my body — the Rhinestone

TW: trauma, eating disorder

Every few months I end up writing one of these blogs — celebrating an epiphany or new revelation in which I’ve learned to love myself a little bit more, and I think I’ve summited the mountain. It’s almost embarrassing, because I worry that one day people will roll their eyes and say, “We thought you found the holy Grail of self-love the last four times, yet here you are again.” And part of me wants to wait — wait until I can write one that will be the be-all-and-end-all of essays, where I tell you how I’ve completely learned to love myself and will never need to address the topic again.

But as you may already suspect, that will never be the case. As I’m finding out more now than ever before, you are never truly “done” learning about yourself. So even though I may have learned many things, there will be plenty more revelations to unpack and uncover in the future, and not all of them will be bad. This one is really good. If you’d like to know about it, read on.

CORE BELIEFS

“I can’t wait to have my old body again.”

This was a recurring thought that I used to have all the time. When I would see that cute bikini in the back of my closet.…Or when I wanted to touch my toes, but my belly got in the way…. Or when that guy that I really liked rejected me…. Or when blah, blah, blah, blah. You get the idea. I’ve spent the last eight years of my life wishing that I wasn’t in my body, but in “my body.” But what does that even mean? The body that fit a size 10 dress? No… maybe the body before that, which could still squeeze into a pair of size 2 jeans. Ahhh, no. Perhaps it meant the body before that, which was 120 pounds of pure muscle. No, not that body either.

I felt fat, ugly, and worthless in every one of these bodies.

As a child and young adult I went through a lot of body-shaming. Though I was the highest-level gymnast on my team, I was told I would never be able to do certain skills because I wasn’t small or compact enough. After I quit gymnastics, well-intentioned family members told me to be careful because I was getting fat. My first boyfriend made it clear my body wasn’t good enough for him — he preferred thigh gaps. There was more, but it was all the same flavor. My body wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.

I consider 2013–2017 to be a very influential period for me. On one hand, a lot of amazing things were happening. I moved away from home, went to college, escaped an abusive relationship, and discovered partner dancing. On the other hand… I rebounded into a neglectful long-distance relationship. My only close friendship was also a long-distance, emotionally codependent mess. I became so depressed that I stopped attending classes, and I flunked out of my major and had to find a new one, almost dropping out entirely. I developed a binge-eating disorder and gained 40 pounds in a year. I was having anxiety and panic attacks weekly (at least). After graduating, I moved back home for four months and the attacks got worse. I contemplated suicide. Finally, my parents got me to see a doctor, and I started taking anti-anxiety medication.

I was in denial about having mental illness for most of those years. I had no idea that was what was happening to me. The way I was raised — to be strong and self-sufficient — I interpreted to mean that if I was determined and disciplined enough, I would be able to fix all of my problems. Since my problems were clearly not going away, it must mean that I was just weak and undisciplined. I was mired in self-hatred so deep, I didn’t see a way out.

I started therapy in 2017 and I was diagnosed with major anxiety and depression with a sprinkling of PTSD. My trauma had left me with a few core beliefs:

1. I was unlovable unless I was useful to people in some way, and even then, that was no guarantee that I would not be abandoned.
2. Unless I was in perfect physical condition, I would never be attractive or desirable as a woman, I would never reach my goals as a dancer, and I would always lose life opportunities such as jobs, etc. to people who were in better shape. (Somehow, I didn’t apply this reasoning to anyone but myself.)

Maybe these beliefs seem ridiculous to you when you see them written out like this, and objectively, they seem that way to me, too. But they were ingrained, and they influenced every thought and action that I had. Over three years of therapy, I tackled the first core belief. I worked to overcome my PTSD. I learned to identify cognitive distortions and replace them with rational thoughts. After a few years of work, I no longer feared abandonment from friends over the slightest transgressions. I saw value in myself as a person.

But the second core belief persisted — I still felt fat and disgusting.

THE LANDSLIDE

Even though I was still struggling with binge-eating, I lost 30 pounds in the first few months when I moved to San Francisco in 2017. I was in a new environment, busy and productive, walking up and down all those damn hills in West Portal, and going out dancing four nights a week. But I barely noticed the weight loss. I congratulated myself briefly, but still viewed myself just the same as I had the last four years. I kept my old body in my mind, telling myself that if I could just get back to it, I would be happy. I tried to lose weight. I got gym memberships, I danced, I dieted — all different types. The diets always came crashing down when I went through a bingeing relapse. If you’ve never had an eating disorder, it may be tough to understand the lack of control you feel when experiencing an episode. The best way I can describe it… I felt like a prisoner in my own mind, watching and shouting at myself as I went through the motions. I would eat to the point of nauseousness just to prolong the dopamine release of eating and escape the world for a while. I would feel calm while eating, and then afterwards be swamped by a wave of guilt, anger, sadness, and shame. But I kept doing it.

a photo by Ngoc (Your Best Shot) which I never posted because I couldn’t stand the sight of my belly.

I gained the 30 pounds back, and it kept going up over the last two years. My goal shifted… Every time I gained weight, I just wanted the body I had ten pounds ago. I never congratulated myself for small wins — I wanted results. Nothing mattered except my fat levels. It sucked the joy out of life. There were countless experiences that I should have enjoyed, and all I can remember is the hatred that I had for my body eating me up. I would do beautiful photoshoots and refuse to post the pictures because I was so disgusted by my weight. I’d have brief moments of self-love, and then plunge back into darkness a week later. I heard all of the compliments from friends. I read all of the inspirational articles about choosing yourself, loving yourself, etc. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I felt that loving myself meant complacency, and I would stay stuck… fat. Alone. Forever.

