The Body Image Project

Age 19

2011-12-20T15:15:00.002-05:00

Hi, I am 19 years old and I am a curvy women. Since I was young, I have been weight conscious because of my family and society. I can remember when I was 9 years old, my mom and grandmother telling me, "Are you sure you want to eat that?" and "You need to take care of your weight?” I carried this belief that I was not skinny, attractive or beautiful enough until I was 18 years old.

Throughout the years, my weight has fluctuated, but my perception of myself has not. I had gotten to the point where I could not see pictures of myself or I would break out in tears and would only eat around 500-800 calories a day and exercise for 2 hours in order to lose weight. I have been to therapists and have done almost every diet and self-help under the sun. My main concern was not being attractive enough and never having a boy who would love me. I thought I was hideous and no guy would like me. I was shy and felt like I didn't deserve to speak out, that my voice didn't deserve to be heard. It was painful and I suffered.

It was only until a year ago that I saw the damage I was doing to myself. Did my clothes size truly define my value? Was the amount of fat really indicative of my intelligence and the quality of personality? The answer was no. It isn't. I am much more than my weight and the only one that is letting the weight define me is myself. Yes, people judge. Yes, some guys are superficial. But I was tired of making my life miserable and putting myself down because of it. I decided to move beyond my body. I started to let my true personality come out and see myself in a new light. I looked in the mirror and realized that although I was a size 10 instead of a size 4, I was still sexy and I was still beautiful. I let myself have the mentality of a sexy beautiful girl and the change around me was magical. People were more attracted to be around me, I began making more friends and feeling more confident and productive in my studies. I started to explore who I really was, separate from the judgment of my body size. Yes, I still had some insecurities, and yes, I still freaked out about weight now and then (it had been too many years of these negative thoughts for them all to go away over night). The difference was that I didn't let them control me and I didn't let them define me.

A couple of days ago a woman came up to me and gave me a card that read "Cure Against Obesity." My mom was outraged and I was a bit shocked. Two years ago, this would have taken me to a mental breakdown and I would start seeing myself as horribly obese. However, instead I just threw the card away because, really, it was her problem, not mine. Society is hyper-conscious of weight and the business sector takes advantage of this and manipulates it to make a profit. Advertisements endorse fatty foods and weight loss produces during the same commercial break. Girls are taught to fear muffin tops and stomach bumps more than F's on a test. This is how backwards it has become.

I have a friend from Ghana. When I told him about my weight insecurities and that I didn't perceive myself as attractive he was in shock. He told me that he saw me as one of the most attractive girls in the college and that he just didn't see how I could see myself as overweight. I was also in shock and I realized how body size and beauty were all based on perspective. All women's sizes are beautiful. From size 16 to size 2 - as long as it is your natural body size, you are beautiful. And I learned that I was not built to be a size 4. I am eating healthy, exercise and am a size 8…and I am happy. My body does not fulfill society’s expectation of beauty, but it fulfills mine and that is all that matters. I know the "love your body" mantra gets old, but there is truth to that. Healing the relationship with your body is a process and it has its ups and downs, but I know now that instead of heading towards a destructive and sabotaging future of weight consciousness and constant dieting, I am heading to a future of confidence, happiness and self-fulfillment by loving myself just as I am.

Ironically, the less I cared about how I looked and the more I concentrated on my personality, the more weight I lost because by being in tune to who you are, you no longer have the need for emotional binging and bad habits. Taking care of your body becomes effortless and you naturally move into your right and healthy weight which may not be model perfect, but is perfect for me.

Age 20

2011-11-23T18:26:00.002-05:00

I'm 20 years old and I have finally accepted my body as it is. It's been a very long process. When I turned 13 and began to have the thoughts that many teenagers have (particularly girls) about my appearance and my identity and who I was in the eyes of others, I thought I was fat. I thought that because I was not straight up and down in shape, and I was developing these weird curves between my chest and the tops of my legs, that there was something wrong with me.

I tried to lose as much weight as I could - in a very unhealthy way - to make myself look more "straight up and down." It wasn't until I was 16 that I learned about body shape. I realized that the shape of my body fell into a category and so many other people were like me! I didn't instantly look in the mirror and say to myself, "Well, you're not alone, now love yourself!" I did stop trying to lose weight and I accepted that my legs would always be bigger than I'd like them to be, and my shoulders would always be narrow no matter what I did.

I decided that I wanted to hide what I had from the world, even if I did accept it. I dressed in baggy clothes all the time. You'd hardly see a dress or skirt on me unless it was a very special occasion or a formal event. I just didn't know how to dress for my curves, so I figured I had to hide them rather than look like a complete dork. Everyone must have thought I had no sense of style, or that I was a tomboy. No one ever told me that I looked good, and slowly I realized that in order to embrace what I was blessed with, I had to dress better. I had to appreciate my body shape, not just accept it. So I learned how to cinch my waist, hide my hips and my thighs by wearing dark colors and generous cuts in skirts and pants. I started to like putting on fitted shirts and seeing myself in the mirror as someone who wasn't quite thin, but definitely wasn't as much up the top as she thought she was.

Today I'm much happier with the way that I look. I love to slip on a dress and see it skim over my widest area and hug my smallest. I feel odd putting on baggy clothes, even my old jeans, because it reminds me of a time when I couldn't deal with how I looked. When I think about how I felt when I was 13 and 14 and how little was said about different body shapes, I feel sad and angry. It would have helped a hell of a lot more if the media had told girls like me that we weren't all born to be column shapes. That everyone comes in different shapes and sizes and we should love that about ourselves. I was too busy trying to make my body look like something it was never supposed to be. Now I'm busy trying to find as many ways as possible to dress to my shape EXACTLY the way it was supposed to be.

In time, you will come to appreciate the body you were given.

Miss Representation

2011-10-21T10:07:00.004-04:00

Like drawing back a curtain to let bright light stream in, Miss Representation uncovers a glaring reality we live with every day but fail to see. Written and directed by Jennifer Siebel Newsom, the film exposes how mainstream media contribute to the under-representation of women in positions of power and influence in America. The film challenges the media’s limited and often disparaging portrayals of women and girls, which make it difficult for women to achieve leadership positions and for the average woman to feel powerful herself.

In a society where media is the most persuasive force shaping cultural norms, the collective message that our young women and men overwhelmingly receive is that a woman’s value and power lie in her youth, beauty, and sexuality, and not in her capacity as a leader. While women have made great strides in leadership over the past few decades, the United States is still 90th in the world for women in national legislatures, women hold only 3% of clout positions in mainstream media, and 65% of women and girls have disordered eating behaviors.

Stories from teenage girls and provocative interviews with politicians, journalists, entertainers, activists and academics, like Condoleezza Rice, Nancy Pelosi, Katie Couric, Rachel Maddow, Margaret Cho, Rosario Dawson and Gloria Steinem build momentum as Miss Representation accumulates startling facts and statistics that will leave the audience shaken and armed with a new perspective.

Newest Miss Representation Trailer (2011 Sundance Film Festival Official Selection) from Miss Representation on Vimeo.

Age 18

2011-10-18T13:36:00.002-04:00

When I look in the mirror, I see someone who looks oversized, someone fat, someone who takes up too much space, someone not worth it. As a recovering anorexic, I have to try to maintain positive; however, every time I look in the mirror I have an image reflected back at me which makes me feel worthless and inferior. I enjoy exercise but got to the point where I could barely walk up the stairs because I was too weak. I have to learn that my body is an important thing and needs to be looked after in order to maintain a healthy mind.

I hate the way that nothing I do is ever good enough for myself. Having such high standards means that I am never satisfied. My efforts are never good enough. I am not pretty enough, loud enough, skinny enough, talented, interesting. It is so wearing! It makes me sad and lonely, striving for perfection - not only in my life, but in others as well. Relationships were affected.

But I've turned a new corner. I can wear clothes which were far too loose in January. Clothes hidden under layers of jumpers and coats can now be worn on show. People are starting to comment on how good I am looking. This reassures me and makes me feel good. I wish that the reassurance others gave me could be reflected in what I see in the mirror. The real me needs to build and grow. I need to learn to laugh again, how to trust, how to smile, how to love. It’s as if I have been given a new start. I need to take it and become who I want to be for the rest of my life. Two years of my life have gone to starvation and being thin. It needs to end now!

As I am today, I am much healthier and in a much better place, but I am nowhere near my final destination. I want to be able to have children, I want to be able to move out and I want to be happy with who I am and where I am at. It is all going to come; I just need to take it step-by-step.

Recovery is not instant it takes time and persistence. When you reach it, you know you are there.

Age 54

2011-10-01T19:26:00.002-04:00

PLEASE HOLD!

I hate being put “on hold.” In the old days of rotary phones, if there was more than one number for the phone, there would be several plastic square buttons lined up underneath the dial. One of those buttons was red, which was the Hold Button. As a red-haired impatient kid, when I was on a mission of whatever I perceived was of GRAND importance - which was pretty much EVERYTHING - being told to, “please hold,” was tantamount to my world screeching to a halt. As I got older, my patience improved in many aspects of my life, but disliking being put on hold was something I never outgrew. If someone did not have the time to deal with me, in that moment, then why didn’t they just NOT ANSWER THE PHONE??!!

Time passed and with it the Hold Button morphed into the Call Waiting Click. New label…same result. I didn’t morph along with it. I was stuck in a time warp still the impatient kid wanting to get something. For someone who has always hated being on hold, it is ironic how much of my life I spent putting MYSELF on hold. It was subtle at first. The weather would start getting warmer and kids would start going to the community pool or the beach (I grew up in New York, not far from the Atlantic Ocean). I would watch enviously as they rode off on bikes loaded with towels headed for a day of splashing and swimming. I made up excuses. “When it gets warmer I’ll go.” When it got warmer I resorted to, “I have a cold, or I get ear aches from swimming.”

Of course, the real reason was how much I dreaded having to wear a bathing suit in public. When I was unable to push the Hold Button on going, I yanked out the big gun, “I’m a redhead and I’ll just get sun burned,” excuse. I wore a giant t-shirt over my hideous, black, one piece bathing suit, explaining, when asked, “It is to protect me or I’ll look like a lobster!”

I tried with all of my might to stay out of sight. I put endless opportunities of having summer fun on hold because of my body-hate.

I was six, I was seven and on into my teens. I almost didn’t graduate high school because of the swimming requirement in Phys. Ed.

Putting my life on hold became part of how I operated in the world. “When I lose weight then I will go to that party. When I lose weight, then I will take that class. When I lose weight then Davey Bernstein will like me. When I lose weight, then I will really live the life I want to live.”

How many kids are putting their lives on hold because they are being consumed by such shame and self-hate they don’t give themselves the opportunities to try things; to let go and dive in?

I think the first time I ever felt completely comfortable wearing a bathing suit was when I was pregnant and I had permission to be a fat woman in a bathing suit. The freedom I experienced was an indescribable joy. I remember at eight months pregnant I could feel my son swimming around inside of me as I was buoyantly bobbing around in the pool, completely un-self-conscious, no big t shirt, just sun screen and a big grin on my face.

I vowed in that moment, to do three things. The first was that whatever traces of negative feelings I still had about my body; I would NOT push my Hold Button. I would allow my kid to experience the joys of being a kid, even if it meant my wearing a bathing suit in public.

Secondly, that whatever body shape, size or type my child would develop, I would love him unconditionally and do what I could to help him foster love and acceptance for his body.

The third and perhaps most challenging commitment, to take an active role in educating others about the damage that size discrimination inflicts on others. Sometimes, ironically enough, this means asking people to HOLD their tongues and open their minds. My son is 19 years old now and I am thrilled to say, that he has never put his life on hold, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I did either.

Age 27

2011-09-30T20:06:00.001-04:00

It's been about a year since you and I went from "it's complicated" to "in a relationship." I'm glad we took the steps to work towards this level of commitment. Thanks for waiting for me to work my stuff out. I feel much better now, and am so excited to see where this newfound love takes us.

Remember last summer when I was so distraught over the cancelled wedding, I'd just run and run and maybe eat some string cheese and popcorn and call it a well-balanced meal. Yeah, I do too. And laugh at myself. Now, I still run and run, and have added distance, Olympic lifting, and more soccer to the mix. But I eat. Damn, do I eat. Blocks and blocks of food that fuel my body, not inhibit it like last summer. And even though I eat more food than ever now and weigh more than I did last summer, I don't even feel fat or guilty about it. Because I know how good it is for my overall well-being.

Now, I know I am a vessel, my body and whole self an important vehicle to be used in my journey of life. How silly I was to not want to maintain it. I'm surprised it didn't wither away into nothing. A year later I can still fit into my size 2 jeans (okay, sometimes a size 0). I still put on the cleats and running shoes. And I'm still proud of my physical fitness. My ability to run 13.1 miles and play soccer with ease. I still like, well LOVE, how my legs look, how my arms have toned, how my back muscles are so defined and my ass…yep, my ass looks great. Thanks wall-balls and squats. I can still look at myself naked and think, "Damn, I look good."

But the key word is "self." I can look at myself, not just my body. Because my complete self is being nourished, taken care of as it needs to be. Now I am exceeding what I thought my body could do, but loving it so much that any form of abuse is not an option.

I love how I look right now. Love it, love it and want to flaunt it. And I will never doubt that thought to increase the possibility that self-hatred will perpetuate self-abuse again.

Peace and love, 
The inhabitant of you, Body

Age 45

2011-09-06T19:20:00.001-04:00

In Spanish, body is cuerpo. I love my exercise and weights, but my cuerpo doesn't want to change. I eat healthy 95% of the time, but my cuerpo doesn't want to burn off the love that has accumulated around my waist.

My therapist and I believe I have body dysmorphic disorder. All I know is that thinking about my body and its resistance to skinnying down causes panic attacks and feeds depression. Since I'm older now with this exercise and fitness routine, I feel aches and pains because really working out hurts. Ibuprofin and I have become buddies.

I don't want to so resemble my Mamita who struggled with her weight until her dying day. She had five babies while I have not, so why's the weight sticking to me so intensely? She lives on in me but I don't want that sort of resemblance. I'm considered overweight right now and need to improve due to Diabetes running in the family. And yes, liposuction has been an ongoing fantasy.

I'm angry at my body and myself. I want it to get better. Last night's Zumba class helped because it was just fun. I get lost in myself focusing on this stuff when there are many other priorities in my life that are getting lost in the shuffle.

So I'm trying to love my cuerpo that is healthy in so many ways. I'm sorry I put down my cuerpo so much and expect things that really shouldn't be so important.

Age 20

2011-07-30T14:37:00.001-04:00

Dear Body,

We used to be good friends. Always playing sports together, we were the pinnacle of fitness. And I am sorry, but life just got so busy that we lost that slender look with those muscles we put so much into gaining.

I must apologize for what I have put you through you see, the diet
pills were just a tester to see how fast we could lose weight. And those days without food, well, we just had to get thinner.

