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Will I ever heal my relationship with my body?
Though I’d vehemently deny it if you ever brought it up, I cannot remember ever caring about my physical appearance in a way that could be considered ‘healthy.’
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to look in the mirror and feel optimistic about what’s in front of me.
Saying that, I strive to avoid my reflection at all costs these days, to ward off the chastising that otherwise runs rampant. It’s taken me almost twenty eight years to know myself this well, to understand exactly what needs to be done to prevent this malicious form of self-criticism from ruling my life.
Even still, I wouldn’t consider my relationship with my body a healthy one.
It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. During childhood, it manifested itself as a cavernous sense of shame. Fortunate to have been raised by parents with a profound appreciation for food, I’ve never been a picky eater and growing up was an amalgamation of beautiful meals cooked for me daily, as well as frequent opportunities to try new cuisines.
Despite this inherent privilege, however, I was regularly (light-heartedly, of course) referred to as being ‘greedy,’ because no matter how nourished I was…
