She slides down the bathroom wall and finds herself crumpled onto the cold white tile floor for the third night in a row. The numbers on the scale lit up in black; a set of electronic digits.
Her weight.
Her weight.
Her worth.
Her worth based upon the force of gravity on her body. Feeling only numb as she stares at the number until it disappears. Ingrained in her mind are the last digits, two ounces she has gained in the day. She furiously pulls herself up and pushes herself in front of the full-length silver mirror alongside the door. She pinches and pulls at her pale stomach until there are red marks from her hands digging into her skin. Her eyes are filled with a mix of anger and frustration as they are now bloodshot. Looking at the reflection of her 15-year-old body, ashamed.
"I hate the way my stomach rolls when I sit. I hate that I am 5-foot-10. I hate how I have flat cheekbones and that my face is never clear. I hate the way my arms look. I hate the cellulite on my thighs. I hate my hair. I hate the color of my eyes. I hate that I am not skinny. Everything is wrong."
She gazes at the red nail marks left on her stomach and the stretch marks across her hips. It’s almost if a weight is being placed on her chest and it’s getting harder to breathe. She furiously punches the wall and slams the light switch off. She brings herself to the foot of her bed and curls up at the edge with the TV picture humming white noise in the background. Staring in silence at her pink bedroom wall, defeated. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots the edge of the silver mirror. The mirror that every single day wins that battle against her. She feels every single pound of her body tense and tears rush from her eyes. She pushes at her stomach as it begins to growl because the last time she ate was a day ago. The constant thought running through her mind that she will never be enough.
Looking back now as a 21-year-old woman, I wish I could hold my 15-year-old self and tell her that she was so effortlessly beautiful. I am so sorry for the things you put yourself through. For those days you pushed yourself to run that extra mile until you felt you were going to be sick. For the days you limited your calorie intake to less than 400. For those days at school when you had not eaten for almost two days and nearly blacked out walking to class. For those days when your hair started to fall out in clumps from your eating disorder. For those days you went to the bathroom at lunch just for your friends wouldn’t ask why you weren’t eating. For when you wanted so badly to be someone other than yourself. For those days you sat on the floor hysterical that you hated yourself so much you thought you did not deserve to be here. For no one realizing how much you were hurting and for how much I hurt you.
I am so incredibly sorry you could not see the beauty in that reflection.
It has been six years. In those years I have learned that I am not sorry. I will never be sorry for my body and my height. I will not force my body to conform to a shape it was never meant to be. I will leave the house with no makeup on and feel okay. I will wear tight dresses and dark lipstick because I want to. There will be days that these feelings will come back, but I will know my worth. I will be thick and embrace my curves. I will never be sorry for loving myself.
Do not let a societal standard make you feel as if you are not complete or worthy of love. You are beautifully and wonderfully made, start acting like it. To my fellow thick and curvy girls out there.
Never ever be ashamed of those curves.
If you know someone or are struggling yourself with an eating disorder visit:
The minimum wage is not a living wage.
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