My relationship with my body has always been a bit complicated. I’ve never fit into the ‘skinny’ category, usually carrying a few extra pounds, which in itself isn’t a problem. But as a young girl going through puberty, when you don’t look like the airbrushed stars gracing magazine covers, it’s easy to become self-conscious. That’s the battle I went through.
There’s a memory from my middle school days that sometimes drifts back to me, usually when I least expect it. I had this crush on a boy who, of course, had no clue about it. The details are etched in my mind, especially when I take a moment to reflect. It was during a break in class, and our desks were grouped so we could all talk. I was chatting with my friends, just being us. I was one of the first girls to start developing, and I stood out because of it. Out of the blue, my crush, with his friends as his audience, came over and started teasing me about my chest and the extra weight I was carrying. I was so taken aback and insecure that all I could do was offer a weak smile and say nothing. The teacher walked in right then, caught the tail end of it, and made him apologize. Looking back, it was a kind of bullying, though I never told anyone – not my parents, not my siblings. I was just too embarrassed. And that moment certainly didn’t do any favors for how I saw my body.
I’ve touched on this in a previous post, but I started on birth control pills pretty early, and one of the downsides was the extra weight I began to pack on. Reflecting on that first year on the pill, there were plenty of red flags that my weight gain was becoming an issue. I recall starting my apprenticeship and, despite bringing my own lunch, I was always left feeling hungry, leading me to grab extra snacks from the nearby bakery. In hindsight, I probably should have seen the warning signs or reached out to someone to talk about it, but I didn’t, partly because I felt embarrassed. How do you explain to someone that you’re eating but never feel satisfied, and then you end up eating even more? This pattern continued throughout my first year as an apprentice. I eventually got into swimming, which boosted my fitness, but the scale refused to tip in my favor. I tried all sorts of diets, but nothing stuck. It wasn’t until I stopped the pill that I finally started to shed the extra weight. Let me be clear, I’m not pinning the way my body looks entirely on the birth control pill, but it definitely had a significant impact. Looking back, I realize I should’ve reached out for support, perhaps to my mom. But to be completely honest, I was just too embarrassed to open up about it. Period.
Swimming started to clash with my schedule, so about two years ago, I took the plunge and embarked on my gym adventure. It’s been quite the transformation. Initially, going to the gym with my brothers helped me stay on track – we kept each other accountable. But as time went on, I felt the need for a change of scenery, so I switched gyms. Now, I’ve come to cherish those solo sessions, where it’s just me and the weights. Nowadays, I’m a gym regular, faithfully working out four times a week. I’m building muscle, improving my cardio, and focusing on those typically weaker spots like the core and back. But here’s the raw truth: even though I’ve clearly lost weight, gained muscle, and look more toned and slimmer than ever, when I catch my reflection, I often struggle to see the changes. It’s tough for me to fully embrace my body as it stands. My waist may be narrower, but I still have a bit of a belly, and my thighs and legs are a whole different chapter. I understand that we can’t choose where we lose fat; it’s just the way our bodies work. Plus, it’s natural for women to have a bit of a belly to protect the essentials.
Navigating dating apps as someone who’s already got a complex relationship with their body can be a minefield. I had an experience that, in retrospect, was pretty awful. I matched with a guy on Tinder, and we seemed to click, so we decided to have a FaceTime chat early on. It seemed like a smart move – chatting to see if we’d click before meeting up in person. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon when we had our video call. We started off with the usual small talk – jobs, hobbies, aspirations. But as conversations go, we eventually steered towards relationships and personal preferences. Back then, I was new to the dating app scene and had a vague idea of my ‘type’ (which would change in the future), mostly focused on things like height, age, and personality – not so much other physical traits. He mentioned he was into curvy women, which is totally cool – everyone has their preferences. But then the conversation took a weird turn. He fixated on the idea of being with someone ‘heavier’, and it started to feel like he wasn’t just expressing a preference but bordering on fetishization.
I tried to change the subject a few times, but the last straw came when he kept emphasizing how being with curvy women turned him on, and then he began moving the camera in a suggestive way. I don’t need to go into details. I hung up, blocked him on all platforms, and he tried to contact me again without success. After the call, I was a mess, just sitting on my couch, crying. I felt disgusted with myself for being so naïve. The sweater I wore during that call? I had to get rid of it; I couldn’t stand to look at it. That was the moment I realized he was fetishizing me, and it felt vile. Strangely, I was disgusted with myself, which is hard to explain. With more experience and reflection, I’ve come to understand that none of that was my fault. I shouldn’t have felt disgusted with myself. He was the one who failed to see my discomfort and chose to act inappropriately. No one deserves to be fetishized. Sure, we all have our preferences, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to make others feel devalued or uncomfortable.
To lay it all out there – I don’t see myself as particularly beautiful. Sure, there are things about me I love, like my face, my eyes, and the charming freckles scattered across my face. But beyond that, I often doubt that I’d be seen as attractive by conventional standards. That’s when the overthinking starts. I concoct stories in my head, blaming my body for my single status or why I might not be turning heads. Logically, I know it’s not healthy to spiral into these made-up narratives, but we all have moments of vulnerability. I’ve noticed these doubts creep in most when I’m swamped by life’s demands – work, daily stresses, the world at large. And despite the introspection, I don’t usually open up about these feelings to the people close to me. It’s a bit ironic, I suppose, sharing these thoughts so openly in a blog. Maybe it’s the veil of anonymity here that makes it easier – after all, I’m just a name on a screen to you.
The path to self-love and body comfort is an ongoing one, and it’s rare to ever feel completely done. There’s always going to be something that niggles at you, and that’s perfectly normal. I have days when I’m not exactly my own biggest fan, but then there are times when I absolutely adore my body. Like when I’m grooving to my favorite songs, cooking or tidying up, just living in the moment and loving every bit of myself. And the gym? Lifting weights is like a boost of confidence – it’s a reminder of how far I’ve come and what I’ve accomplished. The key, I believe, is to embrace who you are, acknowledge your achievements, and treat yourself with kindness, especially during those tougher times. The road to fully accepting yourself is a long one, and I’m still traveling it. But I can say for sure that my relationship with my body is getting stronger, and I’m hopeful that one day I’ll find complete peace with my reflection.
matcha latte on a rainy night 