I stare at my reflection in the mirror, naked... I trace my curves with the tips of my fingers, a chill heading up my spine. My eyes follow my hand down my stomach as it caves into my gut. I close my eyes while inhaling, hoping that If I stayed this way long enough it would all disappear. My eyes wander to my thighs, and I can feel the fat around my thirsty bones expand throughout my body. I feel suffocated. I remember feeling sick when hearing the words “You need to lose weight” out of my doctor's mouth, every single appointment. I think about those nights where my friends and I would have ice cream and hearing the words “Should you really be eating that?” My mind goes back to all the times I go shopping, immediately looking for the the plus-size section. I will never forget that time I was set up on a blind date, but once the guy saw me, he didn’t even give me a chance. I let go of my breath, and open my eyes, looking at my naked body in the mirror one more time. And I think to myself, I didn’t ask for this.

Ever since I can remember weight has been a major struggle in my life. When I was about 5 years old my mom started addressing the topic with me by sending me to this nutrition group at the hospital she worked at. When attending this group, I learned a lot about labels on foods, the right foods to eat, and some exercise techniques to help me lose weight. The program claimed this was a way to a healthy lifestyle, which I mean, maybe physically it was. But mentally, this program only resulted in a lifestyle full of stress, anxiety, and hate. It made me realize, at the age of 5, that something was wrong with the way I looked.

Throughout my childhood my mom wouldn't allow me to go on an actual diet to lose weight. Instead she had me exercise more by joining sport teams, like soccer and basketball, and by sending me to a nutritionist who had me writing down everything I ate in a "food journal." My mom never stopped me from eating unhealthy foods but rather had me reflect on my decisions of choosing that food when it was too late. She would ask me, "Do you think you really needed that?" "Were you actually hungry?" "Do you think that was a healthy choice?" I'd answer, simply whispering a regrettable "no" to all of the above. I would then force myself to write that unhealthy food in my little journal to show my soon to be disappointed nutritionist later that day. I remember how hard it was to break the space between my pen and paper in order to write that food down. Though, I was completely aware of what I ate, writing it down was like admitting to myself, all over again, the horrible decision I had made.

I left that nutritionist when I was able to convince my mom that I could lose the weight on my own. I was about 12 years old when I started to take on actual diets, which consisted of counting calories, Weight Watchers, no carb diet, Atkins, and then counting calories again. I always seemed to go back to counting calories. But no matter what I did that number on the scale would not budge. I felt hopeless with the situation and disgusted with myself. I was trying to so hard to get the results I wanted, but ended up only getting the result of failure. My mom kept telling me to not give up, and that I was not a failure. She believed that I may have not lost any weight, but that I have changed my eating habits for the better and created a better lifestyle for myself. She was right about the situation, but no matter what anyone told me, I was still unconvinced when looking at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look how I wanted. To me, I was still fat.

After another year of seeing no results, except getting my period inconsistently, we decided to go the doctor's office and see if there was any solution and/or reasoning for this problem. The doctor told me to get my hormone levels checked out. Long story short, I have an unbalanced hormone levels. We went to the doctor with these results and it turns out I have this medical condition called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome that not only was the cause for my inconsistent periods, but also the cause for my lack of weight loss. Hearing this gave me some closure and made me feel like less of a failure, but when hearing that the only way to get rid of this syndrome was to lose weight, any happiness I just gained was completely taken away from my hands. The doctor told me that I was going to have to exercise two hours a day and go on a no-carb, paleo-like diet in order to lose this weight.

Dieting and exercising is not as easy as people on TV make it out to be, especially being a teenager. As a teenager I have friends who have get togethers that I get invited to. And at those get togethers there is absolutely no trace of any healthy foods. How was I possibly supposed to fight the temptation of those cookies and chips?! There was no way.

During this time of my life I was depressed. I asked a God I was slowly losing faith in, why I had to look this way. I asked him why guys are only interested in dating skinny girls. Why we let ourselves be defined by numbers. Why things weren't different. How this society became so demented. What makes me “fat”? What is it that causes me to have this constant label stamped on my forehead? I never got an answer. When I look back, I don’t think I was ever looking for answers, though. I was looking for change.

Recently, I have been trying to care less about my appearance. I was trying to love myself at least a little bit more. But it’s hard, telling your parents that you don’t care about your weight anymore. It’s hard to tell your friends that you're accepting your body, and that you might just like it to an extent. It’s hard to be confident in yourself when the whole word gives you a reason not to be.

So here I am, my naked body standing in front of this defective mirror. I open my eyes, seeing myself for the first time. I see myself and smile because this is who I am and who I always will be. And though I’m aware that I didn’t ask for this, I've come to accept that this is what I got, and I might as well be happy.