One of the first things people notice about me is my body. I’m 6’4, and for the majority of my life, I’ve been the tallest person in my immediate community. With realizing that people notice my body and my height, it also means they notice the other parts of my body I’m not so keen on.
I noticed my body early. I was hyper aware of my weight very early in my life. While I was a taller kid, I also had what some would call “baby fat” which turned into “adult fat”. The difference between the two is, one is supposed to shed off the body while the other is a signal for health concerns, and poor care.
As a kid my family mentioned different ways I could lose weight. I was told to do push ups, do sit ups, to run, to make time for exercise. While they were doing this out of concern, I was still just a kid and this taught me at an unfortunately early age to actually dislike how my body was formed and shaped. Jokes about being “big boned” and “husky” flew around, as they would in a Black American household. They taught me to hate my body before I could even form an opinion on it.
Since I was also afraid of constantly hurting myself, I also did not play sports growing up. Men in my family and random bystanders told me I was a waste of height. Confirming my fear that I was a waste! My peers also shared similar sentiments. I loved being tall, but everyone around me made it seem as if I was not using it the way God intended. As if I was supposed to be dunking a basketball at the age of 7. Then, I hated being tall, and constantly wanted to shrink myself so I could be invisible.
My legs are long and muscular. My arms are long and flimsy. My finger are long and sharp. It’s easy to look in the mirror and point my flaws out. It’s easy to sit there and think everyone who has ever critiqued my body is right. From doctors who knew nothing about me, to internet trolls, to “friends” and even my family who instilled the fear of death by fat — maybe they were all right. Doubt dances around my brain every morning and sometimes kills the confidence I have. I’ll think to myself, “I ate this up” and other times “I need to stop eating.”
While my body on a bad day will trigger me into policing my meals, and my drinks other days, I couldn’t care less and I tell myself the body that gets into these clothes is the body that’s showing up. My inner conversation about my look, and my body are always changing. Changing so much, the dysmorphia is often taken as truth on any particular day.
I don’t have an answer. I sometimes like to end these on a happier note, but I’m struggling to find one. Maybe the happier note is that I am not in the darkest place with my body. It’s an uphill battle and mindset shift I am willing to engage in and willing to challenge and am going to win. I am willing to unlearn, and relearn and rework my brain. That’s where we’ll end for today. I appreciate my body for what it does.
sincerely,
body issues!
—S
also: we should all be paying attention and taking action about what is going on in Gaza. I implore you all to call for a ceasefire and contact your representatives and stay up to date.
this was so well written! I applaud you for being vulnerable and opening up about a topic so many struggle with 🫶🏽