If you’re reading this, know that there is so much more to you than your body. Know that by accepting imperfection, life is so much better lived.
If you’re reading this, you might know that eating isn’t always a simple subject. My complicated relationship with food began in sixth grade, when one day, the boy I had a crush on made a harsh, thoughtless joke about my body. Over the next several months, I restricted my food intake. It began with cutting out sugar, and I was praised for how “healthy” I was being. This restriction slowly escalated. I learned how to count calories religiously, and refused to go a day without doing so. I eagerly absorbed compliments on my weight loss, and with every “good job”, I felt compelled to eat less. The issue progressed to a point where I was consuming less than 100 calories a day. At the age of 11, I had lost 20 pounds in only a few months, and my friends, coaches, and teachers noticed. One day, without any formal intervention, I simply began to eat regularly, and eventually I gained the weight back. Over time, the incident was reduced to “that phase I went through”. Many moved on to forget this period, but I still worried about my food intake and my body image every day.
In high school, I faced the reality that I had gained weight. In pursuit of self-acceptance, I spontaneously decided I would run a marathon. As I began to train, I began to lose weight again. Encouraged by the congratulatory remarks from those who noticed, I told myself I would simply keep losing weight. Stepping on a scale became a mandatory daily ritual. I established a detailed eating regimen: no sugar, no refined carbs, no fried foods, no packaged foods, no processed foods, no fatty foods—the list went on. This regimen only grew stricter as I trained, and I began to count calories again. To ensure I knew exactly how many calories I was ingesting, I began to measure everything. If I couldn’t quantify a food with my teaspoons, tablespoons, and measuring cups, I refused to eat it. I set a strict limit—less than 1200 calories a day, while forcing myself to run anywhere from five to twenty miles every day. I ran obsessively—through injuries and sickness, through rain and snow, and through sheer exhaustion. Not a day went by for four months where I broke a single one of the rules I set.
I finished my marathon, and terrified of losing the control I had maintained, I continued this lifestyle. On the day of the race, the only things I ate were a bag of carrots and a bowl of cereal. When I had lost about 30 pounds, people began to voice concern about my appearance. I specifically remember my male boss using the word “gaunt” in reference to my changed body. I did eventually stop losing weight, and people stopped commenting. Only I knew about the times no one was looking, during which I would binge eat. I would consume obscene quantities of food, to the point where my entire body was in extreme pain. The first time this happened, I tried to make myself throw up. When that didn’t work, a cycle began: binge eat, run ten miles or more, eat practically nothing for the next few days, repeat. I kept this up, and for the next year, struggled to maintain an unsustainable lifestyle and weight.
When I began college, the “freshman fifteen”—and more—hit me. By the end of first year, I was heavier than I had ever been, and I was miserable about it. The instant I got home from school, I drafted a new regimen, with even stricter rules. Once again, this plan grew into an obsession. I ate exactly 650 calories or less a day. I ran six miles a day. I walked around my neighborhood at night for hours just to burn extra calories. When I returned to UVA for Midsummers two months later and thirty pounds less, I had the time of my life. I reveled in the compliments from peers and the attention I was suddenly getting from complete strangers. I mistook my newfound sense of control, and this sudden validation from everyone around me, for happiness. The illusion of control promptly came to an end when one slice of Christian’s shattered this façade of perfection. One slip-up threw my entire lifestyle off course, and I gained weight back rapidly. While I thought I had mastered self-discipline, I had failed to grasp the importance of self-forgiveness.
Over a year has passed, and now fully aware of my problematic habits, I have come to maintain an imperfectly healthy lifestyle. I still think every day about the times I was “skinny”, about the way I felt, the clothes that used to fit me, and most often, about the way I was treated. I still don’t have a normal relationship with food by any means, and I find it extremely difficult to explain to my roommates or friends why I refuse to eat certain foods, or why sometimes I “just have to go on a run” despite freezing rainy weather, or why I’m occasionally in the kitchen at 2 a.m. I still refuse to ask for help, merely out of pride, and by constantly insisting to myself that “I have things under control”. I still associate what I eat, every pound I gain or lose, with how others treat me as well as how I should treat myself, and although I’ve made progress in moving past this mentality, it continues to persist throughout my every day.
Through all of this, I’ve come to realize that my experience is not particularly unique. So many girls, including many of my own friends, have struggled with different versions of this same story. There is no girl that has an absolutely perfect relationship with food or with her body. Many, including myself, often shy away from the topic, but upon reaching out to others, I’ve found that more people than I know could deeply understand exactly what I was feeling. The advice from many of these individuals, and the knowledge that I am not alone, has been indescribably valuable. More than anything, these people, and many of the friends that have supported me for so long, have taught me that genuine friends will not treat me any differently on the basis of how I look. They’ve reminded me how much more I am than just my body, and with that insight, the anxiety that usually accompanies eating subsides. I’ve learned that when the majority of my thoughts are spent on exercise or my diet, I miss out on so many great things. I’ve realized the importance of letting go of my body image, letting go of my ideas of control and perfection, and simply living. And when I do so, I am happier and healthier for it.
So, let’s rethink the mantra “every body is beautiful” and begin to acknowledge the innate wrongness in judging anyone, including ourselves, on the basis of physical beauty. Let’s look at others and see their talents, their character, their intrinsic worth. If you’re reading this, know that there is so much more to you than your body. Know that by accepting imperfection, life is so much better lived.
Michele H., University of Virginia ‘21