Body image is a funny, fickle thing. I’ve struggled with mine for as long as I can remember and it’s been a major catalyst for my depression throughout the years.
I’ve lost 70lbs since the beginning of March. (The queen of the segue, I tell you.)
The how isn’t so important, but because I know you’ll ask (and I mean, I would too) I did the HCG diet. I won’t go into the details of it, although I’m happy to, but know that I researched it, my doctor friend researched it, I had friends who had success, I work for a company that specializes in hcg, and as desperate as I was to lose weight, I wouldn’t do anything that I didn’t think was safe. I say all this, because the diet’s a bit controversial, mostly because people don’t understand it. It’s extreme, and it’s drastic, but it’s completely safe and has worked wonders for me.
That girl up there? She doesn’t feel like me. I never felt comfortable in my own body at that weight. I felt like I was walking around in someone else’s skin. And it was a feeling that was always with me. I am truly, truly happy in that photo, but as happy as I was I was still extremely aware and extremely self-conscious of my body. I was aware of every movement, every angle, every pull of my shirt. I constantly wanted to tell people, “This isn’t me. I know it looks like me, but it’s not me.” I’d look in the mirror and be surprised at who I saw looking back.
And it’s not about being thin. I came to terms a long time ago with the fact that while many of my friends were, I would never be stick thin. No matter how much weight I lose, I will always have hips, and an ass and I mean, have you seen those boobs? They’re fantastic. And I’m okay with that. I’m more than okay with that. And it’s not about being ashamed of being big, or bigger than what society deems okay. Because I was proud of those things even 70 pounds ago. Like I said, it’s about not feeling comfortable in my own skin. And also, I was on track to being seriously unhealthy.
It felt like I’d lost control of my own body. And I was too far gone to ever get it back. That feeling of helplessness, of knowing that I was doing my own body harm, of eating my feelings, was just the giant cycle of suck that I felt like I couldn’t break.
As I’ve lost the weight and kept it off, I’m still surprised when I look in the mirror. But now it’s because I recognize the person looking back at me. I know this person. I’m comfortable in this body. All of my issues didn’t magically disappear with the weight. I still have my sore points and areas that I probably will never 100% love (dear great grandma, thanks so much for thighs, xoxo), but not carrying around the figurative weight of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin is ridiculously freeing.
Looking in that mirror and just seeing me, is an incredible thing. One I wasn’t sure would ever happen again.