Warriors

At 8 years old, I was met with my first treadmill, put there by my father. It was the only time my father ever called me a "pig". I recall holding a chocolate bar in my hand and watching it be smacked away. I ran, quickly, with the understanding that there was something wrong with me. 

Weeks later, in a GAP clothing store, I browsed the pink bikinis. It was summer and the desert heat had brought with it an array of pool-party invitations. My mother led me to the dressing room so I could try on my chosen suit. I remember gazing in the mirror and daydreaming about play and cool water, as kids do. My younger sister's small frame appeared next to me, wearing the same sequined purple two-piece I had settled on. I searched for approval in my mother's face, but all that was on it was a frown. As I turned to face her, she said: "I think we need to find you something more modest to wear to the party". Confusion fogged my undeveloped brain, after all, it fit me well. A few quiet moments had passed when I managed to ask her why. I listened carefully to her explanation: "You have a bigger body than your sister, and that means that you need to wear different clothes that don't show as much of it."

That day has stayed with me much clearer than panting on a treadmill. In the GAP, was the first time someone explained to me how bodies were supposed to look and it was the first time I realized mine didn't look that way.

That event set off a chain of many others like it. Eventually together they led to a complete reconstruction of who I could have been. I was a child but I found myself in a world that seemed to not love me back. Inevitably, I set out to make it so it did. Enablers who agreed with my quest, provided diet pills that worked every time. Hunger drifted far away and my first eating disorder took its place. Two different eating disorders followed, my skin stretched and receded to the max and a million glistening stripes will never let me forget it. 

Carrying the weight of my body wasn't nearly as difficult as carrying the weight of my abrupt loss of innocence. An imperfect little girl became tasked as a caregiver, an anchor for a crumbling marriage and a full-time hater of every inch of herself. I aimlessly shape-shifted for the remainder of my childhood and adolescence. My strength took the form of the burdens placed onto me and I prided myself on my ability to "take it". When I learned that was not the true meaning of resilience it was too late. The mind can only take so much until it breaks, and it did. 

Today at 22 years old, I have spent my life in battle, my wounds come in the form of severe depression and social anxiety. The hardships that I went through molded me into a student of thought and spirituality. Self awareness is a skill that I have acquired as well, it has allowed me to dust off this old sad story of mine and tell you what it left me. 

Self love is not face masks and chick flicks. It does not look like journaling or yoga. Self love is bloody and brutal. It is a haunted house that sooner or later you have to walk through. Because in that house where so much has died, you still live. The ghosts of the person you were before the world touched you need to go. It was never my fault that I learned to be disgusted with my body before I could learn all of the things it could do. It was not my fault that I was forced into the role of raising children and worrying about money and marriage before my 13th birthday. No one signs up for these things but they are things that just happen. 

However, the lesson is this: it is your fault if you don't unlearn what you have been taught. In my first semester at college I realized that I had my own life. It sounds silly, but that is exactly what happened. Getting the chance to feel peace and belonging in your own shoes is incomparable. Since then, I have been engaged on a new battlefield. Because the fight doesn't end, you grow and you learn to fight for better things. Like yourself. You deserve more than a sugary ending to this tale, so I will leave you with this; some days, most days, I lose. But true strength is knowing which battles are yours to fight, and which victories you deserve to relish in. Self-love is a win given to a lucky few, but earned by warriors.