“Who is that ugly girl with the long face?” the boy asked from the back seat of the bus. The boy and his friend started laughing. They proceeded to make comments about the girl for a few more minutes, loud enough that the entire back of the bus could hear. The girl in front of them taps me on the shoulder and says, “You know they are talking about you, right?”

I knew. In fact, everyone knew.

That was the first time I felt my self-confidence shrink. I was 14 at the time. That statement stuck with me. Nine words have stuck with me since I was 14. Nine words that impacted me for years. The boys on the back of that bus knew who I was. I went to a small school - we all knew each other.

It was from that day forward I began to question my body. I would look in the mirror and overanalyze everything. I would pick apart my height, my weight, how my knees looked, I even started to hate the birthmark on my thigh. I knew I had bad teeth and I knew I needed braces. I began to cover my mouth when I smiled. I hated my smile. I hated gym class because of wearing shorts, I hated wearing swimsuits because I had a butt. I would cry because I hated who was staring back in the mirror. I hated everything from my hair to my left pinkie toe. It never seemed good enough. I never felt pretty enough, thin enough - I never felt enough. This began a long relationship with my biggest enemy: myself.

Flash forward to my sophomore year of college. I still hated myself. I blamed how I look for why I had such few of friends, why I could not get a date. The braces I had to straighten my teeth were gone, but I still found flaws. I started counting calories, I started over-exercising and tanning. I lost weight, but still hated myself. I stopped eating as I should have. I could get by with a bag of low-fat chips and a Diet Coke for lunch. I would skip breakfast, and dinner would be small. I weighed my lowest and it was not enough. I just wanted the universe to cut me a break.

The universe would give me a break in a form of a wakeup call. This wakeup call came when I passed out on the first day of my job.

I had done my normal routine of skipping breakfast and drank some coffee. I planned on working out after work. Except, I would not get to work out because at my new job I passed out in front on the entire new hire orientation group, my boss and my other co-workers.

To say that was embarrassing was an understatement. I blamed my sinuses, my nerves from a new job and the heat. That was the story I told everyone. However, my friend knew better. She and another friend promised to tell someone if I did not start eating. I knew at that point that they were right. I knew no matter what extreme would I go to try and feel good about myself, I would never until I could love myself for me. I started counseling. This began my long relationship of relearning to love myself.

Flash forward to the present. I stopped hating myself. I stopped blaming and shaming my body. I stopped making excuses. It was not until I learned to be comfortable in my own skin that I could attract the kind of people I wanted in my life and have them stay. I still exercise, but I do it for enjoyment. I dance and forget that I am even working out. I dance because I want to do it, because it makes me happy. I stopped the madness of counting calories. I eat healthy; but some days if I want a cheeseburger, I enjoy that.

To say that road has been an easy one would be a lie. It is hard to talk about because I was not a stereotypical food abuser. I never threw up my meal; I never looked sickly. I never looked like what is painted in our heads about anorexia, bulimia and other body image disorders, such as body dysmorphic disorder (BDD). I abused food and took for granted what many go without. However, I am not perfect.

Some days, I still struggle with that. Some days I still get upset because my butt is too big and I will never wear a size small, but those days are fewer. I feel more comfortable in my skin. I even like my big butt most days. I stopped caring about how the world saw me, because I know what I see and I love it. Learning to love something I grew to hate, and even demonize, has been a challenge, but the outcome of feeling comfortable in my own skin has been worth it.