Everywhere I go I always have company. The voice in my head, whispering into my ear, or the strange face and body I see in the mirror. I see my curves and stretch marks reflecting, this voice now screaming into the void of my cramped dorm room. You are fat, you are ugly, and no one will ever love this body.
Like many girls, it all started early. I was in the dressing room with my mother, trying on a frustratingly tight dress I would parade on stage with, celebrating my fifth-grade promotion. As I strode across the sparsely decorated stage and onto the risers, squashed into the corner of the sticky gym, I wondered why the other girls’ arms didn’t look like mine. Come to think about it, their thighs, stomachs, and chins all look different.
I tried to diet. At age 10, I was obsessed with the carbs I no longer ate, the cookies that would never touch my lips, and the raw cauliflower, broccoli, and carrots that faced me. They sat, mocking me from my plate. I heard myself make up unconvincing excuses: “I had a big breakfast,” “I’m just not that hungry right now.” These pleas were heard by my mother who just nodded, or my friends who responded, “Me neither.” I became consumed with thigh gaps, sucking in my gut, or wrapping my fingers around my wrist, convinced if my fingers touched, I had somehow succeeded.
I would hide when pictures were taken, trying to take up as little space as possible. When a rare photo captured me I would become a forensic scientist, analyzing every possible flaw, comparing it to other pictures to see if I had lost weight, and if all my effort had made any difference. Or had it all been for nothing? This voice, this little dictator, raining terror over me.
We all have this little friend. Don’t let this natural phenomenon control you like it controlled me.
The sad reality is that we all do. We all were once 10 years old, stuffed into an ugly dress, wishing we could be someone else, swearing we would do anything, and I mean anything, to lose the weight, imagining cutting it off, pound by pound.
But it doesn’t have to be like this. It’s taken time, but over the years I’ve learned how to talk back to my friend. The reflection in the mirror is still a stranger occasionally, but most of the time, I see a familiar face. We need to teach girls that their body is not something to be ashamed of, so maybe their “little friend” can hype them up, reassure them, and congratulate them on their fifth-grade promotion!