I’m Finally Starting to Love Myself
By: Michelle Lee-Ann
Tags: Body Positive, Womens Health, Body Image, Fat, Self Love

I’m Finally Starting to Love Myself

Photo by Lucrezia Carnelos on Unsplash

It’s taken me years to get here, but im starting to love myself.

I always thought I was confident, that I didn’t have the self loathing, body image issues that every other girl had. I was athletic, gifted with a fast metabolism (a metabolism that slowed way down in my late 20s much to my dismay), had blonde hair, and was tan tan tan.

In short: I was a good-looking semi-popular girl in high school, and thus, felt pretty damn good about myself.

In long: I may have looked the part, but I still felt fat, disgusting, awkward. I had acne that refused to go away, shiny skin that needed blotting papers. Though thin, I was athletically built and bigger than other skinny girls in my school. Why were my ankles so damn big?! Why did my flat stomach get a roll when I sat up? Why didn’t my hair look as good as that girl’s or that girl’s?

I’d constantly suck in my stomach, making sure that I never looked chubby. I was complimented whenever I lost a bit of weight. When I tried on my grad dress, I was upset with myself for being so fat that I couldn’t do up the size 4 sample size, even though I was happy and comfy in a size 8.

I had tons of confidence, but low self esteem. This duo continued on with me into university where a male’s dig at me would break me down, although never in public. Just learning, truly, about sex, and the fact that I could have it with someone other than my ex high school boyfriend, I’d feel the slapping sting of being labeled a slut (by those males I viewed as friends) simply for kissing someone. Wondering if I did something wrong, I’d retreat back, yet still yearned for that approval, the compliments that would usually rain down when I did up my hair perfectly and posed just so in photos.

If my ‘wanton’ sexuality was coming into question, I had to look my best. I had to have every guy want me at the bar, had to have all of my male friends secretly want to date me or, at the very least, fuck me. I didn’t want to do any of that with them, but I wanted them to want to. I needed the validation, the approval, the compliments to know that I was just as good as those girls in high school, that I was just as good as that model, as good as the woman in my English class who looked effortlessly beautiful.

Naively, I still believed I was confident. Confident in my body because, so far, my body was doing as I asked. I was still thin and feeling marvelous. I badmouthed plastic surgery, telling people to love their bodies as they were, all the while gluing fake eyelashes onto my eyelids.

I refused to leave the house in anything less than an exceptional outfit. Sweatpants were allowed, but had to be styled, my hair still done, make-up still applied. I refused to go to the bar without perfectly undone hair, heels, fake lashes. Eventually, after a bad at-home dye job, I bought extensions and wore them every.single.day. I’d take 30 minutes to clip my hair in, too ashamed to show the world what I looked like with short hair, lest they saw how round and fat my face was.

All of this type of thinking, this false confidence, continued on until the last year or so. While I’m still not 100% happy with what I look like, while negative thoughts take over and run amok in my brain, I’m learning to change these habits. I’m learning to love my body.

It’s taken me years to realize that I didn’t actually love my body way back then, that negative comments on my own body wasn’t normal. I leave the house without make-up and love the way I look. I don’t need heels to make me feel better (though I still love them) about my short legs. I don’t wear extensions, and rarely put on fake lashes. Whenever I do these things it’s more about having fun with make-up and hair rather than needing them to feel good about myself.

My body has carried me through the awkward stages of puberty into the know-it-all teenage years, to the eye opening ones of my 20s. It’s made it through intense pain, showing me how strong my body is, how strong I am. I may not be completely accepting of myself, of my body, but I’m crushing on it pretty hard. And, that’s a step in the right direction.