27 December 2018


If you know me, you know that I'm an open book. I don't have anything to hide and I share a lot. Some might even say I overshare. But suffering in silence is still suffering. I have this platform, where I can make people feel better and let them know that they're not alone in what they're going through, so I feel a duty to talk about my problems. Plus, it makes me feel better, too.

Ever since I can remember, my weight has been a touchy topic for me. It has fluctuated a lot throughout my life, even when I was little. I don't remember when exactly I became conscious about it, maybe in my teenage years, as all girls do. During high school, I had a lot of insecurities. It pains me to know that every woman goes through body image issues at some point in her life, and although not everyone goes to extremes like I did, it's not a fact we should settle with.

So today I want to share my story on how I had an eating disorder and how I learned to live with it.

I've always been a very sensitive person, probably more than most. It's easy to knock me down, even though I don't admit it, and it takes time to get back up on my feet. Flashback to 6 years ago, when I was impressionable, a lot more naive (I still only see the good in people, but that's a different blog post) and very much insecure in how I looked. I felt constantly judged and unattractive. I thought the way to feel better about myself was by losing weight and having this "transformation". In my mind, it would suddenly all fall into place.

First of all, I didn't really need to lose weight. But I was set on it and when I have a goal, there's nothing that can stop me. The logical way to lose weight, according to me back then, was by starvation. Actual starvation.

I remember eating just a slice of bread per day.

I remember not drinking water, because it made me bloated.

I remember weighing myself every hour to see if there was any difference.

I remember my father taking away my computer and saying he'd only give it back if I ate.

I remember looking at myself in every mirror and pointing out everything I wanted to change.

That lasted for months. When I was finally "skinny" (even though I didn't feel like I was), I eventually started to like the way I looked a little bit more, and thank God I did, because who knows where I would've ended up otherwise. But why did I have to go through all of that physical and emotional exhaustion, just so I could accept myself?

Flash forward to today, a few weight losses and weight gains later. It was a long process of figuring myself out and accepting that I only have one body and if I don't treat it right, I will basically have nothing.

I've never been perfect, nor will I ever be. But I have over the years gained the confidence I wish I had back then and learned to love my body plus all the stretch marks and cellulite, abs in the morning and looking 5 months pregnant in the evening, crooked nose and chubby fingers.

It's weird because, even though I finally accept myself, I guess subconsciously, when I'm going through a tough time in my life or when I'm anxious, I'm taken back to 6 years ago and I react by not eating. It's like my body is in shock and just can't bring itself to consuming food. My mindset is different though, or at least I try for it to be, and I no longer feel the need to fit into a certain image that is socially accepted to be "ideal" and "beautiful". So when that happens, it's more of a wake up call than a relapse. It's all about seeing the good in every situation.


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