I’m in the process of recovering from a terrible disorder that almost took my life.
I’ve been insecure about my size ever since I can remember. I remember not wanting to wear a leotard to ballet classes because I could swear all the other girls’ bodies were “right”, and mine was all wrong - at five years old. Being bullied at school only made matters worse. Instead of standing up for me, the adults around just told me I wouldn’t get picked on so much if I went on a diet.
There was nothing wrong with my body at the time, I now realize.
It wasn’t until early puberty that I ended up taking things way further than anyone could predict. I really hated my figure, more and more each day. It seemed like the more weight I lost, the more I hated myself. Worst of all, I kept thinking that if I lost just the right amount of weight, somehow I would start loving myself, being happy and carefree.
Needless to say, it didn’t happen that way. There’s no right amount of weight, I realized a bit too late.
I’ve been in and out of hospitals since I was fifteen, but now I’m finally taking my life back. Turning the wheel.
I’ve gained weight, but most of all, I’ve gained health and happiness. For the first time in ages, those things don’t seem contrary to one another.
It took a lot of guts to put on a white swimsuit and go to the beach. Once there, the only things I could focus on were the sea, the sand, the wind, the people, and how much fun I was having! A real blast.
A long road still lies ahead, but I’m taking the first steps towards loving myself.
Not only am I beautiful - I’m brave. I’m deserving.