When I was eight years old, I told my mom, “I want to go on Jenny Craig when I’m older.” Is there or is there not a huge problem with this statement? Some of the most popular diet brands pack tight so many freezers and refrigerators of homes across the nation: Smart Ones, Nutri System, Weight Watchers, Lean Cuisine, you name it. These are names known by a vast majority of women across the country and beyond. Sure, a person who is wanting or needing to lose weight for health reasons is understandable, but no person, especially a child should dream of weight loss for the wrong reasons.
When I was middle school, I was bullied for countless reasons. Scratch that, there is not one good reason, or any reason at all, for someone to be bullied. Despite the fact, I was. Maybe I was too shy. Maybe I had too much acne. Maybe I was too nice. Or, maybe it was due to the fact that maybe I was a little chubby.
Most children have a little “fat” stage, or so we call it. Baby fat is a thing. As little kids, we are not supposed to be absolutely ripped and performing glute workouts and ab challenges multiple times throughout the day and week. Two of the girls who gave me a hard time were skinny as can be. I envied their good genes and fast metabolisms. I begged my mom to let me walk home from school so I could avoid the half hour bus ride which consisted of being picked on by the sixth and seventh graders. The tears my mom saw stream down my cheeks worsened by the day. The amount of time it took my mother to console an eleven-year-old took more and more strenuous effort as the days went on.
When I was in eighth grade, I completely changed my eating habits, nonetheless. As an example, instead of shoving down Reese’s cups, I would snack on an apple and peanut butter. Therefore, I ate healthier and started to exercise. I was so eager to finish my homework in time for when my stepdad to come home to bring me to the gym with him.
As time went on, I did in fact end up losing some weight. Overall, I was slimmer, gained muscle tone, and got healthier.
The summer going into high school was when things started to go downhill. In those hot, humid months, I only ate twice a day. For breakfast, I usually ate toast and an apple. At dinner time, I had scrambled eggs or sometimes a small turkey sandwich on thirty five calorie sliced wheat bread. I also completely gave up pasta in fear of adding weight to my stomach, which was already piercing by my ribs. This became a problem when I fainted at a concert in July (from only eating a tiny meal in the morning), and also when I passed out after being in a hot tub for about three minutes.
Half way through my freshman year, I began to eat more; in sake of getting back to a healthy weight, I doubled all of my servings. Eventually I was eating pizza, and loads of peanut butter. I did not think twice about what I was eating because I was told I needed to gain weight. Oh, and I did just that. I packed on a good fifteen or so pounds; then I absolutely grew to hate myself. I joined a soccer bootcamp and began lifting and running a little bit. I switched out bad ingredients and replaced them for natural things. Eventually, I started to see a lot of progress. By the time fall came around, I was playing JV soccer at the healthiest I have been in awhile.
That soccer season, which was also my tenth of playing soccer, happened to be the first time I ever went to pasta parties... and there was a lot of food. I did not over eat by any means, but introducing pasta again freaked me out. It was not long until I was complaining of sore throats in bed from constantly throwing up my dinners. Soon, this progressed to purging every night after dinner, which later progressed into what ever and when ever I ate. My mom eventually caught on, but I denied it. She even caught me red handed because I forgot to flush the toilet once. Soon, I was not allowed to go to the bathroom unless I promised to keep the door unlocked and not turning the fan/vent on, which I frequently did to block out the noise.
Junior year, my athletic performance in track completely plummeted like a glass vase shattering across the floor. The top runner on the men’s team, one of my close friends at the time, took notice. After my 1600m race, he sat next to me and just let me vent. He said he understood, but told me he knew I was better than this. He literally and legitimately told me to get myself together. I was falling asleep in class, suffering from different injuries, and definitely was not myself anymore. This wake-up call hit me hard, and I decided to make a change.
Senior year, I had the best running seasons in my entire high school career. I was very proud with my times, performances, and progress. Though I was happier, I still was not happy. Since junior year of high school, up to now, I have been suffering from chronic abdominal pains, cramping, and poor digestion. If you know me, you would very well know that I do not eat anything that is unhealthy (unless it is my birthday or a holiday). However, even the healthiest and best of foods will spontaneously send me into fetal position, likely due to the damage I brought upon myself as a sixteen year old. I run five to seven days a week competitively, and this is when the symptoms are most active; this stinks because I am active every single day.
I frequently question, “Why me?” I eat so healthy, I treat my body right (finally, after so many years of disrespecting it), and do all of the right things to improve myself. So why is that multiple times a day (on a good day) that I am sick to my stomach? Gastroenterolgy appointments have taken over my life on school breaks, and I have tried a plethora of medications that ended up not solving anything. Colonoscopies, blood work, and abdominal x-rays not only took up my time, but it also took control over my pride. When is it going to stop?
The answer I am looking for, is never. I have accepted the destruction I have done to myself. I have accepted my fear of white bread and sweets I created. I have accepted the clinical depression I brought upon myself. The list goes on and on, but it does not matter because I have accepted it. I have not moved on, but I am moving on. If I want to be the extremely best version of myself, I have to act like I am already there. I want to remain a top runner on my cross country team as one of the captains. I want to go to Medical School. I want to run marathons. I want to get married one day and start a family. I want to love myself. Keeping sight on these goals is what keeps me going, and reamining focused on these goals is what reminds me to love myself.
You should do yourself a favor and love yourself, too.
