Admitting I Have Body Dysmorphia
TRIGGER WARNING: Body dysmorphia/anxiety
My mental health robbed me of joy in my teens and early 20s.
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“A mental illness involving obsessive focus on a perceived flaw in appearance.
The flaw may be minor or imagined. But the person may spend hours a day trying to fix it. The person may try many cosmetic procedures or exercise to excess.”
The way we speak to ourselves is just as important as how we speak to others. Having my daughter made me realize that her confidence starts with me. The way I talk to and about myself. The words I use. The way I speak. No amount of negative calories, plastic surgery or hours at the gym could make me love myself more. The only way I could do that was to change the way I spoke to myself.
"How do I expect to breathe life into my daughter if I can’t do it for myself? My inner dialogue is changing and I’m embracing every bit of myself day by day."
Looking back, my happiness was never determined by my weight. It was the weight of my humor and laughter. The impact I had on others with the way I carried myself. If I was kind enough, loving enough, spent enough time with my loved ones. That’s what truly determined my happiness.
As I grow older, I’m learning to love what’s real in life. And right now my reality involves 2 babies, an amazing husband, stretch marks, cellulite, friends, family, and lots of wine 🍷🥰 I’m still learning. Always will be.
The day before I gave birth to Anastasia Belle, I changed our bathroom letter board. I knew my postpartum hormones would be raging and there was a chance I’d look at my belly and cry. But I didn’t. Me not crying was a milestone for me. It meant that I was making progress and my body dysmorphia continued to diminish. Today I am 7 weeks postpartum, and I feel amazing 🖤
Today I continue to fight and stay strong. I am here. I am alive. And I am grateful.
Thank you for being a part of my journey.