Now that our braces are off and we lost twenty pounds you'd think I'd give you a break. And you are right. Why you ask? Because I've come to realize that there is nothing wrong with us! We tried to fit in and we just don't.

So lets flaunt our differences and make the trends our own. Because in the end, body, it's just going to be you and me.

Age 29

2011-06-27T10:15:00.002-04:00

How'd it get this crazy?

I know I'm crazy, but sometimes I think it's not entirely my fault. When it comes to my own sense of body image, I'm pretty sure it's not my fault. And I absolutely hate myself for not being able to just be happy with myself, especially because logically I know it's not as bad as I often make it out to be. I know I'm crazy, but knowing I'm crazy doesn't seem to make a difference.

And I know it can't just be me who has these issues. And that makes me cranky. It seems like there is very little anyone can really do about the fact that somehow society has told me my body doesn't look the way it should. I wonder if men deal with these issues.

Let me give a for instance as to how crazy this really is. I'm getting ready to go to a play at a professional theater. So I thought it would be good to put on a dress, albeit a casual one. I was feeling pretty good about myself in general, so it's not like I was already in one of those moods (because yes, it happens) where I think absolutely nothing looks good and I'm just fat. I grabbed a dress that I know looks pretty good on me, but it's still pretty casual - a cotton sun dress.

By the mere fact that it's cotton, it ends up being form fitting. So I was not surprised that I would need to wear some sort of smoothing under garment to make it look ok. What I was surprised by was my reaction when I looked at myself in the mirror after putting on said undergarment. I noticed that despite the smoothing, there was still a small section of my stomach that protrudes just a bit more than the rest. This is not something most people would probably notice. But I was dismayed to realize that my stomach wasn't perfectly flat. Yeah, read that again. What woman in her right mind, especially one that hasn't been keeping up with her Pilates in the last six months, would be dismayed to discover that her stomach doesn't appear perfectly flat in a form hugging dress? It depressed me so much I had to spend about 15-minutes convincing myself that I really do look ok, other people wouldn't notice, perhaps make-up and a jacket would distract from it, oh and I really do have a moderately attractive body. I'm not even willing to say unconditionally I have an attractive body! I have to qualify it with words like moderately. I have to convince myself that I'm not disgustingly fat all because my stomach isn't perfectly flat in this dress!

Seriously, this is insane. It made me not even want to leave the house this evening. How the hell do reasonable women end up here? I consider myself to be pretty rational. I recognize that I am not an average size woman. I am overweight. But, I also recognize that in the grand scheme, I'm pretty healthy. I have a lot of muscle which weighs more than fat and I'm tall. Being a size 16-18 at 5'10" is not obese, despite what my BMI might say. I think I'm somewhat attractive. I generally accept my appearance and try to love myself. I have overcome an eating disorder as a teenager. I have some kickin' curves that many women envy. And yet, I end up looking at myself in the mirror and being dismayed that my stomach isn't perfectly flat.

So I want to call one of my female friends to cry about it. Then I realize that any of the friends I'd probably want to call also do not have flat stomachs. In fact, if I'm honest with myself, my stomach is probably flatter than many of theirs. So if I called them to complain about my not quite flat stomach, they would probably go into this “well how does she see me” cycle that I know far too well and we'd both end up hating our bodies. And I think all of them are beautiful, attractive women. So the thought hits me just how crazy I really am! How can I say these women are beautiful and attractive and that I don't think they need to change a thing and then whine about the fact that I have a small bump in my stomach? Because I'm crazy! I believe that somehow while all my friends are beautiful and wonderful and I love them the way they are, no one will feel that way about me. I must be perfect for anyone to think I'm attractive.

So I am now trying to convince myself that really I am attractive and this dress looks fine - the problems are all in my head. I'm also wondering where these issues come from. Is it somehow natural for humans to self-criticize so much, or is it passed on to us from influences like family and society? How do we keep our children from picking up these same traits? Because clearly, it's not healthy!

Eating Disorders Hit 500,000 Teens

2011-03-11T11:21:00.002-05:00

An eating disorder study being billed as the largest analysis of U.S. teens ever is returning some depressingly large numbers: More than half a million have had an eating disorder, according to government research. Binge-eating was the most common disorder, found in 1.5% of teens studied, followed by bulimia (1%) and anorexia (0.3%); another 3% had bothersome symptoms, but not a full-fledged disorder. While the percentages may seem low, they're actually slightly higher than what have been observed in other studies, reports the AP.

17 1/2

2011-03-09T20:20:00.002-05:00

Dear body,

Hello! It's good to see you again. You've been buried under layers of long pants and sweaters all winter, but now it's February in Georgia and that means spring. So now I'm standing in front of my vanity, looking in the mirror - hands on hips, like Superwoman wearing my swimsuit just to see if it still fits.

Hell-ooo...

When did I get gorgeous?

When did that little smirk get there, one corner of my lips up as I'm trying not to laugh?

When did my hair get so long?

And while we're on the subject, where'd that tan I had last summer go?

And I definitely don't need to ask where all my Christmas candy went. Yikes.

But all-in-all, not bad.

Sure, there's that huge burn scar on your arm, that one you haven't seen in a few months because of all the sweaters. I'd almost forgotten about it, the way people always glance at it and then look away quickly, pretending they weren't staring. And, okay, your legs aren't nearly as thin and muscular as you wanted them to be. (Hint: Running works better if you actually do it, instead of think about it.)

There's seventeen years worth of dancing and boxing and jujitsu in that mirror. Seventeen years worth of body-hating, body-loving, not caring and caring a lot looking back at me. Seventeen years of split knuckles, skinned knees, bruises, burns, scars and cuts written on my body. Seventeen years of doing my own stunts, getting into fights, hobbling around on crutches for weeks and trying to be left-handed because my right arm's in a cast.

It's looking at me in the mirror, and I'm looking back at it, trying to see what everyone sees when they look at me.

Age 45

2011-01-12T18:12:00.001-05:00

Sometimes it takes a child to voice the truth that needs to be heard. As I watched little Sophia speak her words in the video "Beauty Is Not How Skinny You Can Be," I thought of myself as a little girl much like her and bawled. I was a little girl with long dark hair and light blue eyes, and I loved reading and writing and books and chocolate and kittens. I loved to go to school and sitting in the front row, eager to learn. But as life unfolded, I learned to dislike myself. And one day, I grew up to hate my body and did everything in my power to look and be like someone else. Anybody but me.

I have been trying to recreate myself almost since I was born. I never thought I was beautiful enough. I never thought I was smart enough. And when I got married, I never thought I was good enough for my husband. But the harder I tried to become someone else, the worse things became. Until I was lost.

Anorexia nervosa knew just when to strike. And I then embarked on a new mission to remold my body to society's idea, and I was so successful that I lost sight of everything else. The love of my husband. The friendship of others. Joy and laughter and love became buried by layers of anorexia until I couldn't breathe anymore. It wasn't just my body that became smaller, my soul became smaller.

But as little Sophia says, I am unique and there will never be another me in all the history of the world. So why in the world would I try to look or be like someone else? I am rediscovering myself; my love of writing and reading, of the joy of Celtic music and classic Elton John, of cuddling with my cat and crying because this little girl's message moves me so much I can't hold it back. I have dark curly hair and light blue eyes and my body once was strong and beautiful and it can become that again. I am opinionated and believe strongly in justice for those who can't speak for themselves. I love to study English and poetry and history and the Bible and religion. I am passionately loyal to my friends and would do anything for them. I am stubborn, and my therapist says one of my greatest strengths is that I never give up.

I believe in miracles, and the power of love and hope. I know I can recover from anorexia. I'm just starting to unravel the layers of this cloak of anorexia, but unravel it I will. I have finally learned the key is within me. I just have to unlock the door.

Age 19

2010-12-10T11:16:00.000-05:00

No, not her
Not sure how I became this girl,
The frail shell of what used to be,
The barely existing, numb, scared child,
No longer a vibrant spirit, no longer free.

There’s only a glimmer left,
Only a faint sparkle of that old girl remains,
But she’s trapped deep inside there,
Trapped under the pain.

But don’t give up on her,
That girl is ready now to fight,
To conquer the fear that’s buried inside,
To cross from darkness into light.

She hasn’t waved the white flag,
Surrender is not a word she knows,
Because she wants to conquer the world,
Just watch the places she goes.

This girl will break the ties that bind,
That hold her underneath the waves,
The swirling current of disaster,
That has held her as a slave.

She answers no more to their voices,
Ignores their command to obey,
To let the waters of doom wash over her,
And she begins to pray.

Prayers for strength and faith,
Prayers for hope, above all,
Knowing that they’ll be answered,
Ready to face this battle, walking tall.

I am currently in recovery. I recently found this poem that I wrote during my first week in the hospital. The one year anniversary of my hospital admission is approaching and I can't believe how much has changed in a year. I would hardly recognize the girl I was one year ago...I am never turning back.

Age 19

2010-12-09T16:03:00.001-05:00

Dear 12 Year Old Me,

You are standing in the line at the grocery store next to the studio. You don’t really know why you’re there and you’re worried that you will be late to dance class. You have one item, and it seems really important to buy. When you pay for that package of laxatives you don’t realize that you’ve started what is going to become the hardest fight of your life.

You hate who you are. Hate, perhaps, isn’t quite the right word. Hate implies too much action; it takes energy to hate, and you don’t feel that you deserve even that. You feel that you should just disappear, and rid the world of yourself. You reason the world would be a better place without you. You are a straight A student, taking advanced courses in middle school and excelling in dance classes; you’ve known what you wanted to do since you were 4 years old (oncologist) and you are determined to achieve it, and all you can think of is whether or not the number on the scale is up or down.

Soon you become sick of the laxatives, they make you cramp and feel nauseous, and you discover that throwing up really gets rid of everything faster. By 13 you are purging everything you eat, restricting everyday to under 200 calories and binging once every few weeks. You are consumed with this feeling that you don’t deserve anything that you have. That you deserve to be in pain; that you're life and your body are in gross excess, you can barely look in the mirror without your stomach churning in revulsion; you do endless calisthenics in your room at night and you beat your stomach as it cries out in hunger, and it all seems like the right thing to do; you need to disappear.

But what you can’t see is that you are crying as you write this. You would never have thought that 8 years from now you would be sitting in your room, writing this letter and crying your eyes out because you can’t stop this cycle of hatred. You can’t see the damage you’re doing to your body. How you can’t even eat now without feeling ill. How your hair is falling out. How your skin is always a mess. How your period is irregular and disappears for months at a time. How your heart beat is irregular due to electrolyte imbalances from purging.

You don’t realize that your life will become one long succession of getting on the scale and off the scale. You can’t see that, even as your twentieth birthday looms, you will still be that 12 year old girl, sad and desperate to feel beautiful and accomplished, though you’ve graduated high school a year early, worked in a biochemistry lab for almost 3 years and won a national scholarship in your field, all before the age of 20.

But now, you will choose to change. It’s not a question of want to; though sometimes you do want to be rid of your eating disorder, other times it is easier to just curl up with it. But you can’t do it anymore. You can’t fight this losing battle with your body. You are only going to lose either way. No matter how thin you get, you can’t fix an inner problem with outward appearances.

These feelings of inadequacy are not based on size. This eating disorder is not about a number. It’s about shutting out feelings that you can’t deal with. It’s about making the miserable pain you feel inside more manageable. But it doesn’t make it more manageable; you are slowly killing yourself and you can’t go on like this anymore.

You may not always love your body. But you are going to try. You are not going to fight it anymore. Even as you write this, you’ve been in outpatient treatment for two months, seeing a therapist, nutritionist and psychiatrist. And they want you to go to an inpatient clinic. You see, that’s how serious things will become! And you will probably do it. Because you’ve come to your wit's end and you’ve lost the control that you were trying so hard to gain, to no avail, with your eating disorder. You're weight's been all over the place and you've never been happy, you've never felt beautiful, the key word is felt: you've always been beautiful!

You only get one body. This life is all you have. You’re all about being accomplished and successful. And though being perfect is not what life is about, if that’s what you want, then stop focusing on killing yourself and start LIVING! It’s not a life, what you’ve been doing for the past 8 years. You’re going to start graduate school in a year and a half; enjoy this time. Embrace life with the fervor that you embraced your eating disorder. And leave this disease behind you, so you can be a productive member of society, and, above all, happy. Think about whether this eating disorder has made you fundamentally a happier person. I think you’ll find the answer is painfully obvious. You deserve better. You deserve to live and be loved. You won’t always believe it, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less true. You are beautiful inside and out.

Love,
K

Age 15

2010-11-20T20:41:00.001-05:00

I look in the mirror, but who I see isn’t me.
Where am I?
Hiding beneath the self that I see.
Far away, trying to find me.
Where did I go?
The question stands still.
The tear that I see on that self before me, glitters and shines.
Could it be that I finally found myself.

Age 32

2010-11-13T19:20:00.001-05:00

Dearest Body,

We have had a love/hate relationship over the years. I must admit to it being more hate than love at times, and I don't know whose fault that is. I used to blame you and me (the body and the spirit), but I also blame society. When I was a little girl I didn't think about you - you just were. I lived in my body and I never thought you would be anything other than beautiful because I felt like a beautiful person. At some point people started telling me that you weren't beautiful. Since me and you are really two halves of the same coin, that hurt a lot. They always said you were too fat, even when you probably weren't. They were so cruel to us. They beat us up in school, they teased and shouted and threw things and made us feel like nothing. And the worst part is that we believed them. Deep down, we knew we were not ugly, deep down we knew that we were brilliant, in fact. The person in the body felt like the body was a prison, and that God, if there was one, was a cruel god for trapping such a loving spirit in an unlovable body. Those feelings may not be right now, but they were part of growing up.

Because I was told these terrible things over and over, I started to believe them. I tried to punish you, body, for making me feel this way - for being the reason I was treated as a sub-human. I starved you. I was glad to feel hunger pangs because it was a punishment on you for the suffering you inflicted on me. But it didn't help. I still wasn't skinny. I was skinnier but not skinny enough for the world. I saw only my fatness; I saw only the flaws, because that is what everyone else saw. Every bully in school reinforced these thoughts, and I am sure they did so gladly. I didn't see the beautifully small nose or the eyes the color of the sea. I didn't see the gorgeous breasts or muscular and shapely legs. I saw only a stomach that wasn't flat enough and arms that sagged at the top.

I tried to love you when I went to college. I dyed my hair funny colors to distract people from my extra curves. I tattooed you and pierced you in order to make you my canvas - a living work of art on which I could let some beauty shine through. And I dieted, of course. I kept you from eating meat, but you grew bigger. I restricted everything, and yet, no luck...you just wouldn't shrink. I began to resign myself a little to the thought that you might not ever be small. I learned how to buy clothes that looked better on you. I dressed sexy, despite my size. I learned to let the girl within come out - the bon vivant, the fun girl, the girl I had always wanted to be (had always been) but had hidden. And I had friends, for the first time. Lots of them. But body, I never did love you. We had a truce. That was all. We stopped fighting so much and tried to accept each other.

