Copyright: Matthew Horwood – Getty Images
TW: Eating Disorder
I grew up learning to hate the mirror,
to pinch the softness of my stomach
and wonder why my body refused to become something worth loving.
I starved myself.
I made hunger a punishment,
my reflection an enemy,
and every pound I couldn’t lose another reason to hate myself.
I was starving,
and still,
I was too much.
Then came diabetes…
A weekly dose,
A GLP-1,
A magical cure.
Four months in now,
forty pounds down.
And suddenly, the world was kinder.
You look beautiful.
You look so good.
Have you lost weight?
Words I had spent my whole life waiting for finally found their way to me.
I can move more easily now.
Breathe a little lighter.
Live a little freer.
And God,
I wish I could enjoy it without wondering why I had to change for people to see me.
Because I’m still me…
The same heart.
The same mind.
The same person who cried in dressing rooms,
who avoided photographs,
who begged the universe to make me someone people wanted to look at.
Where were these compliments then?
Where was this kindness when I was breaking myself trying to become smaller?
I hate that it feels so good to finally be noticed.
I hate that forty pounds seem to have made me more worthy in the eyes of people who never bothered to look deeper.
My body changed.
My soul didn’t.
I am more than this body.
But now that this body is smaller,
people are finally looking close enough to see that there is someone here.
And I don’t know what hurts more…
that they couldn’t see me before,
or that a part of me is grateful they finally do.
Heavy emphasis on society being kinder when you’re smaller. It’s like your physical appearance is the only determinant for if you are worthy enough to share a conversation. I hate that. I hate that in order for people to want to know you, you have to be thin and pretty and nothing else matters. People love to preach about how who someone is on the inside is what matters when they know it’s not true and I know it’s not true.