Body RSD: The Rejection Nobody’s Talking About

Tummy tuck. Chemical peel. Nose correction. As I read down the list of cosmetic procedures, I couldn’t help but try them on for size.

I think once we reach a certain age and things start to shift and sag, it’s tempting to want to go back to how we looked before. Not to be perfect. Just to correct the changes that make us feel less ourselves. That word correction comes up a lot on these lists.

I touch the soft pad of fat that has appeared under my chin. A new arrival. I read about how they can remove it and find myself wondering what it would feel like if that strange new part of me just... wasn’t there. “Only a few days recovery!” Hmm. That doesn’t sound right. Sounds more serious than that.

A dark, icky feeling starts to spread through me as I read the huge list of things I could fix. Fat removed from my thighs. My vagina tightened. But what made me shudder most were the small things: a thread vein. An eyelid tweak. A lip correction.

And then something clicked. The women we compare ourselves to — and honestly, men too these days — are being constantly tweaked, tightened and polished.

What if you could fix every flaw the moment you spotted it? Every blemish, every sag, every sign of getting older — gone. It sounds almost magical. Eerily compelling..

But think about the person behind that choice. Terrified. Their nervous system screaming that if they don’t act now, they will be rejected. Left out. Cast aside.

I’m not here to judge anyone. I nearly went there myself. But I’ve known a very particular kind of pain — not the pain of being rejected by others, but the anguish of rejecting myself. That was the deepest wound. And the slowest to heal.

Let me tell you about a moment that shows just how bad this can get.

I was 27. Standing in my bedroom in my underwear, staring at the mirror. On the rail hung the dress I had bought to wear to my brother-in-law’s wedding.

“Ridiculous,” said one voice. “You’ll get it wrong as usual,” said another. “You’re overdressed,” said a third. “But if you don’t stand out, no one will notice you,” whispered a fourth.

And I stood in the middle of them, punch drunk.

I put the dress on. I can still feel the silk against my skin. “Ridiculous” — that was the verdict. And with it came a wave of shame so strong I could barely breathe. My thighs looked wrong. My bottom stuck out. I felt like I was wearing a sign that said: I don’t fit in. You won’t like me.

I ripped the dress off, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. Tears running down my face. My insides being gnawed by the shame of existing.

“I’m not going,” I said.

And I didn’t.

It was the start of a rift with my sister-in-law that lasted years and never fully healed.

We often talk about RSD as the unanswered text. The comment that keeps you awake. The fear of what someone thought of you. But we forget something important: since RSD is triggered by the threat of rejection, and our primary relationship in adulthood is with ourselves — we are often our own harshest rejector.

I could fill pages with moments like that one. Most smaller, but no less painful. A lifetime of rejecting the body I was given, and searching for ways to make it more acceptable.

So what happens when you can fix everything? There must be thousands of clinics like this, all over the world. And for some people — especially those of us with RSD — the temptation is real.

But trying to silence your inner alarm system by changing your appearance is like playing whack-a-mole. Fix one thing, and another pops up. It’s a life spent fighting your own reflection. And the saddest part? Most of us don’t even care that much about how we look. We just care about feeling safe.

So what does real growth look like? I can only answer that from my own experience.

Can you actually recover from body RSD?

Yes. But I’d call it un-covery rather than re-covery. Because it isn’t about becoming something new. It’s about uncovering who you already are. And if I had been able to tweak and correct my way through life, I would never have found her.

How do I describe what’s changed? The easiest way is to describe what’s gone — and what has grown in its place.

Me.

I no longer look in the mirror and feel a wave of shame. The RSD cycle — spot a flaw, spiral, plan how to fix it — has stopped. I no longer control my food or push myself to exercise to earn my body back.

But those are just words. I want you to feel what that actually means.

I’ve been using the RSD Free tools for two years now. And I’m still discovering new ways I’ve changed.

I have my first big live speaking event coming up. The kind of thing that used to send me straight to the mirror — checking, fixing, shrinking. Because being visible feels dangerous. And when danger is coming, we want to be ready. Thinner. More polished. Perfect.

But here’s what surprised me. I’m not nervous. I’m not dieting. When a thought about controlling my appearance pops up, something inside me just says no. Firmly. Kindly. But clearly.

I’m eating what I want. I’m walking slowly, just for the pleasure of it. And when I picture myself on that stage, I feel at home. Connected. Human.

I do pilates now because it makes me feel strong — not to burn anything off.

My husband caught himself staring at me the other day. He searched for the right words.

“You seem... different. Like you’re carrying yourself differently.”

“Beautiful,” he said. Like a full stop.

So no — this is not a moral argument. I’ll keep dyeing my hair blonde and my brows dark for as long as it’s fun. I’ll enjoy every bit of feeling beautiful. But I will never again treat my body as the enemy. I didn’t have a choice before. But I’ve trained my nervous system to stop rejecting its own reflection. Letting go of my image has connected me with my whole self.

Like Gollum endlessly chasing the ring, I was consumed by something that was making me less real, less present, less me. I have passed the test. I am content to fade. And I have chosen to live in the real world.

And be me.

If any of this resonates, I want you to know that what I’ve described isn’t luck or willpower. It’s the result of two years of working with tools specifically designed to regulate the nervous system around RSD. If you’re ready to stop fighting your own reflection — and yourself — the RSD Free course is where we start. [Link]