Later on, other people decided that they loved you, though I never really believed them. I'm still not sure I do, although I have a husband who thinks you are ravishingly sexy, no matter what you have on. I still have my doubts. Sometimes I wonder how anyone can think you are even remotely attractive! Sometimes I wonder why men flirt with me, or are not embarrassed to be with me, because of you. Of course I am thinking only of a little fat, and not of the brilliant girl with the vibrant spirit that lives in that body.

You did do some good things for me, body, or at least WE did them, when we were cooperating. We learned how to run long distances, and we enjoy doing that frequently. When we are running, you usually surprise me with your endurance and speed, and I feel more at ease with you when I can put you to the test do something that demands toughness. You've always been muscular and strong, so I've been able to lift things that other girls can't. I like that, because you make me feel capable.

You also made me sick, as you have an illness that can't be cured. Thanks a LOT for that, though I suppose genetics gave it to you, so I should be thanking my parents first. But the illness has changed my life. You can't process a lot of foods, and now that I know, I have to eat a very different diet than most. That really bites the big one, because food is no longer a source of pleasure for me. As sad as it is, I have been pleased that my new diet has shrunk you. You are finally slimming down, and I am maybe getting my wish, at a high price. Maybe someday I can really come to terms with you. Maybe I can love you for real, or truly be proud of us both. Maybe. Someday. I guess we'll see.

Age 19

2010-11-03T19:23:00.000-04:00

When I look in the mirror at age 19, I don't see an insecure girl anymore...I see a confident woman who is in almost every way sure of herself. I don't see society's standard of "beauty" - I see ME. Even though society tells me that all my "imperfections" should make me self conscious, I don't see my curves, small breasts, scars, un-dyed hair, tummy, freckled face as "imperfections"....I see them as blessings. These "imperfections" are what make me unique. As I look in the mirror, I KNOW that I don't need to rate myself according to society's standards of "beauty"...what is "beauty" anyway? YOU decide. I did, and it was the best decision I ever made.

Pretty

2010-10-29T12:07:00.001-04:00

Age 19

2010-10-06T19:26:00.001-04:00

I looked in the mirror two years ago and didn't recognize the girl on the other side. I did everything I could to make that girl go away, yet the more I tried, the more I seemed to be greeted with failure.

Today, I look in the mirror and see a girl who has overcome struggle. This girl knows why she is here and will to whatever it takes to help each and every girl who lives on the other side of the glass.

I will be kind to myself, I will listen to myself and I will believe in myself.

Age 17

2010-08-28T21:39:00.000-04:00

Dear Body,

What I see when I look at you in the mirror varies greatly. Most days negativity overpowers any morsel of acceptance that I have for you. I see fat some days, while others I am able to decipher the slightest hint of beauty - a healthy body that has come a long way from its days wasted on an eating disorder. But ultimately the image that I see every time I look at you in the mirror is an image that is not good enough.

My eyes have grown to become critical, enabling you to be subjected to unwarranted scrutiny. It is as though you are modeling clay. Perhaps with these negative thoughts I will begin to transform you into a body that is good enough. A so-called perfect body. My legs will become impossibly long and lean, my slightly convex stomach flat as a board and oh, what the heck, I will grow a few inches and then make my boobs a bit bigger.

Whose body is this? It is not you and will never be. The sad part is, this description resembles a mannequin - an image that I feel has been shoved down my throat leaving me to wonder why am I not the same. When it comes down to it, you are my home. You should be respected and recognized for your amazing existence. Body, I know that an apology is in order. I am sorry for abusing, belittling and loathing you.

With that, I acknowledge that today is a new day; it is a day to break free of all body negativities that berate me. Lets face it, if I don’t come to terms with my body sooner than later, when will I?

Age 25

2010-07-26T09:33:00.001-04:00

Dear Body,

I must admit I have a love/hate relationship with you. When I was in elementary school, I hated being the tallest in my class. Yet when I was in high school and I was stuck playing point guard instead of center, I hated that too. I hated how quickly my womanly hips showed up after I stopped playing college soccer, and how quickly those curves turned to apathy and disregard toward my wish to take care of myself as I had known how to my whole life. I didn’t even want to step on a scale or look in the mirror.

When I ended college as a size 12, I hated myself. But I missed the physical pain I could put my body through via exercise and the subsequent pride I felt upon completing a challenge. I put on the cleats again, as well as the running shoes. Now, a year later, I am proud of my physical fitness, my ability to run 10 miles and play soccer with ease. I like how my legs look, how my arms have toned and my ass. Yes, my ass looks great. I look at myself naked after exercise or a shower and think, “Damn, I look good.”

Yet, somehow, even though I love my commitment to physical fitness and the joy of the addiction to my runner’s high, I am a bit afraid. I am afraid that this might go overboard. You see, a year later I managed to fit comfortably into a size 2. I’ve never been that skinny, even in my prime days as a three-sport high school athlete and a college athlete. Am I just exceeding what I thought my body could do or abusing it in a way that I just now am developing a mild consciousness of doing so?

I love how I look right now. Love it, love it and want to flaunt it. But I still hate the possibility that it is not the best way for this to be done.

Love and hate,
The inhibitor of you, Body

Age 20

2010-07-23T21:07:00.001-04:00

When I look in the mirror, fully clothed, I think I might look beautiful. I dress well, have nice makeup, blonde hair. I'm thin, but not too thin and have curves in all the right places. But if I take those clothes off and stand in front of the mirror, I'm horrified at what I've done to myself.

After 6 years, I've cut, burned, sliced or stabbed every area on my body that looks so well when fully clothed. The skin on my bare arms, chest, breasts, stomach, hips and thighs is no longer a creamy, smooth, white surface. Instead, it's puckered, bumpy, discolored and ugly. My constant need to hide these self-inflicted imperfections has brought on the paranoia of being found out, the pain of rejection when I am found out, the need to leave early due to panic, the addiction of archaic blood-letting and the fatigue of anemia.

I'm angry with myself and with my naked body. But the thing that angers me the most is that I have suffered no heartbreak, loss, physical ailments or family trouble. If I had, then I would have something to blame. But because I have been blessed with what many would call a perfect life, the blame is mine.

How pathetic.

Age 17

2010-07-22T09:37:00.000-04:00

Dear Eating Disorder,

I’m writing to say how much I hate you and how much I want you out of my life.

I hate the way that you make me feel and I hate the control you have over me. You make me feel like such a failure. You make me feel like I am so out of control. You make me think such bad things about myself and you make me feel so hopeless and worthless.

I hate always wishing to be thin. You always make me feel so incredibly fat, even when I am so underweight I have to be put in the hospital. I hate feeling like I constantly have to compare myself to everyone that I see. I feel like I am striving to be perfect, but nothing I do is ever good enough. I never want to hear your voice again. It is so difficult trying to go through life with your voice always nagging me in my head. I HATE YOU, I really do.

Every single thought that goes through my mind is that I’m not good enough, skinny enough, pretty enough or smart enough. I’ve dealt with you for over seven years now and it has been the longest seven years of my life. When I was little, I had no friends, no social life and no fun. I always tried to keep a smile on my face, even though deep down inside, I was hurting so badly. I wanted to be beautiful, like all the models and actresses. I wanted to be thin so badly that I would rather die than be fat. You told me that I was being strong by not eating. I have never cheated, lied or hurt anyone more than I have when I was with you. I have hurt my entire family and all of my friends. I have pushed people away when I needed them the most. You ruined my life and you were the worst thing that ever happened to me.

I thought I was doing the right thing by restricting, purging, exercising, cutting, taking diet pills, laxatives, diuretics - anything that I could get my hands on. I thought I was doing something good by losing weight and hurting my body. I now realize how wrong I was by thinking that. I thought that by becoming thin, I would become happy; that was the biggest lie you have ever told me. I lost so much weight and was so unhappy. You hurt me so much. I wanted to feel pretty, to be popular and have a lot of friends. I wanted to make the perfect grades, get accepted to the best college and impress everyone I knew. I wanted people to think, “That girl has it all.”

I felt like I needed you most of my life. You were my only friend that I could turn to when no one else was there. When my life was falling apart, or something bad happened, you were always there to bring me back up. You were constantly there by my side through everything. You gave me comfort and control, and that’s what I wanted. It is so hard to let go of you, because you were my best friend. I have to be strong now and let go. You have made it so hard to get close to people. I feel like I don’t deserve anything anymore. You took away my life from me and now I want it back. You took away my friends, my faith, my family, my happiness and you filled it with self-hatred, depression and sadness. You took away every good opportunity in my life that I had. I couldn’t do anything anymore because I was so worn out over you. I want to get rid of you completely.

I have felt a little taste of life without you and I was never happier. I smiled and laughed so hard when you weren’t in my life. Once everything seems to be okay, and in its place, you keep coming back into my life and taking everything from me again. You tore me to pieces. Every night that I cried myself to sleep, I was in so much pain and just wanted you to stop coming into my life and telling me all these negative things. I want you to stop and never come back again. I am finally starting to let go of you and let other people back in my life. People need me, and I need them more than ever. I have Jesus in my life, and He has helped me more than you ever did. I don’t need you anymore, and I never will.

You have been in my life for way too long and I don’t want to hear your voice in my head again ever. I am drawing a line between us, and you may try to cross it multiple times, but I will never let you. God has shown me what great things I can do and I completely trust Him now. No matter how hard you try, I will never let you back into my life. You destroyed me and I cannot be destroyed ever again. You may try to feed me lies and let me try to think awful things again, but I won’t believe you. I am better than this. I am trying to become a better person. I am starting to like who I am.

It takes work, but I am really trying. I am so much better than what you ever told me. I realized that if I am going to be happy, then I need to be healthy and I am not becoming your version of happy anymore. I need to end this now. I would like to say thank you though, because you have made me such a stronger person, and I can see reality now. I am so much happier without you and I am so much closer to God than I was ever before, so thank you for that. You have made me realize who I want to be.

Although those are good things, the bad you have shown me outweigh the good. I am such a better person than this and I realize that now. I hope and pray every day that you will never come back into my life. Please stay away from me. I am stronger than ever and I am going to beat this.

I am such a better person now and I couldn’t be happier.

Age 19

2010-06-02T09:34:00.001-04:00

When I look in the mirror I see a journey.

Two years ago my body was tight, slender, muscular and smooth. Today my body has scars, stretch marks and deflated breasts. There are so many stories written all over my body, I do not have a perfect face or body by the world’s standards, but every day I marvel in what my body has done and been able to survive. Both sides of my face are distinctly different, my eye is smaller on the left and my head indents where my skull crushed part of my brain. I have long jagged scars that go from my eyebrow and disappear into my hair. On the right, I see faint scars on my cheek where the skin was scraped off. I almost died that day, yet I pulled through, and my face tells the story.

Traveling down my body I see my breasts - they hang low and are barely recognizable to what they used to be. I cherish these breasts which I used to despise. I had inverted nipples and wanted no one to see them. Now my nipples point out, far out, because they are nursed on 6 times a day for a year so far. My belly is soft, not like pudding, more like an expensive down pillow. I love it - the stretch marks make the skin even softer to the touch. My defined abs have disappeared behind the loose skin, they did well carrying my babe for 9 months.

Farther down I see my thighs - what an embarrassment they used to be. To think I had 5 stretch marks when I was 15 and refused to wear shorts! Now these winding tears have multiplied by a thousand and traveled all the way down and finally reached their final destination in my calves. These are the illustrations of a story, my story.

Should I be embarrassed that my body has been through a lot? Should I be ashamed that I was given the gift of carrying a child? I used to be. I won’t lie; it's been a long journey, a journey where I've discovered what really matters and what true beauty is. I can safely say that when I look in that mirror, what I see staring back at me is not an ugly, distorted, worthless girl, but a strong strikingly beautiful and confident woman.

Age 24

2010-05-04T19:42:00.001-04:00

When I look in the mirror I see a happy, healthy young woman. She's brightly dressed and confident. She takes care of herself and is comfortable in her own skin. This person is me, and I like her.

Only a year ago, a very different person used to stare back at me. Her malnourished body was swathed in baggy clothes, and her dull lifeless eyes could barely muster the courage or the strength to stare back at me. This girl was suffering from an eating disorder, and the mirror was her enemy. Even at her thinnest, this girl still saw herself as a fat person, a monster whom she hated and attacked. She spent years trying to destroy this person, this creature in the mirror. And she very nearly succeeded.

Luckily help was at hand, and she entered a treatment clinic for people suffering from eating disorders. Here she began to rebuild her shrunken self, literally and metaphorically. As she did this, the story in the mirror changed, and I started to see myself. Eventually I discovered that I liked that person, loved her for who she was, and I wrote a book about the process of self discovery that brought me to this conclusion. It's called Mariposa and it's available from www.chipmunkapublishing.co.uk.

That frightened, starving girl has since become a distant memory, and my perception of myself has changed. Curves are good, health is good. There are parts of me I like more than others, but no one can be perfect. Above all, I can accept and make the best of who I am. Today the mirror is no longer my enemy, nor is the reflection within it. In the mirror I now see recovery, an exciting future and a person who is special in her own unique way. I see me, and I like it!

Age 19

2010-04-01T20:06:00.001-04:00

When I look in the mirror, I see a beautiful face, hot body. Not the perfect boob-waist-hip, but I love everything about me. I wouldn’t change a thing.

I would not change my smallish boobs, large butt, stubby fingers or straight, yet, obtuse nose. It all forms what I see to be the hottest girl in the world - though I am still coming to terms with the fact that not everyone can see what I see.

I am close to turning 20 and I have never had a boyfriend, never even been close. I have tried to take a step back from what I see in the mirror. I even thought I had a reverse image disorder, but no - I love me. All of me. My personality, my wit (okay, sarcasm) and my body. Just because boys in college have failed to see the beauty of me, I don’t want them to bring me down. Though I am scared everyday that I will one day look in the mirror and see what everybody else sees. I am scared that one day, I will finally give in to society and see something other then myself. I don’t know what that is, because for some reason I have been blessed with high self-esteem and it seems that I am invincible except for my heart where I longed to be loved.

I am strong, beautiful and I know it.

Age 21

2010-03-21T19:05:00.001-04:00

When I look in the mirror, I see big thighs and a bit of a flabby tummy, but you know what - I think I’m beautiful the way I am!

Before I turned 17, I used to be a slim UK size 8…now I am a UK size 12. I may have been skinnier but when I look back, I was never happy. I never felt confident about the way I looked and I wasn’t the bubbly person I am today.

