Owning my body image…

I know that this has been written about a million times before. I know it will be written about a million more times. But an article I read today on Buzzfeed prompted all the feelings to come out of the woodwork for this. I then read Brooke’s (aka my new hero) blog post (link doesn’t work right now due to -I presume- high blog traffic… but is found here when her blog comes back up) that prompted the Buzzfeed Article.

And it’s at this moment that I wish I had therapy coming up this Thursday, instead of having just passed by last week.

A summary of the article & blog post for you: The woman featured, Brooke, lost an enormous amount of weight – 170 pounds – and then was offered to be a featured “success story” for Shape Magazine. But apparently the magazine didn’t want to feature her how she really was. How her body actually looked in a bikini.

I’ll admit, seeing the picture of her made me remember what my own stomach looked like. It reminded me of the imperfections I was afraid of everyone around me finding out about. It triggered a response in me that made me want to eat.

And that’s not good.

(I tried to find a picture similar to what hers was like, because I knew I took “selfie’s like that at one point or another… but alas, I could not find anything on my computer today. Oh well.) :(

When I was losing the weight, I didn’t know what my body would look like in the end. I didn’t realize the emotions that would be tied to it. I didn’t see and experience anything except for the insecurities when I saw my own body.

I got compliments for the weight loss… after all losing 160 pounds over 3-4 years is no easy feat. However gaining it all back in the same time frame… not so difficult. I would lie to others and myself in this same time period saying that I would be getting back on track. But the tomorrow I promised myself never came.

This was not the one and only single factor as to why I gained the weight back – there were many, many things I didn’t deal with – and am learning about so much more now, but I know that the image of my body not being perfect, no matter how hard I worked out and ate right, was definitely part of it. I saw the people that I worked out next to, with their seemingly near perfect physique and I was always jealous. I wondered what was wrong with me.

But, in reality, there was nothing wrong with me. There was something wrong with the media – and how the media shows everyone… whether we’ve lost weight, gained weight, or just stayed the same.

The issue for me was more how I dealt with the media and the perception of what I thought I had to be. How I allowed myself to look at my body through the “perfect lenses” that I believed the world wanted from me after the 160 pound loss.

I had considered great amounts of plastic surgery to achieve that. But I never went through with it for fear that something would happen to me or that I wouldn’t ever heal. The though of going under the knife scared me more than gaining some of the weight back did.

So I did. I ended up gaining some of the weight back. And then a little more. And then a little more. And then a lot more.

What the actual truth of the matter is that I don’t have to be perfect. I can be me and be accepted for who I am. (I speak those words, but truthfully, they are still sinking in, still sitting at the surface where I fight with them on a daily basis. – But that’s another blog post for another day.)

I need to love me. I need to accept me. I need to see my value.

It’s coming. Slowly but surely… it’s coming.


  1. i read that you lost a hundred sixty pounds and was amazed. and proud. and then i read that you were more afraid of the surgeries that you might have to have to correct some things pertaining to that weight loss, so you gained the weight back. and that made me sad. i’ve not left comments (as far as i can recall) in the past; i don’t know your story. and i understand that what i say here… i probably don’t have a place to say it. but i’m going to, because it hurt my heart to read that you accomplished something that is nothing short of miraculous, really, and then gave up on it, negated it.

    but i’ve been under the knife six times. i only remember four (the first two, i was too young). for three of those surgeries they cut up my face. for one of them, i was blind and crippled for twenty-four hours. and when i could see, what i saw of my reflection horrified me. that surgery? before it happened, people called me retarded. afterward, they didn’t. and i could live with myself, after the scarring and all that faded away, a little more easily.

    the point is, yes, surgery sucks. it’s awful. but isn’t carrying around that much weight just as bad?

    and i do hope i’ve not offended. i certainly don’t mean to.
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