A Zillennial’s Journey with Body Dysmorphia
**TW - body dysmorphia - skip if this isn’t for you!
There isn’t a day that goes by where you don’t have to eat food, put on clothes, or catch a glimpse of your reflection in a mirror. For this reason, if you struggle with body dysmorphia, intrusive thoughts can feel inescapable. It’s easy to dismiss negative thoughts surrounding body image as foolish or useless, but in a society that idolizes beauty and treats thinness as one of the top metrics for that beauty, it’s a wonder not everyone falls victim to this sickness.
A recent shopping journey on a quest to find shorts for the summer season sent me into a rage-filled spiral. As a non-lover of shopping to begin with, the mental fortification required to embark on such an event is quite intense. I cruised over to the U-district shopping center channeling good vibes and a positive attitude.
“I’m just looking for a pair or two of shorts”, I told myself in an attempt to self-soothe. Piece of cake.
It started off ok. I was feeling positive and had worked out earlier in the day to get an extra confidence boost. Some of you may think this sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth. I don’t have a manikin figure. I’m no bean-pole or well-proportioned hourglass shape, but rather a tiny top and a curvy bottom which often presents a whole host of challenges.
To find pants or shorts that fit over my quads and hips and glutes, there’s enough of a gap at my waistline to fit a second human. If I get pants that fit at my waist… well… I never make it that far because even the most aggressive jumping in the fitting room won’t get them past mid thigh.
It sucks. There have been too many occasions to count where the combination of shitty lighting, 360 mirrors, and several hours of shopping have left me with tears streaming down my face, fleeing empty-handed back to my car. Moments like these had piled up earlier in my life, and, while I was in college, it started to become too much. When you look around and everyone is wearing trendy clothes that don’t work for you, it’s incredibly demoralizing.
Already self-conscious and suddenly exposed to college parties, game-day outfits, business casual attire, etc., I also stepped away from being a college athlete. Suddenly, on top of everything else, I found myself having to relearn how to eat like a regular person.
I knew about macros, TDEE, and other calculators to properly fuel myself while I was an athlete, but I had no idea how to handle a new onset of guilt around eating food and being kind to myself while I figured out portion control in this less active state. This was the real start of a very unhealthy relationship with food.
I wanted to turn to reliable sources like the CDC or NIH to make educated decisions. But with our top medical institutions still using Body Mass Index (BMI) charts as the standard for weight categorization, I was quickly deflated once again.
I remember I looked at my height and weight and slid both of my fingers down their respective row and column until they met. I did it again in disbelief. And then a third time. One BMI level away from being classified as overweight? How? I was an elite athlete my entire life and had only just stopped competing as a DI soccer player.
If we went back in time, my search history after seeing that stat would expose me, showing queries such as:
“Minimum calories per day? How to speed up metabolism? How to dress as a pear shape? Can you get rid of saddlebags? Stubborn fat removal? Cost of personal trainer? Best meal prep plan for weight loss?”
Between nasty internal dialogue and demoralizing (because they don’t take into account muscle mass and bone density) nationally recognized medical journals, I felt like I was perpetually skating on thin ice – ready to self-destruct into another ‘fast’ or purge until I felt good about myself again. I was walking through the world one comment or sideways glance away from another shame spiral – it felt absolutely absurd and simultaneously all-consuming.
As I’ve worked to change my own narrative around weight and body image, it’s made me that much more aware of other peoples comments and how damaging and unnecessary they can be. My dear friend uses the mantra, ‘my size is the least interesting thing about me’, and she’s right.
Even the most well-intentioned comments can sting. What’s on the other end of a…
“You look healthy! Have you lost weight? You’re so thin!”
…could be someone who's been starving themselves for weeks for an event, or someone compulsively over-exercising to try and stay thin. Conversely, the person you said was too bony might be actively trying to put on weight and is on an entirely different journey.
It’s a tough world out there. When conscious or unconscious biases shape people into becoming fat-phobic, the fear of being perceived as such is amplified. Suddenly I’m terrified to be the ‘big’ friend of my friend group. I’m over-thinking why they never post pictures with me. Maybe I’ll just volunteer to take the pictures because I’m too embarrassed to be in them.
It’s all rubbish. Don’t comment on it. Pick something else like their style, charisma, or their smile. Walking into a conversation and making it about concerns surrounding food/weight/size is a risk and… it’s also just boring. I don’t want to agonize over every calorie, skipped meal in preparation for a big dinner, or healthier ‘substitute’ ingredients.
Health and longevity are much more important than any ripple from a stretch mark will ever be. Life is better when I choose to celebrate what my body is capable of instead of being fixated on its imperfections. This body made me a national champion. It took me to the top of mountains. It powered through 206 miles on a bicycle in one day. It ran two half marathons in one week.
My size is the least interesting thing about me. What I’m able to accomplish is worth so much more.