I thought I didn’t care about my weight. I thought I didn’t care about the little bit of stomach that shows when I wear tight clothing or when I bend over. I thought I didn’t care that no one would call me “skinny”. I thought I didn’t care that all my friends were a lot thinner than me. But the truth is - I do.
About four days ago, I tried on all the clothes in my closet in an attempt to decide which one would look best for a night out with my friends. But none of them were right. Some made me look frumpy, some were too tight and some just didn’t fit. About half an hour into the process, my mum knocked on my door and asked me why I hadn’t gotten dressed yet. That’s when I lost it. I cried and said “I’m too fat to fit into any of these clothes and of the few that do fit me, I’m too fat for them to look good on me”. I finally told my mum what I really felt, after secretly harbouring this since the start of the year. I told her the real reason why I didn’t wear some of the skirts and jumpsuits that I wore last year. It wasn't because I was tired of them, but simply because they didn’t fit me anymore. I had gained about 7kg over my three-month summer holiday and despite me wishing that I would lose all of it once university started, I didn’t. My mum’s first reaction was to laugh in my face. I don’t think she even realised that I was serious. She just thought I was being ridiculous.
That night, once I came back home, my mum said that she had told dad about my outburst. Dad then proceeded to tell me that I needed to stop worrying about my weight and to stop calling myself fat. But that is easier said than done. I guess somewhere I knew that my insecurity with my body didn’t start this year. It started back in 2014 when my mum told me that I had better stop eating so much junk food or my hips would get even bigger than they already were. When I told my mum about this four days ago, she says she doesn’t remember telling me this and that she must’ve been joking. But I know she wasn’t, because even in a joke there is a little nugget of truth. But I don’t resent my mother for it. She may have initiated my insecurity with my body, but I am the one who bred it.
Fast forward to tonight, I visited a family friend and he told me that I gained weight. He tried to justify it by saying that I looked good as a result of it. I think he meant well, but it stung and hit too close to home. I cried to my parents about this in the car ride home and they kept trying to convince me that I was overthinking it. They told me not to care about what he said. But how can I not care when he echoed the thoughts that were already in my head?
So let me be honest with you - I would like to be skinnier. I would like for my stomach to be flat. I would like for my legs to be a bit thinner. There I said it. I haven’t admitted that to myself in years. I think I just thought that I was okay with my body, but in reality, I wasn’t. In reality, I stood in front of the mirror examining whether the dress I was wearing was showing my belly fat. In reality, I sucked in my stomach every time I thought people were watching me. In reality, I envied the slim figures of my friends and classmates. In reality, I avoided wearing anything too tight because I didn’t want people to see my imperfections.
This post isn’t meant to be positive or to highlight how I have changed my views on my body. I don’t think that is something I can change overnight, no matter how much my parents may wish it. After all, my insecurities were built over 5 years. Where to now then? I think I have to start by accepting my truth first, before I can accept my body. I’m a work in progress and that’s okay. I’m okay with the fact that I care about my weight. I don’t think I’m okay with the little bit of stomach that shows when I wear tight clothing or when I bend over. I don’t think I’m okay with the fact that no one would call me “skinny”. I don’t think I’m okay that all my friends are a lot thinner than me. But the truth is - it is okay to not be okay. I know they are not healthy thoughts, but at least I know that I have these unhealthy thoughts. At least I accept them for what they are, instead of sweeping them under the rug. Being honest with myself and how I feel about my body is a step in the right direction.
My lovely readers - thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts. Tell me what you think in the comments down below. I would love to hear your stories!
Love,