Up until recently, I’ve been obsessed with dieting and trying to lose weight - but even doing that made me miserable! Now I’ve decided to get over the way I look, and by doing so, I’ve started to notice what’s more important in life. I’ve focused more on my university studies and decided to take on voluntary work. I also take care of myself health-wise rather than obsessing about my weight. My weight is healthy so why bother.

I’ve also realized that I have a lot of good qualities that are much more important than any bit of cellulite or flab on my body. Life is so much better when you learn to love yourself!

Age 19

2010-03-18T13:08:00.002-04:00

I'm about to be 20, and I really hoped I would've stopped thinking about these things by now. I have never had an eating disorder, but two of my closest friends have suffered from anorexia and bulimia and I feel guilty sometimes for being naturally thin around them when I know that putting on weight stresses them out. But the thing is, it stresses me out too.

Recently I really dislike my body even though it's a healthy weight. I just feel like my hips are lumpy and unattractive, like I'm too short to carry any extra weight. I weigh 111 lbs now, and at my highest weight ever I was 118. I am petrified of someday weighing more than 120 lbs. I know I'm not fat, but I'm not in shape either. My thighs have cellulite and I have love handles. I almost went back on Prozac even though it made me suicidal because my appetite was gone when I took it - I weighed 104 lbs and felt so thin and people noticed and complimented me. Now I feel hungry all the time.

The only parts of my body I like are my wrists and my calves, but my calves are even kind-of ruined for me because I've inherited really poor circulation and I have spider veins and scars and blotches. I can't shake the idea that models in magazines are normal no matter how many times I read that it's not true…I just feel like that's the right way to look and then I feel terrible. I'm a lesbian and at one point with my ex I thought, "God, my body is so much uglier than hers" and then immediately hated myself because she's anorexic and she was being so unhealthy at the time. One part of my mind knew that I wanted her to eat healthy and be happy and yet, another part was saying "she looks good!" even though her bones were jutting out. Body image is so fucked up in our generation.

Age 24

2010-03-17T20:27:00.001-04:00

When I look in the mirror, sometimes I see my nice ankles, or my decent calves, or my pretty collarbone; but most of the time my eyes are focused on the cellulite on my butt, or the way my legs touch all the way down, or how I still have the pooch on my stomach that will never ever go away. I am 5'5" and weigh 130 lbs, but I still feel like I jiggle like jello when I try to run or jump onto a bed, and like my stomach is huge when I bend over to kiss my boyfriend or sit at a computer. My younger sister, who is about the same size as me, feels the same way. Our mother has always obsessed over her weight, going from 120 lbs up to 200 lbs and back again, and SHE has always felt fat because her sister was thin and beautiful. It is awful what we as women put ourselves through even though we know better. I am so scared that I will always worry about getting fat or not being pretty enough and that I will pass it on to my children. I would hate to make them feel like this, even unintentionally. I just read through the accounts on this site, and it made me cry to see the age range of women who aren't happy with themselves. I don't want to hate my body for my whole life.

Age 23

2010-03-14T17:28:00.001-04:00

What I see when I look in the mirror? I see a body that has been through a lot - sports, diets, eating disorders, injuries, ups, downs, love moments, hate moments. My whole life is written within my body. Each muscle, each fat inch, each scar is a trace of the way I've lived and the goals I've achieved so far. If I can be proud of my story, than I have to learn to be proud of my body. Even if it doesn't resemble to the general idea of the perfect body, even if I don't get complimented for it as much as I would like, still I have to learn to be proud of it. It's a daily struggle - it's not a thing you achieve overnight. Still it is something I want to achieve.

Age 23

2010-03-12T10:11:00.001-05:00

I see something different every time I look in the mirror. It's a mind game. I see my body change in 5 minutes from before to after I throw up. I see something different if I eat or if I don't eat. I see someone who is not really me. I see secrets and lies and emptiness. Then I see Jesus. And I wonder why I choose to live in the empty when He has offered the fullness of life.

Age 28

2010-01-31T15:25:00.001-05:00

I am 28 years old, and I have had three children in the last five years - and nursed each for a year. No one really tells another what effect this has on your body. I am not quite sure if my stomach will ever go without having a big flap of skin hanging loose, like an extra appendage that just suddenly grew overnight. I will never regret having my sons, but what bothers me are celebrities having babies then walking down the runway three weeks later in lingerie. Can any woman possibly live up to that? And talk about getting people's expectations too high to ever be attainable. At this point in my life, I am just completely unhappy with my body, but feel so powerless to do anything about it.

Age 22

2010-01-18T19:27:00.001-05:00

I have the same insecurities as another author about being "too skinny," but that's not my greatest insecurity. Perhaps if I was less focused on the hair on my body, my flat and skinny body would be my top priority. I'm not sure why or how it came about, but around the beginning of college my body hair became thicker and more widespread. Now I have a happy trail and thick nipple hair. It actually pains me to even write about it. My mom tells me that she'll help me pay to have laser hair removal, my friends have no idea and my boyfriend says he doesn't care. But I do. I care that my mom isn't comfortable enough with her own body image to pass something positive on to me. I care that in other cultures body hair removal is not a "necessary" part of social survival. I care that I know beauty is relative and in the eye of the beholder, but yet I do not feel beautiful. To this day I keep it despite the fact that I am uncomfortable. When I am feeling really insecure or tempted to remove it, I ask myself "If I were in a place where no one cared, would I still do it?" No. Besides, like I told my mom, once I remove it then I'll just find the next insecurity to focus on. At some point I have to stop. So hair I am, and I'll stay until my hate turns to acceptance and my acceptance to love.

Age 32

2010-01-14T09:42:00.000-05:00

Two years ago I took a ballet class for fun - it was a great way to get exercise, and I've always loved to dance. But I hated having to look at myself in the studio's full-length mirrors. Wearing tight leggings and a leotard top, I was disgusted that my body didn't resemble the svelte, delicate form that I'd long come to associate with beauty. My stomach stuck out. My thighs were thick.

I remember that at around age thirty I noticed that I had belly fat for the first time. Nothing major - I just realized that my stomach wasn't that perfect (usually airbrushed) washboard that gleams on the covers of magazines. I was embarrassed to sit on my own couch in a pair of jeans, looking down at this extra piece of skin that I had been told in no uncertain terms was hideous and unhealthy.

I never realized how hard it was to fight the messages sent by magazines, movies, television and the beauty industry until I started doing it. As lefty-liberated-feminist as I considered myself, I couldn't shake the idea that my completely normal, healthy-sized body was ugly. It's a battle that I fight every day, every time I find myself harshly judging that image in the mirror.

I have one trick that seems to work for me. Right before I get in the shower, I look at myself naked in the mirror. I don't pose, I just stand there. I feel the texture of my skin, the soft fullness of those parts of me that society says are supposed to be smooth and hard. I look at my eyes, my hair, my moles - all of it real, unairbrushed, unmodified. In that moment, at least, I am able to feel beautiful. Not because of some arbitrary set of guidelines, but because my body is my own, and loving it in the face of so many voices that tell me not to is the ultimate act of joyful rebellion.

Age 21

2010-01-11T09:06:00.000-05:00

I am 5'0" and 90lbs.

Sometimes I feel beautiful. Especially when someone compliments me. Or when I'm with my boyfriend.

And sometimes the world I live in makes me feel hideous. Especially the media. Splashed all over magazines, websites and TV shows, I'm told time and time again that "curvy women are real women." I see so much resentment towards skinnier girls. Comments like, "I hate anorexic girls." Or, "She's totally flat and doesn't have a butt. That's so gross." Or, "Stick-thin toothpick girls are so overrated. Curvy is beautiful."

I can tell you that nothing is quite as hurtful as hearing people talk about "REAL women." Being told that I'm not a real woman, not a real and attractive female, makes me feel sick and awful.

I've been underweight my whole life. It's in my genes. I eat more enthusiastically and more frequently than all of my friends put together, but my skinny frame doesn't keep any of the fat. I'm healthy and eat healthy. But If I miss a meal, then I lose a few pounds. I have bony shoulders, and obvious collarbones. I have breasts so small that they don't fit into 32AA bras (but I wear them anyway). I have narrow hips. I have a thick waist. A small and flat bottom. The only fat I have gathers around my stomach, which inflates once I've eaten a lot. It looks disgusting to me, since I have no breasts or butt, so my stomach becomes the largest protrusion on my body. Like little toddlers with fat stomachs. I'm short for my age. In all respects, I have the body of a teenage boy. I try to tell myself that I have the body of a woman, but everything around me tells me otherwise. The media makes me feel ashamed and ugly.

Sometimes I wonder about breast implants. I have dreams where my waist shrinks and my hips balloon outwards. Where I get a perky bottom. I have nightmares about anorexia. I know I'm so far from it, and it would never happen. But it's my greatest fear. I'm terrified of missing a meal. Sometimes I stare at myself in the mirror and grow so frustrated that later, I avoid the mirror for days.

Sometimes I try to gain weight. I force myself to eat constantly, for days on end, until I feel sick. I gain maybe a few pounds by the end of the week. I rejoice and go back to my normal eating schedule. I lose the weight in a day. I go back to square one.

Nobody has my problem. Every one of my friends worries one way or another about gaining weight. They talk about diets, about shedding the pounds. When I have insecurities about my weight, they ignore me. Tell me I have no real problems. They get jealous, too. And that saddens me so much.

I wish the world would learn to chant, "Every Body Is Beautiful." No matter how tall, or short, or fat, or skinny, or big-breasted, or tiny-breasted you are. Every Body.

Size Ate

2010-01-04T20:15:00.007-05:00

Margaux Laskey's autobiographical, award-winning show Size Ate: One Woman's Search For the Perfect Fit returns to the NYC stage at the Wild Project for a limited engagement, January 14-16, 2010. This one-woman show chronicles Laskey's harrowing, yet humorous struggles with body and food issues, and her journey towards self-acceptance at any size.

Size Ate explores the universal themes of obsession, addiction, redemption and recovery through humor, drama, song and imagery.

For more information, please visit www.sizeate.com.

Age 28

2010-01-03T22:21:00.001-05:00

I see beauty. A body that celebrates it's own uniqueness. A skinny top with pointy breasts and round dimply bottom. An infectious smile. Tiny hands that heal.

Age 59

2009-10-30T20:57:00.001-04:00

When I look in the mirror, I see an abundance of laugh lines that reveal a long, happy, healthy life. There has been heartache and strife, but these lines remind me of all that has been good – shared laughter with family and friends, celebrations…and triumphs. It is easy to fall into a pattern of focusing on that which is bad…my laugh lines are a constant reminder that there has been so much good.

Age 23

2009-09-12T20:36:00.003-04:00

I'm a 23 year old Black Woman and my body has only recently truly become a part of me. I’ve spent most of my life wishing for a different body and feeling uncomfortable in my own skin because I didn’t understand or appreciate my body as much as I do now; but better late than never as they say.

It struck me though, that apart from female family members and a few friends, I didn’t have much support growing up. I’m talking about the kind of support that says ‘the way you’re feeling about your body today is normal because I’ve felt it too.’ Each female body is special but its problems hardly are. I appreciate The Body Image Project for this reason. I wanted to do something to prove that solidarity among women, particularly black women, concerning body image issues is possible and necessary to build body conscious confidence, as I call it. This is how Girl, It’s Not Just You was born – a site focused on the body image and consciousnesses of black woman, regardless of age, skin tone or nationality. It is an effort to share our problems such that we understand that the various things we experience are not unique to us as individuals.

Age 22

2009-08-22T10:28:00.001-04:00

I grew much faster than those around me. By the time I was 10, I was 5 feet - 3 inches and 220 pounds. I was fat. Plain and simple, I was unhealthy. I never managed to feel comfortable in my skin while in school, and as a result, I isolated myself and ate food for something to do when I was bored and lonely. By the time I graduated from high school, I had arrived at 280 pounds of unhealthy, unhappy 18 year old girl.

Then, I went to college and was forced to walk a couple miles per day to get to and from my classes and somehow I managed to begin to focus less on my appearance and how it was perceived. I was a girl doing something healthy - exercise every day! I could walk miles more than my peers without getting exhausted. I began to appreciate the things my body could do, and began to love it. My legs were amazing for being able to carry me. With that mentality, I started to try to see how much it could do. I started exercising much more often - taking up new sports. I began to love every inch of myself. My big thighs are muscles that can take me miles on my bicycle. My round butt is screaming with a megaphone how many hundreds of stairs I climbed in Europe, and my large arms testify to the fact that I swim for miles every week. Every inch of me tells my story. While numbers aren't important, I want to share for those of you out there who are still large - I am saying these things while still weighing in at 220 pounds. 220 pounds of strong woman who loves the look on people's faces when they see this beautiful body climbing out of the pool after 100 laps!

Age 19

2009-07-07T11:03:00.002-04:00

I'm 19 years old. I live in this weird fluctuation of loving the way I look and hating it, and I don't know why. Sometimes I think I have a great hourglass figure, and feel like a million bucks. Other times, like today, I feel like my stomach and thighs and hips are monstrous, and would tear ten pounds of fat off my body if I could. I constantly compare myself to other girls, trying to find things about them that aren't as good as mine, and then woefully deciding that I'm just looking for excuses to cover how much I really don't like my body. The scale says I'm healthy - 5'4" and 125 pounds - but I just can't bring myself to be content with my body most of the time. I usually strut my stuff with non-existent confidence so that what I feel like I lack in the shape department can be replaced with self-assuredness. I get compliments on my smile, hair or eyes, but I feel like I'm never noticed for having a nice body, and therefore tend to think it's not so great. At least I know in my head that I'm healthy, really, and need to learn to appreciate that.

Age 32

2009-06-03T20:06:00.000-04:00

When I look in the mirror, I see a strong, beautiful woman who glows from the inside out. I’m not an ideal beauty – I’m marked with imperfections. But I have a smile that can light up a room…and eyes that radiate love. I’ve learned to love myself.

Age 25

2009-04-09T12:26:00.000-04:00

I find myself the most depressed when I am at the gym. I feel like no matter how hard I try, I’ll always be the big girl. I don’t want to be thin. I would settle for average.

Age 16

2009-02-04T12:04:00.000-05:00

I have always had a weight problem. I was an overweight baby. I am now an overweight teen. Growing up, my parents were always positive and supportive - ignoring the problem of having an unhealthy child. I don't blame my parents, but I wish we had conversations about my weight as a child instead of pretending the problem didn't exist. Maybe I could have learned healthier habits. Maybe I wouldn't have felt like such an outcast. Maybe I could have been happy.

I can't remember a day when I haven't been teased about my weight/looks. Every night, I cry myself to sleep, dreading the fact that I have to go back to school. I am so sad. So depressed. I hate myself. I hate being/feeling so alone, but I can't stand the thought of being outside. I feel safer in my room where I don't have to hear the cruel words of my peers…where there are no longer any mirrors to remind me of my weight.

I've tried dieting, but it's so easy to get discouraged. And when I get discouraged and sad, I eat. I have been sad my entire life...and I eat. And eat. And in the morning, I put on my oversized clothes and a smile and pretend everything is OK when I'm really dying on the inside.

