Body Image

The first time I can recall being self-conscious about my body is in sixth grade when I wanted to start shaving my legs. I have always avoided uncomfortable conversations and, to my eleven-year-old brain, bringing up a conversation about shaving my legs with my mom was as uncomfortable as it got. Of course, that issue seems so small now, and most of the time, I give zero fucks about the length of hair on my legs now. But back then, it weighed heavy on my mind.

The next thing I remember being self-conscious of were the size of my legs. That was in middle school. I remember wearing shorts and one day I looked down in social studies class and just thought, "Why are my thighs so huge?". I was thirteen.

Thinking back on it, I'm sure they weren't. But age 13 was the last year I grew. I've been 5'7" ever since 2000. My weight has fluctuated between 135 and 150 for the past 16 years. Right now I fall at the highest end of that range, and even at 135 I was still convinced I was fat. Looking at pictures from that time period, I think to myself, "Damn, I looked skinny" with equal parts jealousy and abhorrence.

Some days I look at my body and I can see the positive. I see the biceps and glutes that rock climbing has earned me. The calves that are a residual gift/curse from marching band way back in high school. But other days I focus on the mere circumference of my legs. Those thighs that have haunted (and carried) me for the last 15 years. I can't see them for the amazing limbs they are. The ones that allow me to climb routes I didn't think I could. I see them as the reason that I ALWAYS have to wear a belt with jeans. I see the love handles that never used to be there. I see the stomach that used to be flatter. I see the upper arms that were a lot skinnier when I was at my lowest weight.

I've come to terms with how pale my skin is, though that took some time (and some tanning bed phases) to get rid of. My skin, though it shows my veins like a roadmap, also shows tattoo ink rather vibrantly. That, I wouldn't trade for "flawless" summer skin (and probable skin cancer). Maybe I'll eventually feel about my body shape the way I do about my pale skin. 

I try not to let the number on the scale tell me my opinion of myself. I'm working out in order to tell myself that I am strong. Capable. Beautiful. But I don't normally feel that way (despite the adamant reinforcement from my boyfriend). And I'm worried that even if/when the mirror (and pictures) show me the body I imagined having, that it still won't be enough. I still won't SEE it.

In the back of my mind, there is a part of me that wants to lash out at society for putting these ideas into little girls' heads. But there's the rest of me that blames myself for believing and internalizing everything I was fed, and then the part that still believes it. All of it. This has been my reality ever since I started my teens. At constant war with myself and my body. It's exhausting. I just want to love my body, and work toward having a body that's easier for me to love.

I know that in the grand scheme of things, these are not the most harmful (or even uncommon) thoughts to plague anyone's mind. I'm not complaining. I'm not searching for validation from others. I'm just sharing. If there's a woman in your life, be sure to tell her how beautiful she is. All of her. Eventually, it will be enough. I'd like to believe that.