I felt good today.

The mirror showed me someone pretty. Someone I could like. Someone thin.

I felt confident throughout the day and all but ignored all the other women at the gym. Maybe they were thinner than I am. But I’m thin, too, so that’s okay.

I was happy and I ate that extra spoonful of peanut butter, and I sang in the shower.

I felt fat today.

All I saw was that spoonful of peanut butter bloating my stomach. And those legs. I must have been mistaken yesterday when I thought they looked thin. It must have been the pants.

Every other woman—at the gym, in my classes—every single one was thinner than me because I am not thin. And I am not okay.

I was sad and I didn’t eat even one spoonful of peanut butter, and I cried in the shower.

I felt okay today.

I was excited for the night and the plans I had. I went through my closet for something to wear and decided to try a dress I’d bought several months ago when I was thinner. It didn’t fit. I no longer felt okay. I felt fat. But I put on something to cover myself up and tried to enjoy my night. That lasted awhile, until I went to the restroom and saw myself in the mirror. I felt fat. So much so that I felt shame that I was out in public. I was sad that people were looking at me because I knew anyone who saw me would not think of me as thin. They would see me the way I saw myself in this mirror: fat.

Why do I feel fat when I look in the mirror?

Why is thinness a priority? And why does today’s standard of thinness prove unachievable for “average” young women?

What I see in the mirror will never reflect the ideal our society holds for women. And I’ve never thought it has. When I weighed 90 pounds, I felt fat. Now that I’m at my normal weight—a number I refuse to know—I feel fat.

I can’t say for certain that I am fat, because it is not always how I see myself. And I will constantly strive for some undefined thinness, knowing I can’t reach what has no definition. But I don’t know—and I don’t think I ever will—whether I am actually becoming thin or simply feeling thin. Because the way I look in the mirror changes everyday and the most I can do is to keep changing it, keep feeling thin. And hope that eventually it won’t matter so much; that maybe our society’s ideal woman will be a healthier, more “average”-sized woman.

But for now I look in the mirror, and some days I feel good. Some days I feel okay. But some days I feel fat. And those are the days I remember the most.