Age 32

2008-11-16T09:54:00.002-05:00

For most of my life I hated and disrespected my body. Over those years, there was a constant, mutual betrayal – my body would let me down, not living up to the high standards I set…and in return, I would starve myself as a brutal form of payback. We truly hated each other.

Then I got pregnant…and everything changed. My focus shifted to the health and well-being of my unborn child. During my pregnancy, I truly learned to love my body – the curves I hated and cursed for all those years I now welcomed and cherished. My body created life…and in the process, gave me back my own.

Age 16

2008-10-24T11:18:00.000-04:00

If we are not able to look like our peers, we feel neglected. If we look too different from our peers, we become outcasts. It seems to be a lose-lose situation. Reading the other posts, at times I was like “What! They’re crazy!” But when I question if I would have said the same thing or done the same thing, I was silenced. A quote that stuck with me that I read in a post was, “I would like to be able to say I wish I were more comfortable in my own skin…but the truth is, I don’t want to be comfortable in MY skin.” At first I thought that was outrageous, but then I knew I felt the same way. I always put this exterior shield of protection where I try to make all my girlfriends (and even guy friends) feel that I am 100% happy with how I look. But truthfully, that’s not possible. Yeah, no one’s perfect, but in today’s society that’s not acceptable. Sometimes I look at my sister and her friends and see how GORGEOUS they are, yet they always seem to find “those flaws.”

So reading another post - “I imagine that some women would think my body was perfect and others would think I was too big” - I was able to come to the question, “What is beauty? What is beautiful? Is it not in the eyes of the beholder?” Yet knowing all this, you can’t help to feel that judgment against yourself. I know sometimes when I am with a group of people who look prettier than me, I begin to imagine what they are thinking of me - “Ewww…look at her thighs…can she weigh anymore?…Only good thing she has are those eyes, but other than that she’s done…” - but then I just snap back to the conversation and try to make a joke and act like everything is alright. Because of my rough exterior behavior, guys see me as one of them. I am that chick who is more a guy then a girl, the one who says it like it is so “she’s not playin’ no games and she ain’t tryin’ to hook up with any guy.” And that hurts. Once in a while I want to be looked upon as one of “those girls,” the ones guys look at and go “wow.” But then again, I just don’t want to be another girl to be looked upon as “I’d tap that.” I want to be that girl that catches your attention because she uses the mind that god has gifted her with - and yes, maybe because she is beautiful, inside and out.

Another subject I think no one seemed to touch upon was color. Traditionally, where I come from, girls that have lighter skin color are consider prettier….and me being BROWNER than anything you’ve seen, my family seemed to always bring that topic up. Luckily to me, I always found my skin color pretty…it was the one thing I would never ever change because it made me feel different and unique. I know I can’t say the same for my cousins. In a country where your skin color is such a big deal, I have seen them literally bleach there faces to try to make themselves look as white as a “pearl” - it was like watching Michael Jackson get his treatment right in front of you! All jokes aside, I feel that it’s sad that as women (and even sometimes as men) we go to SUCH extremes to become that “beauty” - to become accepted into that stereotypical beauty.

Age 22

2008-10-22T14:04:00.003-04:00

Today a stranger told me I was beautiful. My first thought was he was lying – this had to be a cruel, hurtful joke. Is it possible for someone to really think I am beautiful?

I hope a day comes when I don’t shy away from compliments. I hope a day comes when I believe what others see.

Age 17

2008-10-22T11:07:00.000-04:00

Realistically I know I am not unattractive, but when I look in the mirror I am so sad by what I see. I want to be happy and confident in my skin, but all I see are flaws.

Stringy hair.

A constellation of freckles.

A big nose and crooked smile.

A frame that lacks tone.

A small chest.

I’ve learned to use humor as a way to appear happy and comfortable with who I am. But I’m sad. And scared. Scared that I’ll never walk with my head up and mean it. I want to be proud. I know I have so much to offer…I just need to find the inner strength to show the world. I need to be OK with me. I hope that day comes…soon.

Age 15

2008-10-06T15:11:00.001-04:00

I was really excited to start the school year. Every summer I go away and don’t see all my friends, so school is where we reconnect and share stories.

This year is different.

While I was away, things changed. My friends are taller. My friends have developed breasts. Some of my friends even got their period for the first time. None of those things happened to me. I am the same girl in the same child-like body jealous of all these changes I don’t get to experience with my friends.

So much has changed.

I have not.

This year is different.

Age 40

2008-09-24T09:38:00.000-04:00

I battled with anorexia for many, many years. It is an illness that controlled every moment of every day. When I finally asked for help, I found healing. I still have dark moments, but continue to work on me. Along the way, I learned that beauty is within and radiates throughout…no matter how old…no matter your size. I am happier and healthier.

Age 30

2008-09-13T09:36:00.002-04:00

My Body - these words reverberate through my mind like buckshot searching for clean, unmarred flesh. My Body - two little words that hold such power over my feelings of self-worth and right to participate in society. How much longer will I continue to berate myself for wanting food, not exercising 4 hours per day and wearing clothes that fit me, not the media's version of what's right? How many more hours of pinching fat on my stomach and wishing I had the courage to induce myself to vomit? What amount of self-loathing and flagellation will be enough to convince myself that I am not disgusting and irredeemably ugly? I yearn for the days when I starved myself into a body devoid of all indications female - a stick-like body that allowed me to ignore the joys and pain of womanhood and sexuality.

My body has been the enemy for the entirety of my remembered life. It is something to beat down and suppress into submission. It is never to be acknowledged, except to criticize its shortcomings, and especially unworthy of celebration. It is outside of me and yet, I can recognize the self-defeatism of tying self-worth to something as ephemeral as physical appearance. Even so, here I sit, hating myself for not being taller, thinner, prettier, better. I sometimes fleetingly daydream about what it would be like to wholly accept myself, but in truth, the word "self-acceptance" has no tangible reality for me; it is a word on a page that applies to other people, never me.

Growing up in a household where no product or technique was too dangerous in the quest to take up the smallest amount of space - a whittling down curbed only by skeletal dimensions – a paradigm of self-denial was created that has stalked me to present day. I can remember at the age of seven scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror, searching for affirmation of the thin ideal propagated by mother's words and actions. For a time, all was right and good with the world - I projected that ideal. Of course, when weight gained on the heels of my parents' divorce created a chubby child and adolescent, the condemnation and judgment of my family and peers was immediate and relentless. Constantly being scolded for my food choices, clothing size and weight led me to believe that somehow I was worth less in this bigger body.

I learned to associate a sense of shame with my appearance that remained even after I starved myself into psychological numbness and physical insignificance. Morphing into a body that fit the vision of cultural acceptability made me hate it even more. Now, instead of being vilified and scorned for being too large, I was applauded and lusted after for being so small. When did my body become public property?

I am tired of only seeing a chubby, mushy, worthless girl that doesn't deserve to eat or to live. I am tired of feeling slightly sick every time I look in the mirror, terrified of what I may see. Can I tolerate the image reflected back, or will I cry and decry the need to face the world while appearing so broken? I don't want to be stuck, forced to choose between subduing my body into a weak, unnatural shape and nourishing it so I can be free to move and run.

Age 16

2008-09-11T09:11:00.001-04:00

Unlike most kids, I’m happy summer is over. Bathing suit season is done and I don’t have to make up excuses on why I can’t join my friends at the beach or pool anymore. I hate bathing suits. Or maybe just how I look in them. I feel so exposed. All of my friends are skinny and pretty. And me? Well, I’m just average. I know I’m not overweight…but I am not as thin as them. Not as pretty. I feel like I’m being judged when I am around them. I would like to be able to say I wish I were more comfortable in my own skin…but the truth is, I don’t want to be comfortable in MY skin. I want to be pretty. I want to be skinny. I don’t want to be average.

Age 44

2008-09-02T21:38:00.004-04:00

Growing up, I hated my body. Schoolgirl competition certainly got the best of me. I compared myself to my classmates, wanting to be thinner, prettier and well-liked…just like the girls others admired. This obsession continued when I entered college, only my self-loathing intensified. Bulimia became a way of life.

I was always disappointed with the body I was given.

At 39, I was diagnosed with cancer and thought, once again, my body had let me down. This was the ultimate betrayal.

But what I discovered in the months that followed my diagnosis was that I was strong and ready to fight…and so was the body that I abused and tormented for years. We were in this together – and finally on the same page. The body I hated for so many years quickly became my biggest ally. I wanted to live. We wanted to live.

I fought back.

My body fought back.

I am now 44 and cancer-free. A survivor…and thankful for the body I was given. I’ve learned to treat my body as a friend, and not as an enemy. I am strong. I am healthy. And I am so happy to be alive.

Age 42

2008-08-18T20:35:00.003-04:00

When I was 13, the boys taunted me about my upturned nose. They called me "Miss Piggy" and it devastated me. I begged my mother for a nose job for my birthday, but she would just get angry and tell me they were jerks and to ignore them. I was much too sensitive to ignore them and so my depression grew. A few years later, when I was 18 and trying very hard to be as pretty as I could be, a car drove by me, full of those same boys and they yelled out, "You're still ugly!" My anguish led me to toy with the idea of suicide. I felt too ugly to live. When I was 24, after another insult was thrown at me, I finally got a nose job. At first I felt completely different. I thought my life was changed forever, but it wasn't. I still felt ugly. At 34 I was diagnosed with BDD, put on Prozac and ordered to stop mirror checking. I have since gained 50 pounds, but mostly don't care about how I look. Other things occupy my thoughts now. But I still don't feel pretty, and I still wish I was.

Age 32

2008-08-17T09:18:00.002-04:00

My earliest memory of my body was feeling shame because I knew I was bigger than all the other girls my age. That feeling has never left me, despite the fact that I am a "normal" size, although it’s hard to really say what the word normal means any more. I imagine that some women would think my body was perfect and others would think I was too big. Either way, I have fought like hell to regain my self esteem and love myself. I now can say from an intellectual level that my body is normal, but the feeling of shame is something that is burned into my being. It’s an old wound, that despite years of healing, still bears its mark on my soul the way a scar will forever stay on a person's skin.

In my short 32 years, I have struggled with a 13 year eating disorder; been on every diet known to man; spent countless dollars (I imagine it is far into the thousands at this point) on products designed to make me believe I would love myself more once I consumed them; and wasted more time than I care to imagine hating my body for being something other than what it was. My body image has consumed me to the point that I can say it has probably gotten more attention than anything else in my life. That statement makes me sad just writing it.

I am not unlike any of you. If you met me you would find me "normal", with a good job, a nice home and a nice family. I am a typical American woman...and I am angry that I have abandoned myself in search of being "perfect." There are times I think this struggle is something I will live with for a lifetime, but if that is the case, then I am willing to fight. I will fight because with each passing year I am tired, and I am ready to finally love myself for being alive and being strong enough to put up with the senseless crap we women have to endure just to feel "good enough." I hope everyone reading this is fighting too. Hopefully, we can make small steps towards change.

Age 22

2008-08-10T09:20:00.001-04:00

I'm 5'3" and 125lbs - and I hate it. My sister is two years older, one inch taller and twenty pounds lighter.

Growing up, I was the "thick" or "solid" of the two. My sister and I were nearly identical, even mistaken for one another in high school, except for our weight.

I know I'm not fat, but I've got these hideous saddle-bag thighs! I hate them. My love handles are kinda sexy, though.

Then comes the boobs. My weight once reached around 135, and then dropped back to 120-125. And in the process, my boobs deflated and now resemble balloons half filled with water, just hanging from chest. I can even hold a pencil in the fold beneath them.

IN CLOTHES, I look alright. But naked, I feel sick. I see old paintings in museums of nude women: elegant and curvy. Today's women are stick-thin. I wish REAL women could be considered beautiful. Then maybe I could look in the mirror without shame.

Age 27

2008-08-07T15:40:00.003-04:00

I was first told I was fat by my sister and father. My father liked really skinny girls. He once told my husband on the phone that his favorite females were 13 or 14, "just blooming." My husband got off the phone shaken and disturbed. When he told me, I said "I told you so." My father is part of the reason we have yet to have children.

My father has an eating disorder himself. He goes through binge/starve cycles and has always been obsessed with his weight. As kids, he rationed our food and told us what to eat. He didn't keep much food for us in the house. I think these years played a huge role in me developing an eating disorder. There were many days I ate less than 400 - 600 calories. For a time, I was also bulimic. Bulimia was private, whereas fat was out there for everyone to see and judge you.

I feel I stunted my growth. I am 5'3" and the same height as both my grandmothers who grew up during the Depression and then WWII rationing. I think I could have been taller, healthier and more proportionate had I eaten properly in my formative years. I think I may have weakened my heart putting my body through too much stress and not eating properly.

Age 50

2008-08-06T10:12:00.001-04:00

"Your thighs are getting too big, better watch it."

"Your grandmother was built like you, she fought it all her life."

I understand now that these things were important to women during the depression, and my parents were trying to be helpful, but it made such a HUGE impression on me. I have learned to accept my muscular thighs and small waist - it is hard to find jeans that fit, and I have never found a pair comfortable. Now that I have been living with M.S. for 10 years and have trouble walking sometimes, my strong thighs are part of what is keeping me upright.

Age 18

2008-07-24T20:52:00.000-04:00

As a middle school girl, my mother and I got hooked on the television show What Not To Wear, and realized that young girls can also learn how to create styles that flatter their bodies - which is even more important as their bodies change through puberty. We decided that was the key to reaching girls to show them how to be more accepting of their bodies and not respond to media hype and peer pressure. Once girls see that, they can begin to discover who they really are, learn to take care of their changing bodies and discover true role models and how to achieve their true goals. We've created a journal, How I Look Journal, vetted by the National Eating Disorders Association, that can be used by girls individually or in classes. I am now on my way to college and hope that we'll begin to see changes in how girls see themselves in my lifetime! (www.howIlookjournal.com)

Age 35

2008-07-23T20:25:00.001-04:00

A few months ago, my parents moved from the house I grew up in and I found a pile of life drawings of naked men and women I had drawn when I was about 13 years old.

At the time, my art teacher was very encouraging but told me that some of the heads were very much out of proportion with the rest of the picture. I never understood what he meant, as I always used the head as a measure for the rest of the body.

Seeing my drawings now at 35, it is obvious that all the females I drew had heads that were 3 quarters the size they should be, making their bodies appear oversized and monstrous. The male bodies were all rendered in proportion. I was shocked to have such evidence of how distorted my views of my own and other women's bodies had been. It made me so sad for my 13-year old self, and so grateful I never have to feel that way again.

