A year ago, I would never have been able to type this post. I hated myself. Not the “inside me”, rather the “physical me”. My actual body. All the bits and pieces that allow me to exist. I don’t actually know when I started hating my body, I don’t remember disliking it when I was younger. I guess it kinda creeped up on me when I wasn’t paying attention.
I suppose I could trace the start of my dislike to when I first discovered social media. The pressure to always be perfect is not easy, but I don’t think that that is where the rot started. It more than just not liking how I look, I don’t like my organs, bones, vessels, skin… my actual body. If I’m truly honest with myself, I stopped trusting my body after my first miscarriage. I started hating my body after the second. It’s not an easy thing to admit. Up until that point, I had taken my body for granted. It just did it’s thing and carried on. And then it didn’t.
I wish that I could say that I had an easy answer, that I suddenly woke up and loved my body. But I don’t. I don’t hate my body anymore. I’ve accepted that the are certain limitations to my body. I can’t regulate my hormones so staying pregnant is hard, I have terrible skin and bruise super easily, I gain weight very quickly and struggle to lose it, I get debilitating migraines at the drop of a hat, I have anxiety and depression, and I’m allergic to cats. All of those thing are just part of my body, they aren’t the whole thing. I don’t have a long list of things that I like about my body, I guess the main one is that it keeps going even though it misbehaves sometimes. Hopefully I will have a super long list of positives someday soon. But today, just existing is enough.