<br />
I feel ugly.<br />
<br />
But other times I look in the mirror and I feel…<br />
<br />
Robust. <br />
<br />
Strong.<br />
<br />
My body has presence. My body has power. It has carried me this far and will carry me further. It has healed when I have damaged it. It has been the object of many people's desires and admiration. It has swum for hours in the sun, danced all night and made love to wonderful people. <br />
<br />
And when I catch myself feeling this way, I am overwhelmed by how beautiful I am. How fortunate I am to have this amazing body.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-19199091759799833162014-07-22T20:23:00.000-04:002014-07-22T20:23:29.858-04:00Age 20<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Every. Single. Reflective surface. I cannot look away. I am constantly looking…not out of vanity, but concern. I look and I critique. My stomach (Does it puff out too much?), my thighs (Is there cellulite? Why are they so thick?), even my head (Why does it look so big? Why do my cheeks puff out so much?). I’m told that I’m beautiful. Gorgeous even. Their words are hollow and empty to me. To myself I am disgusting and cannot be convinced otherwise. How do they not see what I see? When I squeeze my thigh I see a bumpy ripple of cellulite. When I squeeze my stomach there is a thin layer of fat. <br />
<br />
I run cross-country and distance track. I love to run, but even when running I cannot run away from myself. Short, muscular legs feel disgusting to me. I want to be a svelte, graceful runner that makes everything look easy. Running is easy when you have long legs, right?<br />
<br />
After I binge I feel heavy and tired. The twisting pang in my stomach and headache I get when I do not eat enrages me. Why am I so obsessed with food? Why is that all I seem to think about? WHY CAN I NOT HAVE A FUCKING NORMAL RELATIONSHIP WITH FUCKING FOOD?! Food. Food and exercise. Food and exercise and mirrors. When I was little, my body was a comfortable home that I cuddled with, played with and cared for. Why has it become a prison? How? I am trying so hard. When will it get easier? I am almost 21 and have felt these struggles since I was 13 when my health teacher taught us about calories and how you should have 2,000 each day. You also must exercise every day. Potato chips are bad. High fructose corn syrup is bad. If you follow THE RULES you will be good. You will be happy. Why am I not happy?<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-15745810042145570812014-06-19T08:11:00.000-04:002014-07-02T19:46:11.169-04:00Age 20<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The dieting started when I was only 12 years old. My "best friend" at the time always had something to say about how I looked or what I wore. I felt as if I really had no friends and no control over my life. <br />
<br />
That girl, I thought, was the best thing to ever happen to me; she was like the stylish older sister that I never had – she always had cool tips and advice for me and made me feel like I belonged somewhere. For once in my life, I didn't feel friendless and alone at school. But she took advantage of that.<br />
<br />
Her bullying worsened through that seventh grade year when I began my battle with anorexia nervosa. I even told her hoping, as my best friend, she would help. From there she only saw my weakness and escalated the teasing after that. When my mom started to notice my eating, I began eating dinner...and with that I gained weight. I couldn't take it any longer and before I knew it I was purging. <br />
<br />
I was 14 the first time I tried to stop, but I only relieved the symptoms, not the disorder. The longing for the feeling starving, binging and purging had given me lingered for years. Throughout high school I relapsed a few times, but never really recovered. It wasn't until I went away to college that I began to heal and now I can say that I am truly cured…and will never return. I haven't spoken to the girl I called my "best friend" in four years and it's been a long 8 year struggle with my disorder. But it gets easier with every passing day…and I feel stronger as a result of it.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-84682061142847535282014-06-16T15:39:00.002-04:002014-06-16T15:39:44.084-04:00Age 18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">All my other Asian friends are skinny. Size 0, 25 inch waists, beautiful slim figures. And then there’s me. The short, “chubby" Asian who eats healthy but unfortunately doesn’t look very “slim" for her religiously attained healthy lifestyle. Okay, I know that I’m not fat. But only factually. 5’2”, 120 lbs. Rock solid quads from endless hours of cardio and strength training. No bulgy stomach…just a thick looking waist. Some people even say I’m attractive. That I have a princess face. I don’t see it. <br />
<br />
My skinniest was at the peak of my diet back in 2012. I got down to 110 lbs in three short months in the summer. I was the “happiest” I had ever been with myself and my sense of self-esteem was actually present. Since then, after reverting to my pre-diet eating plans that didn’t consist of consuming half a bagel for breakfast, the other half for lunch and half a bowl of veggies and/or meat for dinner, I (of course) gained all that weight back. Even today, I look back to that summer diet for “fitspiration” and motivation.<br />
<br />
To this day, I can remember every single thing that goes into my mouth on a daily basis. I workout at least 2 hours a day when I can. Every thought that passes through my mind daily is what I should eat for the next meal and when my next workout session should be. I am afraid of junk foods like chips, Starbucks beverages, cookies, ice cream, you name it. When I DO eat those foods on occasion, I feel like killing myself on the inside. I always have to compare what I’m eating with what other people are eating – is my meal healthier than theirs? Did I pick a lower calorie option? Am I eating less than they are? <br />
<br />
EDNOS. It may not always show as plainly as anorexia nervosa, but hating my body and myself for eating food, the very thing that keeps me alive, is no doubt my own disturbed perception. I haven’t told anyone else because I’m afraid that people will think I want attention. The reaction I’ve gotten when I hinted my problem to my family is that I’m just thinking too much. <br />
<br />
They’re right. I’m thinking way too much. About food. It’s all I think about. Eating it, not eating it, burning it off, fueling with it, crying from it, regretting it, hating it. And hating myself.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-53018102958874727092014-06-05T10:52:00.000-04:002014-06-05T10:52:52.738-04:00Age 19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I eat. I am a size double zero. I am 5’1. I have big, green eyes. I have straight teeth. I have silky, dirty-blonde hair that shines in the sun. I have abs when I engage my core and a tight little stomach when I do not. I have toned, beautiful legs. I can do the splits, I can run four miles and for a petite lady, I can jump very high.<br />