Age 24

2008-07-22T10:33:00.001-04:00

My family would pressure me to shave my legs when I was very young, because I had to wear a skirt every day to school. I hated it and I didn't understand why I had to do it, because none of the kids ever bothered me about it. But my family told me I was too hairy, and the kids would make fun of me for being like a monkey. This was long before puberty. I had no concept of why they were so worried. Then I got older, and my hair got coarser and darker and developed in the usual spots, and still nobody bothered me about it. Only my family ever fussed over how hairy and disgusting I was. Once, a boy in high school insulted me, but that was the only time anyone ever said anything to me about it. Even my boyfriends didn't mind.

Now I'm out of school and no longer forced to wear a uniform every day. The first freedom I had upon graduating from high school was freedom from shaving my legs. I decided nobody would ever force me to wear a dress again. I didn't shave for years until I had to wear a swimsuit to go into someone's pool. I was still ashamed of how hairy and animalistic my body was, and I couldn't just go out in public with my disgusting legs. All those years, I kept myself covered, even in summer heat.

I've met some queer girls and feminists since then, who also don't shave. They don't shave anything at all...not their armpits, or the fuzz on their lips...and it's ok. Their boyfriends and girlfriends are proud of them. They like their bodies and how furry they are. I've started wearing shorts again, but only when I'm around them. I'd never go out in public like that.

I can't bring myself to shave either, though.

Age 13

2008-07-20T11:41:00.001-04:00

I don't feel the full pressure of having to be thin. I'm constantly told I'm thin, but that's not what I see. I've been a gymnast for almost ten years, and I am the tallest in my gym. I am 5'8 and 110 pounds. I don't see myself as that thin athletic girl anymore. I am constantly at the gym, trying to eat healthy and do everything within my power to make myself look better. But, it's not everyone else that's pressuring me to be thin, I think it's myself.

Age 22

2008-07-15T19:03:00.000-04:00

I was 17 when I was raped. I didn’t tell anyone, fearing others might blame me. Eight months later, my parents divorced. I cried alone because I had to be strong for my siblings. My world was falling apart and I felt so, so alone. Food became the one thing I could control. When I look in the mirror, what do I see? A girl who is undeserving of love…someone in so much pain. I became good at punishing myself. I am 5’8” and now weigh 95 lbs. I still have so many demons. I still feel so alone. But at least I am in control of something…even if it’s killing me.

Age 18

2008-06-30T08:36:00.002-04:00

When I look at myself I see fat and I feel disgusted. I'm 5'8" and 145 lbs. That sounds normal but I look so obese. I constantly fear that other people will make fun or hate me because I look fat. I can’t be in relationships because I'm so self-conscience and I even decided not to go to my high school graduation because I felt so fat and unattractive. When I take pictures people tell me I'm really cute and pretty; however, I think the pictures are just altered to make me look pretty.

Age 37

2008-06-25T15:49:00.000-04:00

As a child, I developed much faster then my friends and peers. I was athletic and focused on sports, so my newly developed breasts were just a hindrance. I was embarrassed – I couldn’t understand why this was happening to me. I walked with my shoulders forward, trying to hide every new inch of me with loose, baggy clothing.

If only I knew then what I know now.

Age 19

2008-06-22T20:53:00.001-04:00

It's become a game to me. Each day I try to eat a little less. I like to see how far I can push myself. In the beginning, the hunger pains were unbearable. But as much as it hurt, it wasn’t as painful as looking at myself in the mirror.

It would be so much easier not to care…

Age 33

2008-06-12T15:24:00.001-04:00

I literally see every pound on my body. If I gain weight, I know exactly where the new pounds go. I see the fat. I wish I wasn’t so acutely aware…but I can’t walk past a mirror without examining every inch of body just to make sure. My mood is determined by the scale – my happiness is reflected in the number that looks up at me. I no longer have control…my weight – my body – controls me.

Age 27

2008-06-05T14:56:00.000-04:00

I was sitting on the couch when my mother came in for some “small talk.” She told me I should lose weight. She told me I didn’t look good. That was 13 years ago, although it feels like just yesterday. I can still feel the tears streaming down my face. I just sat there as she spoke those words…and after she left the room, I silently cried. I didn’t speak up. I didn’t question her warped perception of beauty. I just sat there…wishing I could disappear. At the time, I was a healthy, average-sized teenage girl. I was happy.

I have been tormented ever since – consumed by thoughts of food and weight…and trying to be perfect. Wanting to be loved.

I still wish I could disappear.

Age 29

2008-05-30T10:56:00.003-04:00

Sometimes the words to describe how you feel have already been written...often better then you could have done it yourself.

PHENOMENAL WOMAN
By Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Age 29

2008-05-22T15:57:00.001-04:00

When I was 5-6 years old I was of average weight. During that time period, my father tried to engage me in a sexual act, but fortunately someone intervened in time. I have been overweight since then.

In high school, I was a size 14 and thought I was huge - I don't recall what my weight was then. I was horribly shy, and I was super-self conscious about my hairy forearms and being short (5'2"). Even though I was shy, I discovered I had a deep love of acting, and I was involved with the drama club - tiny bit parts and backstage work.

In 2001, I was just under the 200 lb. mark. I was at the end of a 2-year long, lackluster unhealthy relationship and when I was broken-up with, I did whatever it took to treat myself badly - intentional starvation/binging, alcohol and drug abuse and cutting.

Between 2001-2007, I slowly grew to 230 lbs. I was involved in another bad relationship, and 2 unhealthy attachments to "Mr. Unavailables." I decided to go to college in 2003 - to get a degree in my second favorite passion - writing, because I felt too ugly and fat to pursue my dream as an actor. During my four years at school, I partied excessively – abusing drugs and alcohol and barely passing my classes. When I graduated (a year later than I had planned) I was in a deep co-dependent relationship with an alcoholic/addict friend – for a time, I thought I was in love with him, and one drunken night I seduced him (by carefully studying the troubled, size 0 women he was always attracted to) to sleep with me- my rationalization being that "sleeping with me would be so disgusting that he would realize the extent of how messed up he was, and seek treatment for his problems." I still haven't forgiven myself for disrespecting myself that much.

The drama kept piling up, and a month later I staged an intervention and he went into rehab.
I was completely unhinged at the time, and didn't realize the extent to which I was messed up. After he got out of rehab, he thanked me for saving his life and simultaneously kicked me out of his...that was the point where I really lost it. I was a depressed zombie for months - starving myself and binging again, getting up to 250lbs. I wasn't working, living at home with my mom and new step-dad, taking Wellbutrin without doctor supervision, "just to see" if it would help me...it didn't.

This past winter, a friend of mine really helped me - gave me a place to stay, and some perspective and advice...after that, I moved back to the city I got my degree in because I need to live in a place where I have good friends, that feels safe and familiar. Right now I am living on a friend's couch, looking for a job and therapy. I keep thinking about my great passion – acting - I know that I'm good at it, and that if I weren't trapped in the body I have, it would be without a doubt, what I would be pursuing. But the fact that I am a 240 lb woman with hairy arms, acne and scars on my arms really brings me down...sometimes I forget about it briefly, when I'm entertaining my friends with my wild, actor-y antics or when I allow myself to think about my goals - about working with people in the industry, like Joss Whedon, Tom Hanks, etc...sometimes I wish Oprah would find me and take me under her wing (then again, who doesn't wish for that?!).

I have started making a few changes. I've been eating regularly and much healthier than
I have in the past, and I walk every day. I'd like to get started on a program at a gym, once I have a job and a stable place to live. I haven't given up on my goals, but it sure is easy to get distracted and discouraged - however, every day is a new chance to remember what it is I want out of life, and work towards manifesting it.

Age 29

2008-05-21T08:19:00.002-04:00

When I was 8 I asked my Dad what size a grown-up woman should be. He told me that a woman should be no heavier than 9 stone, and no bigger than a (UK) size 12. I had great legs, he said, but would obviously need to watch my weight.

When I was 12 Dad told me he was sorry he'd given me such meat-slabs for hands.

When I was 15 he said that I wasn't feminine enough, and wanted to know if I was a lesbian (and did I know that all gay people had pedophile tendencies?).

I grew up to weigh 12 stone and wear a size 14/16, and I thought I was a monster. I refused to be in photos. I got cramps in my hands from trying to bend my thumbs under to make them look narrower. I threw myself into relationships with men I didn't fancy, and often didn't even like, in an effort not to be a lesbian. I got pregnant, and afterwards I hated my body even more. I comfort ate, drank too much and self-harmed.

Then I discovered this band and took a liking to the singer. She's been my inspiration.

I've lost weight and got fit. I'm still big but I find it sexy. I've stopped drinking. I've stopped over-eating. I've stopped hurting myself. I'm out. I'm androgynous and no longer see that as a bad thing. My hands were filmed as part of a documentary. I have such beautiful hands.

I watched my Dad with my half-sister a while back. I can count the number of times I've met her on one hand. She's this tiny, skinny wee soul, and he was calling her fat.

I wish for her her very own Amanda Palmer one day.

Age 21

2008-05-14T08:21:00.002-04:00

I had never considered myself thin, or even average. I couldn't stand what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Looking back, I was average... not too thin, not too fat. Nevertheless, I've been dieting since I was in girl scouts, at around the age of 8. I hid my body with long, baggy clothes. In high school, I was so ashamed of my weight (although there was nothing wrong with it) that I began wearing jackets, even in the intense heat and humidity of Miami summers. I wore the jacket for 7 years.

At one point in my life, I dated a guy who asked me out by writing me an email saying that he liked me, and he thought we had a lot of potential, but in order for him to be able to date me, I had to lose weight. At the time, I was 5'3" and 140 lbs. At my highest a couple years earlier, I was 180 lbs. Nevertheless, I agreed because I was still in the process of losing weight. A month later, we broke up because he didn't think I was attractive enough according to other people. For the next year, we became close friends and got together and broke up about 5 times. We got together because we have something that, in normal circumstances, works amazingly and has great potential. We broke up because I wasn't thin enough. Every time, I allowed him to degrade me and then get me back without even apologizing or assuring me that things would be different. It was because I agreed with him. It was because I lacked the confidence to stand up for myself. Now I know I deserve so much better than that.

I don't consider myself to be beautiful, but it doesn't matter. I am happy with what I see in the mirror and I know that guys are attracted to me. It's taken a lot to change the way I see myself, and sometimes I slip and see fat, but it's ok because I don't let it define me. So what if I'm ugly or fat? (which I don't believe I am). It doesn't change who I am, and I really like who I am...fat or no fat.

Age 18

2008-05-13T07:45:00.000-04:00

I was 13 years old. I'd been a naturally skinny kid. During my pre-teen years I gained weight. Suddenly it hit me – I wasn't thin anymore. So I went on a diet. By several months later, I had lost 20 lbs on my small-framed, 5' frame. I was throwing up after eating 100-200 calories. I hated myself even more.

I was 120 lbs when this all began. I'd written how I'd "stop" once I hit 102 lbs. Stop the restricting, the purging. I just wanted to be "beautiful."

When I was 14 years old, 5'1, and 85 lbs it still wasn't enough. I wasn't thin yet, wasn't beautiful.

I'll be 19 in a couple weeks. It's been over 5 years. I'm 5'2.5 and fluctuate throughout the 90s. The rational part of my mind knows I'm technically thin. The other part sees only flab and disgust. My body looks horrific. I have scars all over from years of self-injury that started even before the "diet" ever did.

I have restricted to almost nothing. I have thrown up until I see blood and bile. I have taken bottles of cough medicine so that I wouldn't eat and to just feel nothing. I have drunk alcohol and eaten until it was easy to throw up. I have spent days on end drinking energy drinks, having a couple hundred calories and purging everything else. I have eaten several thousand calories in a day. I have spent all of my time thinking of food, weight and how repulsive I am. I have had to repeat my freshman year of high school because I stopped going to school. I have completely dropped out of high school, with only months left in my senior year, because I couldn't deal with it and had missed over half the year. I have cut, burned, given myself a black eye. I have hidden my food issues from everyone for all this time. I have hated how my gag reflex won't work if I purge too much. I have seriously considered suicide.

Yet I still don't feel beautiful. I still don't feel "sick" either. I realize that I technically have an eating disorder. But I still don't feel "good enough" to deserve that label. If I had an eating disorder then I would certainly have lost more weight by now. I would have been forced into treatment. I would be skinny.

People tell me how lucky I am to be thin. Really? Is this lucky? I would give anything to go back and never have started this. But now this is who I am. I won't go into treatment or try to recover. Not until I'm thin. Not until people won't believe me when I say "I'm not hungry" or "this is my natural weight."

I wonder if I saw my current self back when I was 13…What would I think? Would I think I was thin? Would I think it was enough? Would I think it was worth all of this? Would I have stopped? The answer that scares me is a resounding "No" to all of those questions.

When will it be enough? When will I be thin enough? Will I ever get there? I don't know. For now I'll continue to hate myself with every fiber of my being. Continue to restrict, to binge, to purge when I can. Because I can't deal with the answers to any of these questions. I lost myself those years ago and I'm not quite sure how to get myself back.

When I look in the mirror, what do I see? I see a failure. A fat person. Somebody who will never be good enough. Somebody who deserves to die.

Age 22

2008-05-12T08:55:00.003-04:00

I've always had the puppy fat, and it didn't bother me until, when I was about 9, my body became a target of bullying. So I started hating myself. My mum kept telling me it was puppy fat and it would go, but it didn't. I was teased. I was called ugly. Kids jeered at me from across the playground. I hated myself. I still recall, with perfect clarity, reading a book when I was 10. It was one of those 'feel good, be happy with yourself' books, about a girl who had an eating disorder, lost a lot of weight, realized that she was still teased and came to appreciate her friends she had more, but the message that gave me at 10 is, not matter how you slim or diet, you'll always be the fat girl on the inside. I gave up, then. I remember thinking to myself, well, if I'll always be the fat girl and even if I lose the weight they'll all hate me, I might as well just accept that I'm ugly.

My mum also used to say to me "You can't be clever and beautiful." I wonder what she meant by it by now, maybe she didn't even think about it, but I got into my head that it was true. The pretty people were dumb, I was clever, but I couldn't be pretty too. If I was going to be clever then that was all I could be. For years I used my intelligence like a shield to hide my body. I hated my body as a teenager. The teasing never really let up. I truly believed I was disgusting and repulsive because of my fat, and that made me over-eat. Comfort eat. I was going to be the fat ugly girl anyway, might as well.

I made a few attempts to lose weight in my teens. My mum would encourage me, tell me how easy it was, drag me to see the doctor about my weight, pack me of to the gym to work out with the express purpose of becoming thin, and nothing happened. I was still picked on, still teased, still an undesirable, still craved food, but now was miserable in my free time too and had guilt whenever I skipped on going to the gym.