THE EPIPHANY

I started Noom, a psychology-based, educational lifestyle program, in January this year. It’s one of the most successful available methods for weight loss. I was trying to lose weight before going to Brazil in April. I was impatient — I put myself on the strictest calorie budget, and I rushed through the lessons, not really absorbing the information. I ended up bingeing more often. I would miss lessons because I was avoiding opening the app to log my meals, out of shame. I gained more weight, of course. I started to think it would just be another failure.

Then the COVID-19 pandemic hit. I was stuck in the house, 24/7. I was bored, anxious, and stressed. I held out for about three weeks, and then I fell apart. I binged every day, at every meal, for a week straight and for four of those days, I only left my room to go to the kitchen. I gained more weight. I felt out of control and helpless. Then I pulled myself out of it a little. I started over on Noom and put myself on the least strict program. I needed even more of a fresh start… so I decided to try to dye my hair, too. But hilariously, all of the places I checked online for hair bleach were backordered — I guess everyone else had the same impulse that I had.

As I was contemplating this, I had a thought. I really like how healthy my undyed hair is. If I dye it, it’ll weaken my hair and it won’t grow. What if… I just threw my energy into nurturing it, so it would just be long and healthy when quarantine ends? Boom, decision made. …If only it was that easy to do that with my body. And like a light bulb going off, I realized something.

Every time I had tried to lose weight, I had never done it with the intention of just taking care of myself, even when I said that was why. My true, honest motivation to lose weight was that I was going to end up alone and miserable if I didn’t. What kind of insane pressure had I put on myself? No wonder that I caved and binged every time. Hadn’t I, with each new weight gain, wished for the body I’d had before? And yet each time, I had never, ever, taken the time to love my body in the current moment. For years, I had been deeply afraid that saying I loved my body meant that I was okay with staying fat and undesirable. I fought against it tooth and nail, telling myself I was just around the corner from dropping all the weight.

So now, for a brief, terrifying moment, I allowed myself to let go… to accept the possibility that I would never lose weight. I imagined my body being static, as it is right now, forever. And I suddenly felt as though an anvil had been lifted off my chest. I didn’t have to fight anymore.

I was free to just be in my body without the looming pressure to change it. Just to try it, I took my hands and stroked them over my body — all the parts I hated. Thighs, belly, chin, arms, hips, and I said out loud, “Right now you are not skinny or fat — you are just my body, and I love you.” I felt so peaceful and whole.

I never, ever wanted to lose that feeling. Now that I knew what the loving thoughts felt like, I compared them to the harsh, mean thoughts I’d been thinking for the last eight years, found the differences, and finally started to fight that second core belief. Every time I catch myself thinking about my body — “I hate how my shoulders are so fat now,” I stop. Breathe. And whisper, “You are just my body, and I love you.” And maybe gently pat that part of my body, for good measure.

It’s working, slowly. I’m spending less time switching outfits and getting stressed in front of the mirror every time I get dressed. I don’t lay awake in bed pushing at my stomach and imagining it flatter. I’m doing the Noom program, slowly, writing each lesson in my journal to reinforce it. When I binge, I don’t despair — it’s not a symbol of my failure to lose weight, it’s just a moment in time, that moment passes, and I can do better the next. I’ve lost ten pounds in the last two and a half weeks. And of course, I got all excited, so I had to slow down and breathe and remind myself why I was doing this. That I am doing it for myself because in the grand scheme of things, my body is just… a body. And if I gained another 30 pounds tomorrow, it would still deserve love and care, and would still be just a body. My body. I don’t need “my body” again. I have had it all along.

For You ♥

Now… I write these articles not just for my own healing, but for anyone else who needs to hear these words as well. If you’re on your own journey of self acceptance, here are a few things that have really helped me.

1. Control your environment: I thought I was immune, but I was slowly getting inundated with a lot of material online that contributed to my body shame. Fitness experts, celebrities, people who are just genetically fly af… There is nothing wrong with following them, but if you find yourself comparing yourself to them in a negative way or being unkind to yourself, UNFOLLOW. Follow people who make you happy to be yourself and positively motivate yourself to improve. I try to follow a lot of body positivity advocates and people with a similar body type to me to normalize myself.
2. Be honest with yourself: Are you making excuses, or being kind to yourself? You know the difference — just imagine yourself saying it to a friend. “You had a hard day today, it’s okay to chill and have you-time” sounds a lot different than “You can totally stay in bed past 2 pm for the third day in a row and eat that piece of chocolate off your stomach.” There’s a fine line here!
3. Reward yourself for little wins, and share them: Progress can be measured in so many different ways — physical, mental, and emotional. Try to acknowledge all of the ways you make progress and be proud of them!

At the time I’m writing this, we are all still on shelter-in-place so I’m sending you all a virtual hug and lots of love and strength. And thank you to everyone who has been guiding me along my own journey — I love y’all so much!

-Elena “The Rhinestone” ♥

Originally published at https://therhinestone.co on May 10, 2020.