<br />
90% of the time, I cannot see these beautiful features in myself. It drives my friends and family crazy.<br />
<br />
I am a pre-professional dancer. I am surrounded by the pressures and demands of this strange, beautiful field. <br />
<br />
“Hold in your stomach!”<br />
<br />
“Hollow stomachs, ladies.”<br />
<br />
“You think you’re working hard now? You’re barely skimming the surface.”<br />
<br />
“There is always something to be improved.”<br />
<br />
“Study everything. Practice outside of class.”<br />
<br />
“If you question whether you want to be here, if you have doubts, then this field is obviously not right for you.”<br />
<br />
Body hate tends to be an unspoken necessity to the job description. It’s ironic, because the dancers are the most physically fit, active students at my school. We can do the superhuman, yet most of us can’t stand what we see. Staring at myself in a leotard and tights in front of a mirror for six hours a day does nothing for my body-appreciation. Especially not in such a competitive environment. <br />
<br />
I am cruel to my body.<br />
<br />
I read a quote somewhere that was along the lines of, “Would you have any friends if you speak to them the way you speak to yourself?” This quote completely describes me. Although I suffered from a nasty bout of EDNOS that was sending me towards the low 90lb range, today I am maintaining a stable weight. I am physically very healthy. The ruthless self-hate talk is all that remains. It is obsessive. It is anxiety-driven. It is unfair. <br />
<br />
“If you don’t work out today, you will become fat.” <br />
<br />
“You can’t wear that outfit, it will show your flaws. Go put on a baggy, black t-shirt.”<br />
<br />
“You don’t deserve two desserts in one day! No one needs that. Eat some fruit instead.”<br />
<br />
“You are out of control.”<br />
<br />
“You can’t risk losing your figure. You do want a job, don’t you?”<br />
<br />
“You are a failure. You will make nothing of yourself.”<br />
<br />
I could never speak like that to a friend. Or a child. It dawned on me this evening that some parents do speak like that to their children. I tried to imagine how much worse off I would be if my mother spoke to me like I speak to myself. I wouldn’t want to be her friend or her daughter. <br />
<br />
If I wouldn’t tolerate that kind of talk from anyone else, why should I tolerate it from myself? Why should it be something normal to think? It would make me angry if someone else told me that I wouldn’t get a job if I gained some weight. Or that I didn’t deserve two desserts – frankly, when should food be something to be earned? It is a human need. <br />
<br />
Here’s to the people who understand what it feels like to be your own worst enemy. The beautiful thing about this is that we have the power to turn it around. The only thing we can control is how we feel about ourselves.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-13674679061321030192014-04-04T09:17:00.000-04:002014-04-04T09:17:49.225-04:00Age 25<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have had a balanced relationship with food (with one small relapse) for about 3 years now. I have stayed away from all my disordered habits and have fallen in love with eating again. This was obviously excruciatingly hard and took almost 2 years. Although I am happily eating and enjoying the benefits of energy, positivity and strength, I am still unable to fall in love with my healthy body/natural weight. I have stopped working on becoming fully recovered because I felt that having a healthy relationship with food meant I was healthy enough to stop working on becoming recovered. I felt it would just happen over time living a healthy lifestyle. I did not realize that I still had a lot of work to do. What brought this to my attention stemmed from injuring my stomach muscles. I was told to do nothing except relax. It has been weeks now and I am still not fully healed. I couldn’t figure out why – I was barely doing anything. Just taking some light walks around my village. Then it hit me – <i>I haven’t relaxed my stomach muscles in years</i>. Of course, body image issues started long before my eating disorder and I think holding in my stomach was one of the first things I learned to do to feel like I looked better. I still do that. And I don’t think I ever realized how unnatural that was until this moment. I can’t relax my stomach muscles because I am seriously unhappy with my natural body weight. I don’t want myself or anyone else to see the way I truly am. I can’t stand to really look at my body in the mirror, with or without holding in my stomach muscles. My first step is to relax my stomach muscles around the house. But I only feel comfortable wearing loose fitting shirts and dresses. I know I can’t relax my stomach muscles in public yet. I am isolating myself to feel comfortable, but that doesn’t make me happy. I want to be able to feel comfortable in my own skin around myself and others. My eating disorder might be gone, but there is still so much work for me to do.<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8813057998012375479.post-44729239550619910382014-03-17T13:32:00.000-04:002014-03-17T13:32:12.224-04:00Age 19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Last week my boyfriend admitted he lied and cheated. I broke up with him then took a 6 AM flight home for spring break. <br />
<br />
And then I lost control. I couldn't stop crying or obsessively checking my phone or picturing him with this other person. So, I started eating my emotions. And then purging. And then eating my emotions. And then purging – something I hadn't done in weeks, something I thought I'd finally gotten over. But the habit came back so easily, so naturally in a moment of stress.<br />
<br />
I realized I needed help. So I called a helpline and spoke to a really awesome woman. I said those awful, terrible, humiliating, honest words out loud for the first time: "I have an eating disorder." From this moment on, I decided to love my body.<br />
<br />
I went upstairs, stripped done in front of my mirror, and apologized to every inch of my body. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I will love you. I will love you. I will love you. You are beautiful. You are beautiful.<br />
<br />
</div>The Body Image Projecthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09853003934919810355noreply@blogger.com