I have serious issues with loving my body.
I am constantly constantly constantly worrying about losing weight and wanting to look better.
I do, actually, want to be healthier.
But I’m working at being more honest with myself, and the truth is that sometimes I am repulsed by the way I look, and my motives aren’t as pure as being “heart healthy.”
I know God loves me for who I am and it hurts Him to see me detest myself in this way, but I just can’t shake this stupid feeling that I do not look good, and that I never will until my legs are thinner and my stomach is flatter.
How have I, someone who has prided herself on not falling into the pitfalls of a typical teenage girl, become a victim to a self-loathing perpetuated by media that teaches girls that beauty is pain?
I feel pathetic for looking this way and then even more pathetic for whining about the way I look when I actually do not look bad AT ALL.
I am such a cliche…
That truth hurts, but the lies I am feeding myself hurt more,
so it’s time to make a change.
God’s plan is better than mine.
I’m learning to be patient.
My mother ripped up the letter I gave to her for Christmas in front of my face tonight.
I feel bad for crying over it, because there are children who are being beaten, and starved, and God knows what… and here I am crying with a mom who gives me too much of what I ask for and a whole lot more love than most others.
And I know she’s not the only one to blame…
But it still hurts, and she still said it meant nothing.
I am not going to pretend that I am just “sooo cool” and pretend like it’s not a big deal.
It’s one more year alive, and I am going to be outrageously, and sure maybe childishly, happy about it.
I feel like people only celebrate actually being ALIVE when they’re suffering from a terminal disease because they are the precious few that realize how fragile this life is.
But I am going to be happy that I have lived one more year.
I have had opportunities to grow, meet genuinely amazing people, realize that maybe I don’t actually need to lose weight to feel pretty, change the hard way, play sports, have a more positive attitude, repair broken relationships, almost destroy healthy ones, learn from those mistakes, try new things, be less afraid, grow into my skin, grow to LOVE my skin, and actually get to know more about myself.
People will celebrate with lavish parties or they will shrug off that it’s even happening at all, but I will smile really big with the people I love most and praise God for everything that happened this year, and all that’s in store for the year to come.
I feel so childish and cliche, but looking back I just want to know that when I turned 16 I was grateful, and I wasn’t looking down.
My greatest fear is that I will leave, but nothing of me will be left behind.
As if my fingerprints have been sandpapered off this entire time and the only impressions I make result in disconnected symphonies of touch.
I am afraid that after all this time, I realize that I never had the courage to unfold the bits of myself that would stand out starkly against the neutral colors I had painted my life in.
I have been afraid to be a Christian because of how people will think of me, and by doing so I have strangled my soul into something worth forgetting.
Lord, give me the strength to leave something behind.
Give me a fingerprint.
I will follow it as surely
as the land-locked salmon finds the sea.” —“The Passion” by Jeanette Winterson