My Body

Sharing body positive drawings, doodles, articles and posts does not make me positive towards my own body. Being ‘body positive’ has not aided me in finding any solace or comfort in my own shell, but instead I seem to encourage others to love themselves as though it is going to miraculously make me love myself. 

Every day I thank my body for sustaining me, especially in recent weeks and months, but yet I still refuse to stand and look at myself in the mirror. I can’t actually remember the last time I went into a shop, tried on an item of clothing, and left the changing room with a smile on my face to buy the item. However, I do remember the years of standing in a changing room, an ill-fitting dress squeezing or hanging off my body, my eyes blurred with tears as I whimpered back to my mum that it ‘just doesn’t look right on me.’

After years of truly detesting myself and punishing my body for its natural fluctuations, I decided it was time to become ‘body positive’. Yet here I am, years later, unable to really look at myself in the mirror, even if there’s no-one else in the room. Of course, it was naïve of me to even think that I could ‘solve’ my complex relationship with my body by simply staring at my insecurities and saying ‘I love you’, but I did think that trying to come to terms with my appearance would be a little bit easier than this.

I thought I would be happy if I was a size 10, but even at a size 10 I refused to wear short-sleeved T-shirts because I don’t like the tops of my arms. I refused to wear jeans because I felt like I was restricted in my breathing, I didn’t wear vests because I hate how it hugs under my armpits, I wouldn’t even tie my hair up in a ponytail because I thought it made my face look fatter.

I decided I would try to be happy as a size 14. I still don’t wear vests, short-sleeved t-shirts, or jeans if I’m not in the right company. I would still much rather hide my body in baggy clothes, elasticated waistbands and a comofortable cotton top. But I think I’ve finally realised that it’s not necessarily my body that I don’t love, it’s me that I don’t love, and I’m not going to be able to love my body if I take some steps towards loving me.

First of all, loving myself isn’t going to be easy either, but I have decided that minimising the effect other people’s opinions about me have on my sense of self is a huge step that needs to be taken. Considering the fact that my bipolar mainly manifests itself as anxiety on a daily basis, I’ve decided that the last thing I need to do is take peoples comments about my eating habits or appearance to heart. Whilst I understand it’s probably acceptable for Jordan to tell me I look like an old sock has come to life and crawled into bed with him, I don’t need to spend every second of every day trying to present myself in a way that is acceptable to others. I am going to present myself in a way that I feel comfortable, so that I can concentrate on improving my general relationship with myself before I focus more on my relationship with my body.

One day, I may want the comfort of an elasticated waistband and a tight sports bra, but the next, I may feel that the dress I’ve hidden in the back of the wardrobe never to be worn is actually a gorgeous dress that deserves to be strutted around in. Sod it, maybe I’ll even crack the dress out tomorrow for an outing to the living room.

I think what I’m trying to say amongst all this, is that I now understand why my relationship with my body is more than just that. My relationship with my body is a complex mixture of my mental health, my wider relationship with myself, and my anxiety surrounding other people’s opinions of me. So what if someone thinks I look like a slob in my leggings when I walk into the shop? In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter what people think when they catch a glimpse of me in public or as I shuffle around the house? I’ve got a lot more important things on my plate to deal with instead of worrying about what the shop-assistant thinks of my bloated stomach. They probably don’t really think about my bloated stomach for more than 3 seconds considering they see people walking in and out of the store all day, even if to me, it does feel like I’ve been stared at for an entire century.

I may not ever feel comfortable wearing a vest during summer or when I catch a glimpse of my double chin in the window, but I do want to be able to see myself in a mirror and not turn away in disgust. I think the only way I can ever start to move forwards in this regard is to accept that, yes, I’m not the most beautiful being to have ever walked this earth, but I am a human being with emotions, memories, anxieties, and other attributes beyond my physical appearance.

None of this is going to change overnight, but if my participation in the body positivity movement can progress beyond ‘everyone is beautiful’ to more of a ‘you might not feel beautiful, but you’ve got a lot more going on in your tiny little brain than worrying about whether your hair is frizzy’ kind of thing, then I think my life will be a lot easier as someone who struggles with their concept of self. As I say with most things I write about: you've got to start somewhere.