Wow," a former coworker said to me, looking me up and down.
We had run into each other at the grocery store where we used to work.
I was waiting for my runny cheese.
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“You look…different.
Did you gain weight?”
I’m in recovery for aneating disorderand haven’t stepped on a scale in years.
My jeans fit me just fine that day.
Still, his words stung.
As I went to pay for my cheese, I mulled over his audacity and my reaction to it.
There was a time not that long ago where words like this would do more than just sting.
I started loathing the way I looked in middle school.
I was already the tallest girl in the class when I grew breasts, seemingly overnight.
I felt different from my classmates, jealous of their little girl bodies and wronged by genetics and fate.
I fantasized about lopping off layers of flesh, inches of height.
I wanted to disappear.
When I learned I could control my weight by restricting what I ate, I felt powerful and terrified.
Terrified because I was constantly hungry and on edge.
Restricting was miserable, and I knew I couldnt keep it up for long.
But oh, how I wanted to keep it up!
It was a thrill, wiggling into a new pair of jeans.
I believed them, and their approval tasted sweet.
I sought that approval like a drug.
When my aunt told me I looked thin, my eating disorder fist-bumped my ego in victory.
Was I too fat to be desirable?
Even their compliments raised a questionhow did they see me before?
It seemingly confirmed my big fear: that I had been too fat, too much, unacceptable.
Through my distorted vision, the world liked me better when I was starving myself.
It seemed an impossible and miserable bind.
These are not the values I wanted.
But somehow this did not apply to my own body.
My quest for skinniness deeply embarrassed me.
I told no one.
I used to look for external validation everywhere until I slowly but surely learned it didn’t work.
It would never be enough.
Today, I know I am fundamentally okay.
I feed myself healthfully but imperfectly.
I live a big life full of adventures.
I let myself eat when Im hungry and rest when Im tired.
Instead she told me that it wasnt her job to validate the way I looked.
That totally shook me.
In my mind, that was exactly her job.
I had looked to teachers, mentors, and boyfriends for praise.
If I couldnt muster my own self-esteem, I could borrow theirs.
It took me years to really get what she meant.
But now I understand that whatever someone thinks about my bodygood or badshouldnt affect my self-worth.
Later on that night, I mentioned what happened to my fiance.
“You look great, he reassured me.
I loved hearing his compliment, but I didn’t dwell on it.
We settled into the couch and dug into our favorite Indian delivery dinner.
