When I was a child, being in my own skin did not make me uncomfortable. I could frolic and play and dance and sing and not care how I looked to the people watching me because my heart was full of happiness. That is, until I met you. You, who pointed out that my shirt was too tight for my stomach, who stole my books and wrote the word that I grew to tremble at the sound of on every single page. You, who snickered and sneered as I walked to the edge of the diving board. You, who rejected me and denied me a friendship because I was not up to your standards physically. Side comments, subliminal statements, and nicknames began to tattoo themselves onto my skin. Every night I’d pray that I’d wake up in someone else’s body. I’d hide my eyes from the mirror before the shower. I’d cry before weigh-ins at the doctor. Because of you, I buried myself in clothes that were too big, hiding the body that had carried me on and offstage for years underneath. Because of you, I told myself that I could not be loved simply because I weighed more than other girls. So naturally, I did what I thought would fix all my problems in the world — I lost weight. Everyone started to notice me — the way people reacted to seeing me after a while was an exhilarating rush that I wanted to feel all the time. When people weren’t complimenting how slender I looked, I became angry with myself and questioned what more I needed to do. But what I was doing to my body was horrifying. Spending hours standing in the mirror, cursing at each part of my body that I didn’t like. It’s as if my insecurities didn’t disappear — the complete opposite, actually — they amplified by thousands. I’d plan my days around how I would manage to avoid food at all costs. If anyone asked any questions, I could just play it off with a smile.
But now, I see that even when I was at my lowest weight, I was still unhappy. I lost myself inside of needing to feel accepted, and wanted, and most of all…Beautiful. And I look at my mother, who could not be more beautiful to me, and how she still stands in the mirror and hates the way she looks. Will that be me? Will that be your child, crying themselves to sleep each night hoping to be someone else? I want, more than anything, for my children to know that no matter what, they should appreciate the skin they are in. Beauty comes from the way your positive thoughts radiate out into the world. Your body was made to do wondrous things and you should let it be your friend. I stopped worrying about the wrong things. I stopped crying every time I came home after eating a meal. And in this I found laughter. I found love and I found peace knowing that my body was my friend. I am allowed to love myself, and I am allowed to be loved by others — not because of what I look like, but simply because I am human.
And so I wanted to write you this letter to you let you know that your words can’t hurt me anymore. I stopped looking for myself inside the approval of others. I realized there was a whole world outside my bedroom mirror, no thanks to you. I don’t feel the need to prove you wrong because you don’t matter to me, and I regret every tear I cried over your hurtful words because now I see that it was only a direct reflection of your own insecurities.
Sincerely,
A Happy Girl Who Doesn’t Care What You Think
