You Are More Than Your Weight

                    

I always had a funny relationship with my weight, with my body. I was one of the first people in my friend group to grow boobs and hips and I felt so uncomfortable in them that I put on baggy clothes to hide them. I've cellulite since I was 3 years old - really, my doctor said so herself - and never truly felt comfortable in my own skin for most of teenage years. When that finally happened, when the confidence that was buried inside my soul started to sprout little leaves, it was like someone flipped a switch. Those little leaves turned into full blossoms and I found so much comfort in embracing myself and using clothes and makeup as a way of expressing myself positively instead of negatively. I was hiding anymore, I was celebrating myself and it felt great! It took me so long to get to that place, that when I did, my whole being let out a huge sigh of relief.

However, my long journey into feeling confident within myself took a turn for the worse recently. I've spoken on the blog how a relapse in my depression made me reconsider a lot of things about my life - my weight was one of them. I lost a lot of weight. I dropped almost two pant sizes. All of my clothes stopped fitting properly, except for the baggy ones. After getting to a place where I looked what I saw in the mirror, I was now, once again, looking at my reflection and dissecting it, pointing out every single flaw, tearing myself down for not looking a certain way, feeling a certain way, being a certain way.

Feeling like a stranger in my own body was terrible. I barely recognized myself, as I was barely myself as well. The fact that not only my mind was escaping my control, but now my body was, as well, was painful and confusing and difficult to accept. This shift made me realise that without meaning it, without noticing it, that even though I thought that I had stopped putting my identity where my weight was, I was still stuck in those patterns, just in a different way. I was so obsessed with my weight and how I looked that I was driving myself into more anxiety because of it. It wasn't until I accepted my body for what it was at the time that I started to recover. It was crazy; when I told myself that it going to be ok and actually believed it, was when things started to get better. I accepted that I was more than my weight, more than how my body looks. I am the way I treat others, I am the way I think, the things I'm passionate about. I am not a dress number, a number on a scale. Neither is anyone. Our bodies are not here to look pretty, they are here to allow us to live our lives to the best of our ability. We should be proud of them, because oftentimes, we put them through hell. And they persevere. They are still there, wanting to forgive, wanting to be loved.

Acceptance is a funny thing. I don't think we understand how necessary it truly is in our lives, but it is. Our ability to accept and be optimistic about change can define our lives. Our ability to accept change can define our lives. I'm trying to accept that, to come to terms with it. All while trying to accept this new notion and embed into myself that I truly am more than my weight. So are you, so is everyone. Let's accept that.