I remember the first time someone called me fat. I wasn’t more than six or seven years old. At the time I don’t think I really even knew what it meant but I knew it was bad. That I was bad. That I wasn’t good enough.
I remember the first time I went on a diet. I was 15. As the weight dropped off, my apparent love for myself grew exponentially. Then I gained the weight back and I hated myself again. Hated myself into a dark depression
“You’re fat” became the insult of choice. Family members, girls at school, even strangers would use those words to hurt me. And it did. An arrow direct to the bulls-eye of my heart.
I don’t remember a time since when I haven’t been on a diet.
It’s not just the weight though. Over the years I’ve suffered from severe cystic acne followed closely by adult acne (and the scarring that comes with it), high-school bullying, depression, low self-worth, hormonal hair, weird skin rashes, hyper-emotional sensitivity, confusion about my sexuality, binge eating, ongoing back pain, drug and alcohol abuse, and a myriad of other stuff I’m not comfortable sharing.
Learning to love myself feels like a bloody big job. Continue Reading →