Hello Everyone,
My post for today was not easy to write, but I have always been honest with our readers. I am a hypocrite. In the past, I published posts encouraging people to overcome weight or body image issues and find self-acceptance and love. When I fit people for bras, I discourage negative body comments and focus on the customer’s individual beauty. After years of improvement, I believed I was cured of my old habits. My stretch marks were tiger stripes, and my scars each told a story. My pale skin did not need self-tanner, and I referred to my tummy pudge affectionately as “carb storage.” With the exception of the occasional bad day, I was happy as I was. Then again, it’s easier to develop body acceptance when your body, more or less, stays the same. When it changes, the real test begins.
Sales at the store have exceeded my expectations, and as a result, my workload has increased to the point of making exercise a struggle. Furthermore, my doctor advised me to return to birth control as my PCOS symptoms were worsening again. The initial prescription was for a generic I never tried before, and for five weeks, it destroyed me. My breasts grew another cup size and were so tender I could not bear to be braless. I gained a little over ten pounds, and my emotional stability became unbalanced. I hit my breaking point. The morning I stopped taking the drug started with a quick step on the scale to see if I had lost any weight. Despite repeating how the number did not define me, I was secretly hoping to see a pound or two shed away. Instead, I had ballooned to a weight I had not seen in over five years. I was devastated. Dejected, I sat at my breakfast table with tears streaming down my face, barely able to eat, and feeling like a total failure. In that moment, I absolutely hated my body, but worse still, I hated myself. I had let my weight get out of control. I had failed—failed to maintain discipline.
While I have no doubt the hormone issues increased the severity of the emotional response, I knew the birth control was not solely to blame. Even after years of recovery, I still struggle with body image demons. A ten pound weight gain, which was nothing in the scheme of life, was still enough to cast me into a dark, dangerous place—the cold bottom of a downward spiral I hoped never to tread again. The old battle with the mirror resurged, and I stared gloomily at my favorite clothes, poking my stomach and squeezing the fat on my hips in disgust.
My dad, aka the most bias person on the planet in my eyes, told me the other day that I needed to stop beating up his friend, who was a beautiful, charming, intelligent, caring, wonderful woman. I shrugged off the comment with my trademark eye roll, and he asked me a simple question: Why? Why am I doing this to myself? Why was my weight a source of personal failure? Or for that matter, why should it be a source of triumph? Why am I utilizing the mirror as some twisted source of psychological torture?
It was time to take a long, hard look at myself, my inner self. Cultivating a positive body image is not a one-time endeavor. It’s something you actively engage in every day. This summer, I learned confidence and self-esteem can be more fragile than we anticipate, and I realized I had larger issues than weight gain. Not having the time and energy to exercise as much as I used to made me feel weaker, both mentally and physically, and I hated myself for not being stronger. I was angry with my body because I could not control it. My constant battle with PCOS exhausts me, and the never-ending switches from one treatment to another wreaks havoc on my state of mind. I was angry at my body for betraying me. The weight gain was just the catalyst which triggered the explosion of emotions I was trying to quell.
So I started something new. I am giving myself a break. I am forgiving myself for my emotional meltdown, and I am recognizing that I cannot control everything in my life. Every morning, I now look in the mirror and say one positive thing about my body and then another positive thing about who I am. Change starts from within, and I know accepting my body will mean accepting myself. My name is Erica, and I am officially in body image rehab and on the road to recovery.
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