The first time I got a glimpse of what it was to love my body was when I was 18, and someone else did it for me. My first relationship. How could I be disgusting when someone wanted to touch me? How could I be repulsive when they kissed me? The relationship didn't last but it did teach me that there were other ways to think about my body. It was still another year before it really kicked in. My mum had always taught me that as a fat girl, I had to dress like a fat girl. Had to hide my body with big, covering clothes because my body was shameful. She still does tell me habitually I’m wearing clothing which she thinks is too tight. Anyway, a year after the end of my first relationship, I walked into a shop and looked for something sexy. Something that showed off the good bits of my body, as I'd just about managed to convince myself I had some. And I found a top, and I felt good in it.

I made a conscious decision not to hate my body anymore. That was three years ago, when I got that top, when I looked in the mirror and told myself I was beautiful for the first time, that I could have both brains and beauty. I've been telling myself that for three years now and I almost believe it. I believe it in myself, but I don't think it's true of others. I know I'm beautiful, but I instantly presume nobody else finds me to be beautiful. And there are still days sometimes when I feel ugly, disgusting, when I drag myself to bed and cry. But I do my best. I hate how, even when I try to teach me to love myself, I still can't convince myself that other people do. Maybe, in time, they will. I have an amazing group of friends who tell me regularly how beautiful they find me and how much they love me, and I do the same back to them. I'm learning not to take every rejection of love as a rejection of my body, there are other reasons people might not want to date me and it doesn't make me undesirable. I'm learning to see the beauty of my figure, I'm learning to crawl out from the oversized tops my mum says suit me so well, I'm learning to not be ashamed of myself.

I can only hope I can keep it up, because it feels like a battle to love me, and I don't want to lose the fight.

Age 17

2008-05-09T08:27:00.003-04:00

When I was a little girl, everyone could tell you I looked more like my dad than my mother. My mom’s side of the family was very thin and in shape and on my father's side everyone is obese. I remember going to my mom’s room crying "I’m gonna be fat, I’m gonna be fat like dad’s family." I was scared to death of gaining weight or getting "fat." I was never popular, or really pretty. I wanted people to notice me. I hated my body my whole life. I wanted to change so I started dieting in the 7th grade, and by 8th grade I was making myself vomit after meals. I didn't think I had a problem. I thought I was better than everyone else. I was disciplined enough to purge. I struggled with bulimia for about 2 years and then my sophomore year of high school I became anorexic/bulimic. I became obsessed with my body; I knew every inch, every pound. I was at my worst. I hated my body. Everyday I woke up early, looked at myself and I tried so hard not to cry. I hated everything about my body. I was a 5' 6’’, 17 year old girl who weighed 110 pounds and I saw nothing but fat on my body. I never felt thin. I would purge up to 15 times a day if I did eat and I restricted my calories to 300 a day. If I broke it, I would purge and take 4 laxatives. I would be so disgusted with myself that I couldn't even stick to a diet that I would punish myself. I would take a razor and cut my thigh. I was so angry and sad all the time and I had no one to talk to, I felt it was the only way to let my anger out. I've fainted on 2 occasions. I have vomited blood more than once. I have heart palpitations, memory loss, poor concentration, torn esophagus, acid reflux. I was caught while purging by my mother and was sent to an eating disorder clinic. Since, I have relapsed more than once, been to 2 other treatment centers and I am still recovering. What I have found to help is to take out the mirrors in your bedroom. Then you can’t stay up ‘til 3 in the morning obsessing like I used to.

Age 48

2008-05-08T08:31:00.000-04:00

I think I’m beautiful. My hair is thin and dry. My skin sags all over: on my face, where it also causes huge creases and wrinkles, my upper arms, where my empty skin falls down over my elbows, my stomach, my thighs. My ribs and my hipbones jut proudly out from my skin; my cheekbones bring a cadaverous aspect to my face. At night I cannot sleep on my side with my legs together as my knees and my ankles grind into each other. I can’t see my butt, except with a mirror, and then I see that the loss of flesh in my buttocks completely reveals my anus to sight.

I think I’m beautiful. My heart palpitates and I get chest pains, my skin is turning orange, and my brain can no longer concentrate or remember. My electrolytes are unbalanced and my bones are thinning. I no longer shiver in response to cold, leaving me with grindingly cold hands and feet that only warm up with a hot water bottle.

I think I’m beautiful. I am the poster child for weight loss and fitness at my gym, where I define “frenetic”: jumping and running and lifting again and again and again. I stand in front of the mirrors to make sure I still have a gap between my legs that starts at my crotch and ends at my feet; sometimes at night I run my hands down between my legs just to make sure I didn’t gain a bunch of weight that day. Sometimes I look over at another woman and wish that “I was skinny like she is.”

I think I’m beautiful. Some people tell me how great it is that I lost weight or that I look great now that I lost weight. Are they nuts? Some people I know walk right by without recognizing me; if I bother to call them I tell them it is because I let my hair go curly. One person asked if I had HIV/AIDS, another told me I look “delicious.”

I think I’m beautiful. I live my days trapped in my house by fear of food, fear of letting my guard down and eating. I am trapped by the weather as my poor skinny body cannot respond to cold. I am trapped by my isolation from the world. I am afraid of dying and afraid of healing.

I think I’m beautiful. What do you think?

Age 22

2008-05-04T06:50:00.001-04:00

Bodies are inconvenient as the truth. The inconvenient truth is this woman's body with fair, pale skin that reflects neither radiant energy nor the darkness, but only coats a body that is no more representative than the color of skin, a body with humble breasts that will never be confused with mountains, feminine curves at the hip for childrearing that will never happen and no amount of exercise will change. A booty meant for shaking, though it will never be shook by the owner of this body. Scarred legs testify an eventful childhood, blistered feet from trying to reduce the size of a stomach directly proportionate to the amount of beer drank despite the fact that after 2 years I have yet to acquire the taste with my tongue that is rarely used for anything but tasting these days. The lack of the use of my tongue might be because this inconvenient truth often appears more or less sexual than its owner and in all its femininity it is far from the truth that lies within. Still I will gladly lie through my teeth with this body and accept an inconvenient truth that allows me to connect with other liars.

Age 64

2008-05-02T09:59:00.000-04:00

I am 64 years old and from a very early age decided that I was not going to focus on my physical image, but rather my mind! This decision has "saved" me! I was never "thin and beautiful" in high school, but as I perceive other women around me, I have ended up much younger than my peers, and much "better looking" than other women my age (and a lot younger). This "subject" will not disappear!!!! And has not been addressed adequately!!!!

I thank my genes for this...and most especially yoga and meditation! But more than this, I gave myself a gift of not focusing on my physical self...I had nothing to "lose" so to speak (in my mind)! I notice that many other women view themselves "nostalgically" as to the way they "used to look." And of course THE MEDIA!!!

This didn't affect the way I have viewed our culture...because I am a visual artist...a poet...and a writer. I have, as a woman, given a lot of ("obsessed") thought to this subject! I wrote in 1993 a play called: "When the Women Didn't Feel Pretty Anymore"

Which is STILL relevant!!!

From the "prologue"...

(A disembodied voice says from above...):

"And when will I love my body
it is still no temple to me
filled with my love
and at peace with my soul"

"And when WILL I love my body? This question and these thoughts have been with me for quite some time, almost long enough to make me feel haunted by them...knowing that my own body has never been completely loved by me. There has never been a moment in my life when I loved all of me, and every cell of my being knew it."

"I'm wondering now if I ever will feel totally at ease in my own skin, and if I shall ever luxuriate in my flesh as any natural animal would and does every day of its' life. I'm feeling that if I can't at last love my own body, then how can I fully love myself? And if I don't fully love myself, then how can I love others?"

Age 21

2008-04-30T19:48:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time there was a beautiful, strong, happy woman who gave birth to two beautiful baby girls. Nothing was more important to this woman than making sure her daughters knew how beautiful and how strong they were. The oldest daughter grew up to be a little more independent than her sister - she wore crazy outfits to school, loved learning, was a fierce debater and adamant feminist. The mother was so proud, and she let her daughter know every day. So much so that the daughter was afraid to tell her mother about her insecurities when the girls in school started weighing themselves and stopped eating. She didn't want to disappoint. Strong women didn't care what others thought, strong women knew that if you are beautiful on the inside the world will see that reflected on the outside. Strong women knew that beauty is not about weighing 115lbs. One day the mother and daughter were watching the news when a special came on about eating disorders in high schools. The mother looked at her daughter proudly and said, "I am so glad you are healthy, that you know better than this." The daughter squirmed inside, but smiled and scoffed at the insecure stick figures on the screen.

I am 5'7", 140 lbs and a size 8. I am beautiful, inside and out. I am a feminist who appreciates that beauty comes in every shape, color and size. I believe in knowing your own self worth and self confidence. I will never, ever tell anyone that I wish I could just lose ten pounds. That I am not the defiant, magnificent, proud person they think. I do love my body most of the time, but I do not cherish my stomach or my thighs. I hope one day I can actually be who I claim to be.

Age 24

2008-04-20T12:44:00.001-04:00

I'm a feminist, a confident woman, an advocate for body positivity - and it takes a man telling me I'm beautiful for me to believe it. I make myself sick.

Age 61

2008-04-19T08:31:00.000-04:00

Let me first say that I am 61 1/2 years old and I live in West Virginia. I am a third generation victim of eating disorders. I know definitively that my mother had body image distortion, and it was modeled for me. I never met my mother's mother, but I can tell just by looking at pictures of her that she was fixated on being little. My mother had an interesting manifestation in that she couldn't see her body accurately, nor could she see mine accurately. So for almost all of my adult life I have been trying to erase her programming, which was entirely negative. I still don't know if I am seeing my body realistically, I think not. I think I am really fat; and I have at least four reasons that I "know" it is true. (1. I'm on medication that causes weight gain, usually about 25 lbs. 2. I moved from Florida where I had no appetite to West Virginia, where eating is a pleasure shared. 3. It was autumn, and I was packing on winter weight. 4. I have fibromyalgia and CFS which have drastically cut into my exercise energy. I spend more time idle and on the sofa, where I don't hurt as much.)

That said, here is what I have deprogrammed. Mother said my lips were big; I know they aren't. In fact, I think I have a beautiful mouth. Mother said my legs were fat, like tree trunks; my legs aren't small, but they're not fat either. I have the same legs as my Dad, my brothers, and 2 of my 3 children. They are solid Italian legs, but not fat. My mother's people have skinny legs. I almost like my legs. Mother told me that my butt was big. I am very proportionate. Mother said my hair was too straight and she was always putting perms in it. I love my hair. I've put back the red (strawberry blond) I had as a child. I think my hair is very, very pretty. I love my eyes; they are strikingly attractive. I am on the short side - 5'4" - and that limits what I can wear; I am learning at this late age how to dress attractively. I watch What Not To Wear on TV to get ideas and it has become fun to dress pretty. I have no money so I am a pretty regular shopper at the Goodwill Store. I now know what will add to my natural beauty and what will detract from it. I finally am madly in love with my freckles. I hated them for decades. Now, I hope they'll never go away. I look a bit younger than I am, so others say. I don't know what 61 is supposed to look like. I am trying to stop shopping in the juniors department. I am very self-conscious about my fingernails; they break off so easily, and never grow very long. I wish I had pretty ones. The biggest reason I quit smoking was because it gives wrinkles.

I am never thin enough. I am terribly eating disordered and see no way out of it. Beginning in 1973, after the birth of my third child, I was primarily anorexic. I got down to 87 pounds and was almost happy with how I looked. Looking back at pictures from those years, I looked like a concentration camp survivor. In 1980, I began living with my second husband, Larry, who loved to eat. He fixed food and saw that I ate well. I got up to 105 and was sort of OK with that weight. But then, I began gaining and gaining and began purging after every meal. Larry caught me and I developed hundreds of ways to get around him so I could get rid of what I just ate. That pattern of purging after meals is a giant monkey on my back - probably a mountain gorilla, if I'm honest. For me, I can starve myself when my life is chaotic. When I'm content, I eat and then want to purge. I don't like to look in full length mirrors now; I think in all honesty I look terribly fat. My hair and face please me, as do my feet. It's what's in the middle that I don't like. I sure hope I learn to love my body just as it is before I die. I'd love to live a life that doesn't focus on eating, food, calories, pounds and sizes of clothes. I wish I could feed me in a healthy way and not obsess about what I weigh or how my clothes fit and what size they are. I just don't how to do that, so it likely won't happen. And that's me and my thoughts about my body.

Age 18

2008-04-17T15:57:00.001-04:00

When I look in the mirror, I see a girl who is so incredibly sad. Tragically unhappy. My friends and family think I live a perfect life because I’ve learned to smile through the pain. I have mastered the ability to appear happy even when I’m not. At 18, I’ve become a phenomenal actress – showing others only what they want to see. Or what they can handle.

But the pressure to be a certain way – thin, beautiful and popular – has made me so sick. In an attempt to fit in, I have lost myself so completely. I spend my days staring down into the bowls of toilets. My insides splatter porcelain as tears trickle down my face. I wish I could stop. I wish I had more control.

I wish I loved myself as much as people believe I do.

Age 20

2008-04-14T16:17:00.001-04:00

I am 11. I am standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pinching the fat on my thighs. I am crying, because I can pull away with whole handfuls of fat - at least in my mind. I am hysterical. I am so, so big. I take up too much space, gravity pulls me down so far, I galumph when I move. I pinch more fat. My mother knocks on the bathroom door. Dinner. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and emerge from the bathroom, smiling.

I am 15. I am standing in front of the mirror in the girls' locker room. Next to me is my best friend. We are comparing our breasts - hers are much smaller. We then compare our post-adolescent stomachs. Hers is much smaller. I am so, so fat. No, she says, you aren't fat. You're athletic. No one thinks you're fat, you're just not skinny. She turns away. I bite my lip, blink away the tears, choke back a scream. I emerge from the locker room, smiling.

15 is the year I learn to battle my weight. I learn to measure my self-worth in pounds and inches. Today, I will eat only celery and carrots. Tomorrow, I will have black coffee and a cracker. The day after, nothing. Look at yourself, fat girl. You are not worth food. But I get hungry. I so badly want food that I eat without thinking, stuff my mouth with anything I can find, visit fast food restaurants and eat it all. Then I learn to get rid of it, through the cunning use of my left hand and a box of chocolate-flavored laxatives.

I am 18. I am standing in front of my boyfriend, naked. He is staring at me. I don't know what he is seeing. Appreciation? Awe? Disgust? He turns away. He hands me his tee shirt. So you don't get cold, he says. I turn away. Do you think I'm fat? I ask the carpet. No. I think you are too skinny. I can see your veins beneath your skin. He doesn't know what's important. He doesn't know what this means to me. He thinks girls should be big and curvy, and I think I should disappear.

I am 20. I am bent over the toilet bowl, staring at my rippling reflection in the water. I am shoving two fingers down my throat and getting rid of everything I ate, or didn't eat. I am 21. I am drunk, because I drink every night to forget about the fat that is eating away at me. I am wobbling on my heels, jamming my hand down my throat, beginning to cry. I bring up vodka, saliva, bile, blood. I collapse on the tile floor, thanking God that it's all out of me now, nothing can touch me when I'm this empty. I am not worth anything but emptiness.

