(Trigger warning: disordered eating/weight)

One of the first instances I remember being concerned about my weight was sixth grade, after the dreaded FitnessGram assessment in gym class. The FitnessGram consists of a series of different physical tests, ranging from the PACER, push-ups, sit-ups, and measuring body mass index (BMI). This was the first time I became aware of the weights of other girls my age, and naturally my adolescent brain had to compare mine to theirs. When I got home from school, I distinctly remember Googling “is it ok for a 12 year old girl to weigh 112 pounds?”

My relationship with my weight only got worse with age. My family would sometimes make comments about it, which of course made me upset; I would cry to my friends about it and they would insist I had nothing to worry about, that I was pretty, that I wasn’t fat (as if you can’t be both-but that’s another conversation). I didn’t know who to believe. I felt especially ostracized because I come from an extremely health-conscious family- my dad is a physical education teacher, my mom is a nurse, and my sister is personal trainer. Being surrounded by such fit people all the time definitely made me feel worse, and they didn’t hide their feelings about my weight, eating habits, physical activity, etc. I wanted nothing more than to shed a few pounds and be as skinny as my friends. My weight fluctuated some over the years, as I was using the LoseIt and My Fitness Pal apps on and off while being trapped in the binge-restrict cycle.

Despite all of this, I have never been medically classified as overweight. My BMI has always been in the normal range. But I was convinced I needed to lose weight, because my friends were still skinnier than me, women on TV and social media looked better than me, and my family still made comments. This past year, I lost 25 pounds and finally reached my “goal weight”.  Honestly, my biggest motivation was to finally make my family shut up. Now, the comments have switched from “you look like you put on some weight” and “are you sure you should be eating that?” to “you’ve slimmed down” and “what are your weight-loss tips?” And yet, I still feel the same about my body. I still look in the mirror and see fat that needs to go.

My weight loss has made me realize that I may never be satisfied with how I look if I continue to view myself so negatively. I am slowly getting to a place of self-acceptance, and I am in a much better mental state than I have been in years. I have very supportive friends, a loving boyfriend, and a great therapist. I am actively trying to unlearn years of my family’s toxic dynamic with weight, but so much of it was directed towards me in my formative years that it has had a huge impact on my self-esteem and confidence. My grandmother has made similar comments to me that my mom has, so I can only assume that my mom was raised in a similar way, and that many of the things she had to say to me were just projections of how she felt about herself. In both my family and society, women are viewed more favorably the smaller they are. But this is a socially constructed, patriarchal standard of beauty that has taken up too much of my life. I know now that my weight has not, does not, and will never define me, no matter what anyone says. I know that I deserve to treat my body with kindness and love. I know that am more than my physical appearance. This intergenerational trend of body shaming ends with me.