I believed that I stuffed myself with chocolate and greasy junk food because I had no time to cook from scratch and needed the energy while breastfeeding. But I just didn’t want them to think, “Blimey, she’s gone fat.” I deluded myself into thinking that life with a new baby was too busy to visit friends. But, in reality, I felt too self-conscious and ashamed to allow him to see my flabby body. I thought that I kept my husband at a distance because I was too preoccupied with my daughter. For the most part I was okay with my looks.īut then I gained twenty pounds during my pregnancy, and the disastrous body-shaming cycle started again. I had found a loving husband who frequently told me how beautiful I was.Īnd I believed that he really meant it.
I could walk past a mirror without criticizing myself and look at myself without disgust, upset, or resentment. Realization #1: Accepting your body doesn’t equal loving your body.įor eight years, my body and I upheld our truce. Without the self-hatred, it became easier to take care of my body and my health improved together with my opinion of my appearance.
#AM I STILL IN LOVE FREE#
Free from condemnation, shame, or judgment. I cried as I tried to forgive myself for every flaw, wrong proportion, and imperfection.Īfter a while, I could look at myself and accept what I saw. I reasoned with myself that the failed relationship had long run its course and my looks had nothing to do with the break-up. I had to accept my body for what it was to restore my health, emotional balance, and sanity.įor months, I forced myself to look in the mirror and reconcile with every part of my body. I had to make peace with the way I looked. And I was plagued by hypoglycaemia that made me dizzy, faint and, on a couple of occasions, temporarily blind. My hands and legs were covered in eczema. Within a few weeks I suffered from a stomach ulcer, bowel issues, and frequent migraines. I would never allow it to let me down again.Īnd my body reacted to the verbal and physical abuse. I ignored any hunger, discomfort, and exhaustion, lashing myself on.
#AM I STILL IN LOVE SKIN#
I considered plastic surgery to remove the visible effects of a genetic skin condition that had never bothered me before.Īnd I deprived myself of food, forwent sleep to have more time to exercise fanatically every day. I cut my hair, changed my wardrobe, waxed, plucked, and dyed. I was obsessed with the improvement of my appearance. Toxic thoughts about my inadequate body and insufficient looks circled endlessly in my mind. I was furious at him for choosing another woman over me, and I beat myself up for not noticing the affair earlier. In the weeks after my boyfriend left me in May 2005, negativity consumed me. The Miserable Consequence of Fighting Your Own Body Judged all its blemishes and cursed its unattractive features that were too ugly to love.Īnd that’s how it started. But now, I condemned it for failing me, destroying my life. I had always been insecure about my body and the way it looked. Blaming my flawed appearance for all the despair, the unbearable suffering, my shattered life.
I collapsed on the floor, sobbing and shivering. The plans we made for a future together intact and alive.
He wouldn’t have rejected and betrayed me. My throat felt tight, I couldn’t breathe, my mind was racing in desperation. Heavy, dark, and painful, the all-consuming emotions tried to crush me. Resentment and anger accumulated in my chest. My body was shaking uncontrollably as I stared at it in disgust. No wonder he left you for her! She is so much prettier than you are.” “That chubby face, those massive hips and thighs. “You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed.
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