my body isn't a before picture

It’s been a while because I keep writing different Substacks about my body, and when I go to post them, I change my mind and start over. I am not sure if it’s just that I find it particularly hard to talk about my body or if it’s something we all feel.

I am constantly cycling through three stages: I either feel hot, feel disgusted, or feel entirely indifferent about my body.

I want to start by saying that it took me about three years to adjust to the weight I gained during quarantine in 2020. In the first year of weight gain, I thought I would easily lose the weight, no problem. After that became more work than I wanted, I slowly stopped obsessing over changing my body. Well, not to mention that I was dealing with an immense amount of grief and becoming increasingly poorer.

Losing weight is a rich man’s game. Rich, meaning literally having the money for a gym membership, dance classes, weight loss drugs/surgeries, and organic foods. Rich also meaning with few other things to worry about. If I can’t get myself to smile at the sky, how am I supposed to have the energy to work out?

I spent approximately fourteen years of my life scared of getting “fat.” Writing in my diary as young as ten years old, talking about how I am chubby. That’s heartbreaking.

I am deeply saddened when I feel that girl still inside me worrying over how my stomach pokes out of my underwear. I was never overweight as a teenager, but that didn’t stop me from obsessing over it. I played sports in high school and middle school, so I was ‘in shape,’ but still never satisfied with how I looked. Some might say I had body dysmorphia. It’s hard for me to pinpoint what was going on.

I wonder if I am not capable of being satisfied with my body.

I wonder more if anyone in the world is capable of being satisfied with their body?

Maybe it’s just a rat race; no one will ever win. Even bodybuilders seem to be continuously trying to reach a new goal right after one is achieved.

I walk my dog, I'm on my feet for hours at my barista job, I love salads, but besides that, one could say I’m not living the healthiest lifestyle. Having a bigger body doesn’t automatically make you unhealthy, but I did gain this weight originally due to an excess of snacking and drinking during my days of the world being shut down.

I’ll never forget this one time, my ex, on one of my bad days, told me as I was crying that, “I think you were always supposed to look like this.” I was naked, changing, and having trouble feeling confident in anything I put on that day.

At the time, I was angry at that statement. But I do wonder if he was right. I used to be more top-heavy, now I am pretty evened out. My back hurts more, though.

In the past two years, I have completely stopped trying to work out, weigh myself, count calories, or do anything to change my size.

Partly, because I do genuinely believe that I won’t ever reach satisfaction.

That, and due to the world we live in, the world I grew up in, I am unable to wake up every day and be totally fine with how I look. Now again, I do think I am sexy most days. But not every day, and certainly not when I get a long glimpse of my side profile.

If I had the funds, perhaps I would get some sort of procedure to eliminate this double chin of mine, but I don’t, so I am trying to accept it.

I am letting my body be. I have done a brave thing and simply let myself exist for the last few years without viewing my body as broken. I am not trying to ‘fix’ anything about my size, although I am not saying I wouldn’t. I just don’t care enough to.

Another big reason I don’t care is that, overall, I am happy with who I am.

Societally, there’s constant pressure to be thinner, healthier, and better looking. But I can’t find it in me to care much. My cup inside me feels full. I don’t need my body to look a certain way when I’ve made peace with the bones of who I am.

Charli XCX once famously wrote, “I think the apple’s rotten right to the core, from all the things passed down before.” I won’t dissect it, but for me I feel the core of my apple is still sweet. The outside might be bruised, but who I am underneath, I am proud of. I am a girl raised by unconditional love, and I am grounded in knowing myself, which is something I value. That’s where I have found my peace.

I am far from perfect, but the core of who I am is solid, and it always has been.

I take pride in how well I know myself.

I know that I am funny, kind, judgmental, authentic, compassionate, a bitch sometimes, scared a lot of times, I want control and no control, I want to love and to be adored. I want to write, I want to observe and photograph every beautiful thing I see. I love to laugh and I hate to cry, and I will always overshare. I see the best in people and want to save the souls that are hurting. And all these characteristics about me haven’t changed in five years, although the weight on the scale has.

I love bigger bodies on others, and I love a round face. I believe we do need more representation of plus-size people in media. I will always do my best to uplift and support those underrepresented. This disgust I feel on my bad days comes from a place I despise. A place that feels programmed in me, unconsensually.

I push past the fatphobia around me, and I try to be gentle with myself as best I can.

For so, so, so long, on days when the size of my pants was much smaller than they are now, I was very cruel to my body. I was taking pictures of myself from the side constantly, I was tracking my weight in my notes app, I was feeling guilty all the time for how I looked, and for how much I ate. It was miserable inside my skin.

I was incredibly terrified of looking the way I look now, for reasons I can’t justify.

I don’t want to ever be that cruel to myself again. I don’t want my mind to ever be flooded with guilt after what I eat. I don’t want to constantly be tearing myself apart in my brain when there are much more important things to worry about.

But I am not a liar, so I can’t write and tell you that I love every inch of how I look, because I don’t. And I think that’s okay. I have become okay with it.

When I feel hot, I will show off my bod, and when I don’t, I will wear oversized clothes. That works for me. It’s one less thing to carry when my hands are already full.

Other tips (if you’re curious) that worked for me in the past five years, since my body has changed, include — throwing away clothes that don’t fit, getting tattooed all over the place, dying my hair, investing in my style, not hooking up with strangers, and most importantly, not comparing old photos of how I used to look.

I am not a before picture to be used when I “lose the weight.”

Lastly, I have to add that yes, I have noticed the difference in how I’m perceived.

It’s impossible not to. The type of people who approach me is different. I am overlooked when surrounded by thinner people. But it’s fine because why would I want someone who cares that I wear a size 14 anyway? No thanks, you can have them.

When I lay my head down at night, I don’t want to be thinking about what I ate or whether my stomach was flat in that picture or how my side profile looked.

I want to think about the people I made laugh or the deer on my drive home.

I want to think about the moments that felt good and made me feel fulfilled.

That’s the life I want to live, that’s the life I am in pursuit of, putting my energy into non-harmful thoughts and habits. I hope we all can care less about how we look, but if not, then I will just repeat that body neutrality has certainly saved me. I feel so free not owning a scale anymore. It hasn’t been an easy journey to get where I am today, and I know this journey is over. I just wanted to share where I am now.

Which is that I feel at peace with myself, more than I ever have before.

I am confident in who I am underneath my extra-large shirt, and I believe that matters much more than anything else about me.

I will always be me, no matter what my body looks like, for that, I am grateful.

Author’s Note: I’m going to post this version, even though I keep changing my mind, and I would likely want to start over if I read this one more time. But I think this feels as honest as I can be in the moment. I feel better about my body this week than I did last week. So, I want to share a piece that reflects this version of myself. I’m sorry I can’t be more of an inspiration; that is not my goal. I am here to share my truth, and if I’m lucky, connect with others who feel the same. I’ve read a lot of self-help books and listened to many podcasts, trying to unconditionally love my body, but I didn’t find that it worked for me. However, if it works for you, then more power to you. I’m sure other Substacks beautifully promote that self-love message. I believe in loving your soul. You don’t have to love your body; appreciate it for all it does for you, but you don’t have to adore every inch.