I am still 20...and I wish things were different...that this never happened...that I loved my flaws...that my flaws didn't exist...that I didn't exist...no, that I were happy...believe in happiness…I so badly believe in happiness.

Age 18

2008-04-09T20:27:00.001-04:00

I always thought that beauty meant strength, and that conforming to societal standards of beauty would make me powerful. I was a size 4, starving, told by everyone around me that I should model, with violin-bow arms and a concave stomach.

Then I went to college and started eating. I gained 30 pounds in three months, and my psychiatrist told me I had to be careful. I wanted to scream at him, "I'm recovering from an eating disorder!", but I didn't. I just kept quiet and kept eating. I'm now a size 8, and I exercise every day. I have defined muscles in my arms and legs. I can run miles and lift children and work at a construction job.

I look back at pictures of myself from high school and I see brittleness, fragility. I've learned to embrace my scars, my cellulite, the fat on my stomach and butt, the way my flesh moves when I jump, as signs of trials overcome. My body represents who I am: I'm stronger now, thicker, more of a presence, capable. Powerful.

Age 16

2008-04-08T14:29:00.002-04:00

For as long as I can remember, my weight has fluctuated. When I’ve been heavier (healthier, happier), it’s because I’m eating. When I’m thin, it’s because I’m skipping meals. Starving myself, actually. When I’m not eating, when I’m so hungry it hurts, I’m told I look beautiful. That's certainly better then constantly hearing I look bloated, or that I'm getting a belly, or that I should try to lose the extra weight. I would rather hurt myself by not eating then hear those words spoken to me again. Those words hurt far more then the constant hunger pains.

Age 18

2008-04-07T08:41:00.001-04:00

I have always thought my body was a bad thing. No, that's not really right. I was told I was overweight, and was told that I needed to eat better, and exercise more, then maybe I would feel better, and "become a better person." These criticisms always stuck close to me. I heard them (and frankly, still do hear them) on a weekly basis from my parents, and they cut deeply. Every comment someone made on my weight felt like a small jolt through my heart. So I started to hurt myself. Every time I just felt despair that my family couldn't accept me for who I was, I would hurt myself. This started in middle school, and continued on into my high school years. I knew it wasn't helping me feel better in the long run, but it helped heal the immediate internal wounds, inflicted by comments such as, "do you really want to eat that" and "maybe you should go for a walk instead." They seemed to tiptoe around the "f-word," and instead use "big," "large," and "voluptuous." Calling myself fat was often met with exclamations of "You're not fat!" and sometimes even anger. But let's face it, I know that I am fat.

Only recently have I been able to feel as though my fat is a part of me, and I love it. Yes, I am fat. And you know what? I don't have a problem with it. When I look in the mirror, I see someone beautiful, someone who may be fat, but is still in love with themselves. I now believe that no matter what size I happen to be, I will be content with it. If I got down to what most doctors would say was a "healthy weight," I'd still be a 12/14, and I'd probably still be fat and fabulous. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that as a college freshman, when all the other gals are obsessing about those two cookies they ate with lunch, or are eating nothing but salad from the cafeteria, I am enjoying life, enjoying food, and enjoying my body. It's not to say that I don't have other worries, such as my grades, and how I'm going to finish that paper worth 25% of my grade by Friday, but I can happily say that I don't add to any worries with obsessing over the fitness (or lack thereof), size, shape, or weight of my body. I do not even own a scale, but I don't need one. I love every roll of fat, and ounce of flab, because honestly, it's just a part of who I am.

Age 39

2008-04-05T20:53:00.001-04:00

curvy round buoyant
bouncy soft comfortable
squeezable
voluptuous
insulated grounded well-padded
not heavy
not cumbersome
not overweight or obese

These don't fit.

I just have extra fat. Everyone has some, I just have more.
I'm not saying that I need all of it, but it's not too much to carry.

For now,
I fit it
it fits me.

Age 22

2008-04-05T20:46:00.000-04:00

I've often wondered what it would be like not to have any fat on my body. I wonder what these muscles could do without the weight of the fat I carry, how far I could run without getting out of breath, how high I could jump. I wouldn't want such a change ever to be permanent, though. I know that the muscles I have are just what I need for carrying every ounce of me.

I think I started to be less ashamed of my body when I dropped my long hair and got my gigantic mohawk. Suddenly everyone around was complimenting me. They said things like, we love your hair, it looks like the sun. I felt powerful with my hair spiked out to look like it could kill someone. The mohawk is long gone but the feeling of confidence in being visible is still there.

And I love my body. I really do. I walk around in my apartment naked and whenever I see myself in the bathroom mirror I smile and look at how long my armpit hair is getting. Sometimes I feel like a five-year-old, sitting in the bathtub poking at my belly and thinking of how it's like a flotation device. I'll never drown.

And I love my body when I am bicycling down the road and the cars are passing me and there is a fresh breeze in my face. I love my heart and the way it pounds when I try to go as fast as I can. I love the slight pain that gathers in my legs when I strain to pedal faster. It makes me feel strong and alive.

Age 70

2008-04-05T09:25:00.001-04:00

OK, it probably started at the age of 12, in the summertime, with a rolling pin trying to trim my thighs. I had a girlfriend who was the skinniest peg you ever wanted to meet. Me, well, I wasn't so lucky (or so I thought). My mother even signed me up for a magazine called "The Chubby Club." I hated it. The magazine would come with pictures of girls who were so much heavier than I. They sold dresses which had this elastic at the back waist (you know, so it could stretch). I dreaded it coming in the mail.

Next came the diet doctor. I remember my mother bringing me and the doctor taking my "before" picture. Every week I went, got pills, weighed and had a little question and answer session with the doc. One of the answers I can recall was, "if you eat from a pig, you'll look like a pig." His name was Dr. Repp in West Philadelphia. Needless to say, when I passed out one day my mother threw the pills down the toilet and I didn't go back to Dr. Repp. I think I weighed 150 lbs when I started with him; I recall losing 10 lbs in one week.

Today, well I'm 170 and hate it. I've tried so many diets. No flour, no sugar seemed to be the only one that works, but it's too difficult to stay on it.

My body image is of a fat person.

Age 28

2008-04-04T10:16:00.000-04:00

For more than 20 years, I have hated my body. Every aspect of it - my skin, my hair, my size, my height - down to the freckles on my shoulders. Over those 20 years, I have been a compulsive over-eater, exercise bulimic, anorexic, bulimic, ED-NOS, and at times, even recovered. I've been pre-med in college, an EMT, a firefighter, a 9-1-1 dispatcher and teacher. I've gotten married, have two wonderful children, and while they give me purpose, the only time I ever felt validated as a worthwhile human being was when I was sickest, and at my thinnest. All the good I know I've done, the people I've helped, no one ever noticed me, appreciated me, respected me, except when I was skinny. I curse and hide my body. I look at my old scars, criss-crossing my arms and thighs where I once used to injure myself and I wonder, since it's been years since I hurt myself, that means I'm recovered, right? So I skip some meals, and stick my fingers down my throat when I do eat, but so what? Right? Denial is more than a river in Egypt.

I'm scared for my daughter. That she'll endure the same hell I've lived in my whole life. I walk a tightrope between worry and obsession with what she eats, how she eats, etc. I worry that my son will face the same image issues or that one day, maybe unknowingly, he'll judge someone else's worth based on their appearance and weight.

I don't need money or a big house or cars and jewelry to make me happy. If I had one wish, it would be to be rid of all my body image issues and disorders and just.be.happy.

Age 34

2008-04-04T10:14:00.001-04:00

I am fat. No, really. I am fat. Morbidly obese is the medical term. I prefer fat. I have a fat ass, fat upper arms, a fat belly, fat hips, fat thighs and a fat face. I have stretch marks and I have cellulite. I also have a body that enables me to do the things I want to do. It has conceived, carried and borne two healthy children. It houses my brilliant mind and gives me means to express my thoughts and creativity. It lets me make love to my partner and to enjoy it. I like who I am. I like where I am in my life. I would rather be fat than stressing about dieting and losing weight. I can spend that time writing and creating and being. My body has got me where I am today and while I haven't always been on BFF terms with her, I think she is pretty cool. That is why I decorate her with ink and other expressions of love. I refuse to be ashamed of her. Why should I? My children love snuggling up to me because I am soft and squashy. My partner doesn't find skinny women attractive. I look like my mother did and I don't see that as a bad thing. Maybe I am in denial like all the fat haters say I am. But hey, it sure is more fun here than at Weight Watchers.

Age 19

2008-04-04T08:42:00.001-04:00

Ever since I was a child I've been told I'm beautiful, cute, even angelic. I've had more than one guy tell me I'm "perfect." I don't understand where all of these compliments come from. I have days when I look in the mirror and I see what everyone else sees; I see a beautiful young woman. I only weigh 105 lbs, that can't be fat. Right? So then why is it that I have a lot of days where I look in the mirror and despise what I see? I'm not tall (I'm only 4'11") and I don't have big breasts and a non-existent waist. I'm not what I should be. I'm not perfect at all. How dare anyone say those words to me.

For years I've struggled with an eating disorder. I don't know how to stop.

Age 20

2008-04-04T08:38:00.001-04:00

"I know all women have body issues. If you didn't, you wouldn't be normal."

My new boyfriend told me that when I became upset at him commenting on my body fat (or lack thereof), and I don't think he could ever understand just how much more depressing I find it that I am merely 'normal' in my repellant self hatred.

At least as an anorectic, one has something special. Now at a healthy weight I am just another female, having family reassurances constantly contradicted by the media - another 'sinful snack,' 'flawless perfection,' 'perfect new body' advert. I don't know one woman who is truly happy with herself. Most of them haven't been classified mentally ill, so what hope is there for me to ever let go of this?

Age 15

2008-04-03T08:27:00.000-04:00

Now is the only time in my life I have been called beautiful, and it’s only because I am starving myself. I have always been fat, but last year I have started to not eat. I hide my food and wait for a good time to throw it all away. I act sick so I don't have to go near food when I'm at home. And the people in my life are praising me about how pretty I look now that I have a slimmer waist and hollow cheeks. People are encouraging me and I know I cannot stop. My friends are not fat and most of my parent’s friends are not fat, only my close family is. So I am a fat ass. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I catch a glimpse of a slim pretty girl, but then I'm overwhelmed by my huge fat thighs and rolled fat belly. I poke and prod my fat leavening purple-green bruises and dark red lines of blood. I never mean to hurt myself; I just wanted to show myself how I should look and feel. I can no longer see me as me, I only see what I think is me. I’m scared for my health.

Age 20

2008-04-03T08:26:00.000-04:00

I'm covered with scars. Face, arms, stomach, thighs, ankles, all covered, all attacked, all self inflicted. As grotesque as they are, I don't hate them as much as the fat that they lay on or the stretch marks that some blend in with.

I hide it all behind designer labels and a pretty smile. Thank you for your compliments, I've never believed them. I really just want people to realize that I'm just as breakable as the china doll that they think I look like.

Age 22

2008-04-02T16:37:00.000-04:00

I have hundreds, probably thousands, of dollars worth of tattoos on my body. I am more proud of them than anything else, but just once I want somebody to say "Oh, she would be so pretty if it weren't for all of those tattoos" instead of complimenting them. I have them so people look at the tattoos instead of looking at me, I want somebody to really see me someday, and think that I'm beautiful. Maybe someday I'll stop putting beautiful things on my body and actually believe that my body is what's beautiful.

Age 19

2008-04-02T16:35:00.000-04:00

I am 19.

When I look at old pictures of me, I cry. I cry at how pretty I was. How that girl disappeared. How I fear I'll never find her again.

I wipe my tears away only to cry again when I remember how sick I was. How everyday I had a stomachache. How if I was awake too long, my stomach would hurt so badly I wanted to curl up and die. How I worked out when everyone else relaxed, and how eventually I couldn't eat a full meal anymore. How I spit out every bite behind my napkin.

And I wipe my tears away only to cry again when I remember how my jeans began to fall down. How I would lie on the ground, admiring the valley between my hips and ribs, and swear nothing was as beautiful.

And I once again, wipe away those tears only to cry again when I remember how fast the weight came back. How with medicine and depression I became literally twice my size.

And I look at those old pictures and cry, because, I was so damn beautiful.

Age 18

2008-03-31T17:12:00.001-04:00

Everyday. Everyday I love food. Everyday I hate food…or rather, how the food makes me feel after I eat. I am tormented and wish I could free myself from this pain. My anguish is unrelenting. When I look in the mirror, what do I see? Someone with little self-control. Someone unworthy of love. Someone who wants to cry out for help, but is too afraid…

Age 24

2008-03-28T20:53:00.000-04:00

This is not my body. This can't be it, this soft, round, jiggly blob. No, my real body is hidden under all these layers of fat, and my job is to remove the fat so I can be who I really am. So I can be a happy, confident, successful person who is loved and desired and appreciated and respected.

When I look in the mirror, that is what I think: No, please, this can't be it! I have struggled with bulimia for 8 years. My weight is normal and healthy, but it is too much. There's too much excess, too much softness and flab. I hate my eating disorder; I hate how I have allowed it to take so much from me - my health, my teeth, my time and money, my friends - but I feel that if I were to recover now, I would have failed. I never got skinny. I never achieved the goal. Recovery would mean giving up, and I can't let that happen. So I have to keep going, keep throwing up, keep dieting, keep doing all the things that make me sick and depressed, until I am thin enough that I am allowed to stop.

I know that I will never be thin enough. But I have to try.

Age 36

2008-03-28T14:25:00.002-04:00

When I look in my mirror, I have learned to categorize my body parts.

GOOD
Eyes (Mutable, From Green To Blue)
Pert Nose
Slim, Strong Shoulders
Musical Hands
Wonderful Smile
Delicate Wrists

BAD
Double Chin
Apron Stomach
Fat Thighs
Chunky Calves
Wobbly Upper Arms
Fat Ankles
Big Butt (aka "Fat Ass")

I just want it to stop.

I am infertile because I am fat. I have starved, hit, bruised, cursed and mutilated my soul's cage for so long that I don't know how to stop it. I punish the flesh with the words in my mind on a near-constant basis. I don't know how to stop it.

I just want it to stop.

My husband of 10 years married me when I was fat. He loves me, but I still don't understand why that is the case. I know it hurts him so much when I humiliate my body verbally; when the abuse becomes physical he throws himself full force into the fray, stopping my scratching and marking, braving the snarling beast I become.

I JUST WANT IT TO STOP.

My parents, family and friends don't know the effect their words and actions have on me. They don't understand that who I have become is a result of their words of "concern." They can't figure out that when they comment on my food choices or my lifestyle choices, the pressure is unbelievable.

I JUST WANT IT TO STOP!