I’m Done With The Perfect Body
I still remember the days when I used to be my skinniest or my fittest. Of course, I do. But even then I didn’t really love myself. I don’t think I’ve ever loved my body. It all went from not worrying about my body at all at the age of five to obsessively working out at the age of thirteen.
Even now I’m far from body positivity as I suck in my stomach for no reason. No one is watching. I’m not even wearing a tight top. Yet this is one of the habits I’ve learned that I will have to unlearn somehow. During my teen years, I truly thought that being skinnier or fitter will finally stop my bullies from laughing at me and making mean comments. It didn’t. Not really.
At the age of fourteen to sixteen I was fit. But at what cost? I monitored what I ate, tried to keep a food diary and exercised at least an hour if not an hour and a half every day. If my muscles were sore, I still pushed through. I didn’t listen to my parents’ comments about how I was taking it to the extremes. And I didn’t either when I was eighteen and at my smallest size in like… ever.
When I finally reached the EU size of 34, I finally felt proud. I was skinny and people noticed it. Even the comments that weren’t meant as compliments sounded as such. Now I look back at the pictures and videos I took during that time, and I see how my hips and ribs were poking out. I was not…
