It is a rare day I find peace with my reflection. Standing at the foot of my bed, I'll stare at the mirror as I tug and pinch at the body fat around my stomach and thighs. Whether covered or completely naked, nothing ever completely silences the voice in my head that says, "Fat. Disgusting. Lazy. Worthless."
After two years of quietly, purposefully starving myself and a year of recovering, I'm still struggling to catch my breath. Sometimes the blue lips and constant exhaustion seem like a faraway dream that has faded upon my finally waking. Yet, the hate is still there, bubbling just below the surface, ready to bleed through when an article of clothing doesn't fit, or the mirror reveals a new lump of fat. My body has reduced me to tears 4 times in 7 months and I do not feel beautiful.
I wear a uniform of yoga pants, sports bras and t-shirts around the house. To save face, I'll get dressed for work or when visiting friends or family. I wear make up only to meetings and social outings and I generally wear my hair either clipped up or in a ponytail. I rotate between tennis shoes and boots or tennis shoes and ballet flats. It won't last forever, but for now, I've decided it doesn't matter if I'm beautiful. I wasted too much time and inflicted too much hurt vying for beauty. I damaged myself in a way I never realized possible when I was overweight and "ugly". So, I've given my notice to society and their standards of feminine beauty - I no longer plan to participate, thank you for the opportunity.
And, while I do not feel beautiful, I do feel strong. I've put myself through hell - emotionally and physically - and my body has seen me through the worst of it. It has survived undue punishment. It continues to work for me - carrying me mile after mile as I run and bearing heavy weights when I lift barbells and dumbbells. I also perform incredible feats of daily strength. I get myself out of bed when depression snakes through me like poison. I bet on myself - my intelligence, my kindness, my tenacity - despite anxiety's persistent lie that I am worthless.
I don't always love the body I see in the mirror, but I am learning to so dearly love the person it enfolds. I hope one day to look at myself and see beauty. Not a beautiful body per say. Instead, I hope to look at the mirror and see the content of my being shining out. I hope to be so content within myself that that peace radiates through and amplifies the superfluous packaging of my flesh. I do not feel beautiful, yet.
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