When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Whatever that is, is what forms your perception of your body image. Sometimes, a plus-sized person can look at themselves and think, “Wow, I really am beautiful!” while a leaner and toned person could see a million flaws. Our thoughts define us, and maybe that’s why it’s important to keep the bad stuff out.
Life in a nutshell
When I was in college, I weighed 60 kgs. I was a chubby girl, who always cribbed about the pesky fat that clung to the sides of my waist, like a kid would his mom, with the fear of getting lost in a supermarket. No matter how many sweets and cold coffees I’d cut down, or how many runs I went for, nothing seemed to give me respite. I complained about my cheeks, and mentally unfriended all those who pulled them. I was my own worst critic, and when people complimented me with, “This weight suits you!” I’d give them a stare that equalled the harshness of a death sentence.
As you can imagine, my early twenties were spent in an attempt to fit into those tiny Forever21 skirts, that said “L” but forgot to mention that this size was specific to the land where “L” actually meant “XS”. My disillusionment often lead me to the nearest Starbucks outlet, where I’d drink away my sorrow, one Choco Java Chip Shake at a time, and spend all my money on stale-looking, pretentious food, that was so expensive, it could afford me the gym membership I needed.
Time for an inter-friend-tion
A little before I could trap myself in a web of depression, owing to the fact that I didn’t look good enough, a friend of mine talked me into playing “workout partner” to her, and we enrolled ourselves at a local health club. As all new gym goers will relate, the first few weeks were the hardest, simply because I was too afraid to start, and intimidated by all the hard work that I knew was a prerequisite. Still, I gave it a shot. Eight months into what had become our daily practice, I was lifting weights, running longer distances without huffing and puffing, and I felt much better about myself. Visually, though, I was still unsatisfied.
When I was down to about 53 kgs, people around me told me how much healthier I looked, and congratulated me for pulling this off. I, however, wasn’t convinced. I still felt my arms were too flabby to wear sleeveless dresses, and face was so round, it would put a golf ball to shame. College was soon over, and so was my membership at the gym. Before I knew it, my new innings in life began–I was in a new city, finding it painful to strike a balance between my health and career. I was cribbing. Again.
By accident
At the end of 2018, I experienced what they call a near-death experience. A car hit me from behind, and I flew up and fell to the floor. I was on my way home from work when the accident happened, and I was rushed to the nearest hospital. I had black and blue knees, my face was cut in places, and my right arm suffered a fracture. I curled up in pain then, and even felt it much after I was released.
When I got back home from the hospital, and slowly worked on regaining my strength, I soon realised something strange. I had stopped thinking about my body in the way that I used to. The feelings of inadequacy that consumed me all day long were gone. I introspected, and tried to unearth the hate that I believed had to be in me somewhere. Nope, it was gone. I had stopped hating my body.
My body was swollen more than usual from the accident, but I watched it deflate with a kind of detached brand of intrigue. For the first time in years, I found it hard to focus on my love handles, my puffy face, my biggish arms–I was simply happy to be alive.
With this, I was tempted to ultimately believe that change stems from two things–experience and your thought process. When I look back, I feel almost as though the universe planted that car there on that rainy night. My accident shook all the apprehension and criticism out of me, and even though it induced a fair amount of physical struggle and pain; it rescued me from a version of myself that could’ve been my nemesis. I made peace with whoever I was, and however I was.
Me, and my scars, lived happily ever after.
