I used to attend a lovely writing/networking workshop for women called Novella. Each time I went, it was filled with young women like me, some a little nervous to be meeting new people, some already in the know, but all excited to be around each other, to learn and to share.
These workshops are over for now (cancelled well before corona time), but it was always incredible that about 50 women, almost all strangers to each other, could sit down and expose little pieces of themselves through their writing.
Anyways, my few Novella writings only made it as far as my workshop small group, my inner circle of strangers, and yet they’re pieces I think of often. So I figured they deserved a new place to live, fresh eyes to be read by — and what better place than here?
Body I was written for the “Body” themed Novella in June 2019. It soon received a follow up (what I now call Body II) when the women I work with at The Rational did a similar exercise. Rereading Body I & II necessitated a Body III, a new body diary entry to add to the collection.
Body I
I’m not exactly sure when I started hating my body.
Every therapist I’ve had has asked at some point (or two) “And when did that start?”
I could only ever answer, face screwed up in concentration, “Uhhh, I’m not really sure. 5th grade maybe? 6th grade?”
While I can never put a finger on the exact moment, I default to those formative years. That’s when I know I was jealous of those girls, you know the ones, tall, thin, played soccer. All the boys liked them. They didn’t like me, whose calves looked funny in certain tennis shoes. Whose face was too round. Who wore a size M instead of a Small. I remember all that and still, I don’t think I hated my body then. Not yet.
I have so many thoughts about my body. So many feelings. A complicated relationship. And yet, I rarely ever really talk about it. I can barely even talk to a therapist about it. The one person who is actually qualified to listen to me and digest it all. It’s too raw and too vulnerable. I know I’ll cry if I dive too deep. So I don’t.
When I do bring up my body, most times it’s in that humorous, self-deprecating way we all know. Address the elephant in the room. Then they can’t stare and judge silently, thinking that you don’t know they’re doing it. “Ugh ha ha I’m so fat,” I’d say to my best friends in the whole world, as we got ready for any number of parties.
“Lauren,” they’d sigh, exasperated. “You’re not fat.”
I’d laugh, tsk a little. “If only they knew. If only they could see all the flab hiding under my clothes. I’m not hot, not even close to pretty. I can only pretend.”
It sucks, being in a body you hate. You wake up in the morning, pinching and pulling at all the places that are wrong. Ugly. The places you wish would just go away, fix themselves. After years of trying to lose weight, you still have that tummy pooch. You’ll never be thin. Never be hot. Never be lovable in this body.
The worst part? You’re stuck with it! There’s literally no escaping your own body. In the past few months, I’ve made a lot of changes. To my mindset, my diet, my workouts. I’ve lost weight, I’m a lot fitter and stronger. And I’m really proud of those changes. And still, every day I focus in on the parts of my body I can’t seem to love.
One day I was watching Ashley C. Ford’s insta story (as you do). As a role model of mine, anything she says, I take as gospel. She always seems to say the right thing at the right time. This time was no different. She was doing an Instagram AMA and someone asked her “How do I love my body?” Her answer?
“I’m not going to lie, it’s fucking hard. It takes a lot of work. I’m still working on it.”
I think about that every day. I hear her voice saying “it takes a lot of work” every day. Loving my body isn’t going to happen easily or automatically. I have to work at it, work to make the changes I want to see. Not just physically, but mentally.
I didn’t think I’d get the push I needed to change my mentality from a true crime podcast, but what can you do. In talking about her experiences in therapy, Georgia Hardstark of My Favorite Murder fame shared an interesting technique from her therapist. “Would you tell everything you say to yourself, all the mean things, all the doubts, would you say all of that to little Georgia?”
Of course, I immediately burst into tears. I thought immediately of little me, little Lauren, just having fun in the world. Reading her books, belting Les Miserables, playing in the mud. I would never tell her the things I say to myself today. Never tell her that she’s fat, repulsive, disgusting. Because, of course, she’s none of those things. She’s an amazing kid, who will grow up to be an intelligent, hard-working woman. Who loves herself. She deserves to hear how amazing she is.
I’m not exactly sure when I stopped hating my body so much.
I can’t put a finger on the exact moment. But I know that three days ago marked the first time I went to the beach and didn’t feel as though everyone was looking at me, looking at my fat, judging me for coming out in a bathing suit. When before I would take off my shorts slowly, trying to hide my body, only doing so when my friends did, waiting for their go ahead, this time I took my shorts off with gusto. I was happy to be at the beach, my happy place and I wasn’t letting my feelings over my body stop me. I laid about for hours, walked around without a care in the world. I felt good. And that’s never happened before.
Body II
I wrote once about Body. It started: I’m not sure when I started hating my body. But it ended: I’m not sure when I stopped hating my body.
But I suppose now that the ending was a bit misleading.
It’s not that I love it — because I decidedly don’t. Or that I don’t hate it sometimes, because I do.
But maybe it’s that I find myself appreciating my body in a few different ways.
Since I started working out regularly in January, I actually have biceps to speak of! I have strong quads and toned calves. My shoulders are de-fined. It’s a body that I never thought would be mine, one that can hold her own (somewhat) when moving into a 6th floor walk up.
These muscles are something I’ve worked hard to gain, although not entirely intentionally. I just wanted to be fitter, to not be so out of breath when walking up the stairs. The muscles just came naturally, a byproduct of a lifestyle change. But I’ve come to love and appreciate them. I’m proud of them.
Body III
I’ve written about my body twice. I’ve come so far from Body I; I barely recognize those feelings anymore. I almost even forgot I ever had them.
But I’ve also diverted from Body II. The positivity there has faded some. It’s hard to appreciate your newfound strength and muscles when you’re not at the gym every week. It’s easy to focus instead on the tight hip muscles from sitting too long, the aching heels from standing too long. Too easy to focus instead on your stomach… is it softer than before? Bigger than before? Easy to wonder how long it will take before those muscles in your quads completely atrophy (ha ha). Easy to lament all the negative effects of not walking to and from work every day now.
What’s difficult is knowing that quite a bit of the progress I made could be lost thanks to our time in quarantine. But it’s also difficult sometimes to put workout clothes on and exercise at home, when all my brain wants to do is shut down for the night, tired from all the news, tired from being online all day.
I caught myself the other day falling back into some all-too-familiar negative, over-analyzing body thoughts. And I realized that perhaps I’ll never be not thinking about my body. This impromptu addition of Body III indicates that at least for now, it must be so. I used to operate under the assumption that one day I’d be scot free, finally be fine with my body, even love it maybe (this concept is still far-fetched for me). Maybe one day I’d have discussed my body issues enough in therapy that I would finally come out on the other side, and be like those people who don’t seem to place so much of their own happiness and value in their weight or appearance.
Thank God I revisited these body diaries, though, because I’m reminded that that’s just not how it goes. But also that I’m not alone. Like Ashley C. Ford said, “It’s fucking hard. It takes a lot of work. I’m still working on it.”
You’ve now read about my body three times. I don’t think this will be the last.