This article discusses eating disorders.
For years, I poured all of my energy into building a false version of myself.
Never let anyone notice the wrinkles in your clothes, or the curve of your hips. Plan your life down to the minute, in excruciating detail, and call it being ‘well-rounded.’ Make sure you have complete control of everything, all the time.
When you have an eating disorder, your whole life is about keeping up appearances.
No matter how much anyone attempted to convince me otherwise, I believed that my physical flaws — which in reality were not flaws at all — were the only things they noticed about me.
I was in a relationship during the worst parts of my illness, and it was impossible for me to accept that someone could genuinely be attracted to me. If I wasn’t satisfied with how I looked, why wouldn’t she think the same?
Many people are naturally apprehensive about intimacy and touch, myself included, but the hyperawareness and false narratives I held about my body only made it more difficult to be vulnerable. Even though I rationally understood that my partner wouldn’t say anything hurtful, I felt compelled to preface any instance that I showed my body with an apology for simply existing — for the possibility that I wouldn’t look how she wanted me to.
I have no clue whether I actually enjoyed physical intimacy, because I only remember being caught up in the fear that I would be rejected. Allowing someone access to my body would force me to be completely honest with them about my anxiety surrounding my appearance. Not only would I be physically vulnerable, but I would also be letting my emotional guard down.
Because I was in a Queer relationship, I often found myself comparing my body to my partner's. I was in love with all the parts of herself that she viewed as imperfect, but I was incapable of extending this grace toward myself — a normal feeling for many people, but an all-consuming condition for me.
Deep down, I think I harboured resentment toward her. In my eyes, she was a more refined image of everything I wanted to be; being with her was like looking in the mirror and seeing a better version of myself.
I’m not proud of it. Even during that time, a part of me recognized how unfair it was to put her on a pedestal, but my judgment was clouded by the same urges that made my relationship with my body unhealthy.
Since then, I’d like to say that I’ve healed my relationship with food, but it’s more complicated than that.
I can now eat whatever I want, whenever I feel like it. A shit ton of time and tears have gone into getting to that point. However, there’s so much more work to do to genuinely accept my body, especially with the physical changes it has gone through during the past year of recovery.
Navigating sex and other forms of physical intimacy continues to be the hardest part.
I still hesitate before taking my shirt off, or flinch when someone places their hand on my waist. After spending so much of my life trying to feel as disconnected as possible from the thing I hated most, the idea of pursuing connection that relies on being in tune with my physicality seems foreign.
I’m learning (very slowly, but surely) that in order to let someone else love your body, you must first accept without shame that you are worthy of feeling desire and being desired.
You don’t have to only see yourself in a positive light. That’s not realistic. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t struggle with insecurities of some kind.
No matter what stage of life I’m in, I know that I’ll always be able to pick out my ‘flaws.’ The difference between my past and present is that now I choose to see these qualities as neutral, not negative. I refuse to give them the power that they once held over me, as I would rather redirect this energy into discovering and highlighting what I already do love about who I am.
The world won’t explode if you do a nice thing for yourself. You are not wrong for wanting to indulge, instead of punishing yourself for some wrong you never committed.
You don’t have to love yourself, but you can give others the permission to love you.
This article is from Reclamation, The Ubyssey's 2023 sex and relationships issue. Read more personal essays and student stories from Reclamation here, and sexual health and education articles here.