I am 41 and my body has changed as I have aged. I don't have the same body that I had at 21 but I am also not the same woman that I was at 21.
I'm a confident woman today, I love who I am and how I look, but it wasn't always like that.
I have never liked my body. 38 years old and I am actually stronger then I have ever been, but I really still find the stuff I don't like. Two kids have left me with a slightly larger and flabbier than I want belly, but I think that really, it isn't so bad.
Hating my body, from what I remember, started in high school. I have never considered myself to be pretty or attractive. I was always involved in sports, so I wasn't overweight, but I had an "athletic" body instead of the thin body high school girls desire. I started dating my first boyfriend at the end of my junior year, and we stayed together thru my freshman year in college.
I had struggled with my weight from being in my very early teens and all the way through school I was teased for it. I was terrible at sports and always struggled to keep up with the rest of my school friends. I had a tough home life and found comfort eating was a way to cope. By age 20 I was pushing a size UK 18 - 20.
I come from a long line of abuse. Not as severe as some, but enough that I was constantly afraid and never felt in control of anything. For a while (in high school) I used cutting as an outlet, but after my father found a suicide note and threatened to "lock me up" in an institution somewhere, I discontinued the behavior out of fear. I had no outlets and no friends due to forced isolation.
I've been a bigger girl my entire life. After having a child I have become a little more comfortable in my own skin. I now think it's okay to have stretch marks and cellulite, a bigger tummy, wide hips, a big butt. Our bodies are amazing! We can grow and nurture children, run, jump, breathe, sleep, eat! How could I have ever hated myself so much?
From the age I was even able to care about my appearance I have struggled to love my body; heck, to even just like my body. I have a distinct memory of when I started to be concerned about my appearance. I was in second grade and my best friend in my class was rail thin with long blond hair and blue eyes. I remember sitting next to her and looking down at her jean-clad thighs. I noticed that her thighs didn’t spread like mine did when she sat. I think I began to view my body as the enemy that day.
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