Healthy is not Enough

I’ve hated my body for about twelve years. I am not healthy.

I only took a few minutes to myself to sit by Lake Ainselie and actually reflect before scurrying back to make some memories with my family. Reflection is good, but eventually leads to promises that something will change. When you actually take an honest, scary second to think about your life, the negative things usually come first, and you focus so much on resolving to work them out that you can miss what they actually mean.

I was eight both the first time I called myself a feminist, and the first time I cried because my stomach stuck out. Long before logic had formed in my head, images of what was worth being had. My mixed ideologies meant I would be a modern, working woman who was empowered, but I would also be thin and lovely. Looking at pictures of Natalie Portman gave me no answers, but loads of inspiration. Uncoordinated and thus unatheletic, I spent many of my teenage years hungry.

I have always been angry at societal norms that made me hate myself, but for the first time, I became panicked. I stared into the cold depths of a famous lake where vogue politicians of the past took their families to summer and imagined coming back in warmer months, only to realize that I could never allow myself to be in a bathing suit around other people. I always saw the shame for the body I mistreat, but am forced to wear, as some kind of teenage shenanigan that I could grow out of. I am twenty one, and I don’t see a fixed end in sight. Through literal thick and thin I have cried after looking in the mirror no matter what I did to myself. Although my sweaty nights crouched next to a toilet are over, I walk with a silent inferiority complex that is always criticizing myself. Is this all we can aspire for young women? Will we fix the ventricles by pumping in vitamins but never actually repair our Hearts?

For all of the positivity and charm of self help books, there is no step by step guide to loving yourself. Take a bath! the Internet tells me when I am feeling bad, as if I will dip in the tub and emerge with perfect hip bones. Develop a mantra. Kiss yourself in the mirror. Certainly, improving my mood helps, but there is no revolution in my heart. It seems like instead of true self love, we are just aiming for cheering ourselves up and pulling us into tomorrow.

I am so lucky. My everloving holds the whole me; touching my body and he fires enough compliments to try to get through the main wall in my mind. He cooks me delicious dinners and I eat enough and more but not too much. He understands that sometimes I cry. He says that I am perfect, and it is an exciting relief to be enough for him, but it is not enough for me yet. It has almost become more about the philosophy of perfection then ever actually attaining it. I have been thin. Very thin. Too thin. It was then that I was unhappiest of all.

When I turned 20, I decided to stop hating myself. I don’t know how, and I wish I remembered. I do not know if I can repeat the lost steps over and over until it turns into self love, or if this is my sign to move any way as long as it’s forwards. But I am not interested in myself any longer.

You are reading thing, and I thank you, but I need something else from you. I am fed up of cautionary tales. I don’t want to undo steps. I am tire of having to progress to zero before I can even start to feel happy with who I am. I want you to start caring, and not just the type of caring that is painful but convenient. I need you to let out who you are inside. I know how angry we all are at letting people trick us into anything less than excellent, so why on Earth would we allow this to happen to girls?

Create a relationship with the next generation. It is never too early to start thinking about what the future needs, and I can promise you that it needs more love. There is too little time and too much to do for another fleet of young women to be sent into the world full of self doubt. We can’t stop global warming if we are always hungry. Injustice will prevail if we are not strong enough to stand up, both mentally and physically.

The older version of me needed you to read her a book, to think critically with her, to go on a walk around town, to take funny pictures, to show her what I am now saying with better words. It’s too late, and that’s okay, because there are so many other girls who need to start at the beginning, not attempt to climb back up after they’re already started at a loss. Whether reading this is enough or you need to go have a lake moment of your own, I only ask that you no longer suffer in silence.

Channel you anger into a passionate thought revolution and we can be stronger than any advertising campaign. Although the media is always shouting at young women, if you take the time to stand beside her, your voice and values will always be louder.