I attended my friend’s body love workshop last night. For her it started in the 2nd grade. It also happened in my elementary school years – the time I started body shaming myself.
I’m from small town Oregon. Girls didn’t have the option to play softball, but could participate on the baseball team before school sports started. My uniform never fit me because I was overweight. My best friend and I would sit in her room, trying to stretch out my shirt to hide my body.
School class sizes ranged from 10-25 students. I despised school clothes shopping. It was HELL. My parents and I joke that I have expensive taste, but I do, and I think it was due to this part of my life. You see, I hated to wear clothes that were tight fitting and it was rare I could shop in the kids section. When I found something I liked, my parents never looked at the price tag. Instead, purchased one in every color because it was likely the only clothing article I would find.
I hated picture day. But not as much as the days where teachers would take your weight and test your vision. Every year when the time came, I became stressed because I would worry about what other kids and my teachers would say. If I didn’t love school so much, I would have faked being sick. If only I could fit into girl clothes for my age, my life be better. It never happened.
Perhaps I knew I would never be the skinniest or the prettiest in my class but knew my intelligence, as measured by school standards, was far above nearly every other one of my classmates. It quickly became a competition even though my classmates had NO idea. I would beg my Mom to quiz me on my math flashcards. At one point I thought a classmate was going to “catch me”. So we (my Mom and I) studied harder. During read-a-thons, I read and read and read. And read some more to make it to the finish line “first”. Anything to feel worthy. To have a sense of belonging. To stand out in a way that took the focus off my weight.
It was finally time to be involved in team sports. I started to have a better appreciation for my body and what it was able to do. However, it was now the time when dating boys was heavily emphasized. I knew I would never have a boyfriend because I wasn’t the skinniest girl. It was then I thought that boys were only attracted to looks and maybe if I weren’t as smart and had less fat, I would have a boyfriend.
Then I entered high school. I actually had already been “attending” high school math while in middle school due to those damn flash cards. I created excessive pressures to perform both in the classroom and on the court because those were the two places I knew I could control something. I couldn’t control if a certain guy would choose me. But I will admit, high school was the time of my life, when some of the best memories were made and I would not change my experiences for anything!
As I began college, I was back to my middle school girl and tried to figure out where I fit in. I nearly failed a course (yes, C’s are failing in my world). I wasn’t athletic enough to play collegiate sports. Sports and academia were what held me together for so many years. I found control elsewhere – bulimia. I became addicted. The process is distributing. I chose to eat anything and everything. I would time it to where my roommates were not home and if they were, I used the shower for back up. I took notes on what foods were easiest to purge. My belly would get distended. My throat became a clogged drain. I was so full, I endured physical pain. I would hover over the toilet, purge, have a 5 second high and spend the rest of the night feeling so much shame. “What kind of fucking person am I?” “Why can’t I get myself together?” “You will never be good enough.”
This went on for quite some time. I knew I needed a change but was uncertain on how to get out of the situation. My roommate, Beth (thankfully told my sister) and close friend, Rick knew what was happening. They gave me the “Farrar, figure this shit out or we’re calling your parents.” That pushed me to go to a doctor. He was gracious enough to tell me I had depression and passed along a sample pack of antidepressants. What I wanted to tell him was 1. I did my research and these can cause weight gain. So no. 2. Thanks for the pills but you’re being a lazy provider and not listening to me. Shoutout to overbooked MDs and pill pushers!! 3. Thanks for wasting my time ya ****!
After my appointment I called my Mom. I was scared to tell her because I knew she would be on the next plane out of Oregon in an attempt to rescue me. Instead, I told her the appointment went well but I needed to seek help from a therapist. My parents never questioned why, but fully supported me emotionally and offered to cover the expenses. Pure relief.
The universe had my back and I was matched with a therapist who I clicked with immediately. I tried to down play the situation. Didn’t work. Therapists will see right through you. I went to therapy weekly for many months. At first, I felt shame seeing a therapist. Was I now considered “crazy?” I didn’t talk about it with many people. I kept my head down, put my nose in a book in the waiting room to avoid eye contact with strangers. I carried guilt daily. I wrote down every. single. emotion. I had during the day and would walk my therapist through the situation. One day my emotions changed. I went from purging daily, to every other day and eventually hit 30 days being purge-free. On day 30, I sat in front of the toilet stuffed to the brim because I had “lost control of my life”. I contemplated if now would be the appropriate time to break my streak. It wasn’t. I decided to keep going. If I could do something for 30 days, I could do it for another 30. And then another 30. It was also around this time, I met an incredible man. While we are no longer together, he was what I needed. I was no longer purging, but I was very self conscious and put unnecessary stress on our relationship. He loved me through it. I will forever be grateful because he played an important role without even the slightest thank you. He continued to show up when I couldn’t. I recently told him everything he always deserved to hear because I needed to heal. To this day, he has the kindest and most supportive heart.
Around 18 months ago, it was time. I finally found the courage to tell my Mom. I assumed she knew but turns out my sister is also good at keeping secrets! We sat in tears. I know she wanted to rescue me because that’s what parents do. What I wish I would have told her was, you did. The day I called her, there was no judgement. Only pure love and support. If the phone call had gone any other way, I am not sure where I would be today.
What I have learned through this process is:
- I’m strong.
- I’m not alone.
- Surround yourself with people who support you, even at your darkest.
- There is more to you than appearance.
- Be gentle with yourself.
- Forgive yourself.
- Perfection does not exist.
- Ask for help.
Self love is a journey. There is no right or wrong way. It is a way that works for each individual. It takes time. It is hard AF. You will feel lost. Don’t be afraid of the lost. You’re growing and will be found. The day will come, when you can look in the mirror and see you are more. And know my door is always open! xo
Cheers!