Thought Catalog Had Me Thinking!

So this is a post I've been wanting to write for a few weeks now, but just didn't have it in me. I didn't know if I had the words or even the courage to write it all out. And then today, as I do everyday, I was reading Thought Catalog. And as I do everyday, I found an article that I think "damn, is this person in my head?" Sometimes these articles are about dating and relationships, sometimes random New York (or Chicago) observations, and sometimes self-image. Today, I found one particular article about self-image that resonated with me so freaking much. It was as if I could have written it myself. The article, written by an anonymous author was very personal and very honest. I know that many of you know me personally so there is no anonymity for what I am about to write here. However, at the end of the day, this blog is mine and the content is for ME. Sure other people (family, friends, and even strangers) read it and get a peak into my life and into my brain, but it is also a diary of sorts and since my current funk has been a part of my life lately, it should belong on here in one way or another.  

From the outside I come across as this self-assured, confident young woman. People always compliment me on what a go-getter I am and how strong I am. These things may be true to a certain degree because I walk around getting shit done (like lady!) with a smile on my face most of time (which is why some of you may not have even known I have been in a funk) because most things in my life are going so great right now. I honestly really don't have much to complain about. At all. However, there seems to be this cloud over my head that I just cannot shake. The front that I put up everyday is a mask for the craziness that goes on inside this brain of mine. There is a sad story happening there and it is one that affects my feelings and doings every single day. And shock of all shocks, it has to do with my body. Although it does so much for me, I resent it. I hate looking at it and I feel like it sometimes holds me back socially. I've written before how much I struggle with my body-image and how it's a constant losing battle no matter how much I work out and how healthy I eat. And unfortunately this post is no different and the reason why this Thought Catalog article hit so close to home. 

Although I am constantly trying be positive and happy and appreciate my body for all that it does, I do occasionally hit some mental roadblocks. And right now, I am stuck at one. (This is one of the reasons I started my memory jar. I wanted to be able to remind myself of all the good and the happy that does happen to me everyday.)  I work out all the time and feel great after. It's true what they say about endorphins. Then I look in the mirror at my never changing body, want to cry (and sometimes do),  and get so self-conscious that people think "Why is she still so big if she exercises that much?" Or "She must eat so much when she's alone if she isn't thinner than this with all the working out." Ahhhh.   

Also, the fact that the one guy I actually really like (like a lot, and have to see every day) isn't interested back doesn't hurt my cause and only makes me think "if only I were thinner..." It's a terrible thing to think, but once again, it is my reality. And I think what makes the matter even worse is that 1) I let a man affect the way I feel about myself (I'm so much better than that. This I know!) 2) I get frustrated for thinking these things which only snowballs the negative feelings. I don't want anyone but me controlling my feelings and yet I can't help it. I often take one step forward and two steps back. It's not a good scene inside my little head.

So anyway, as I previously stated, the author of this specific Thought Catalog article remains anonymous and maybe its because of the personal nature of this article but I just had to share it in full because I've been trying to get out a lot of these words lately, but couldn't really articulate it well enough. What I wrote above was embarrassing and difficult, but also kind of therapuetic. As I sit here with tears running down my face, I can't help but be ashamed of all that I feel regarding this issue, but it is reassuring that there is someone else out there also feels my pain. So to the anonymous writer, I do thank you for making me feel not so alone in this matter.

Here is the article in it entirety.

You are Worth More Than You Weigh, But Not Me

I hate that every time I’m on the treadmill my thoughts are flooded with “5 more minutes and you’ll be skinny; 5 more minutes and maybe boys will look at you at the bar.” I should be running for me. Every time my foot pounds on the seemingly never-ending platform I view it as one step closer for me to achieve beauty. Instead of a step towards health I am working to achieve acceptance.

I hate that I’m supposed to be an advocate for positive body image and I can’t look at my naked body in the mirror. Why would NEDA hire an intern to evoke the idea that everyone is beautiful when she can’t even love herself. I talk up everyone around me: “eat that cupcake, you don’t need outside approval, who you are as a person is important,” yet every time I look down I grab my stomach rolls in disgust.

I hate that I don’t understand how to love myself. I don’t know how to be happy about who I am. I want to look at myself beyond my not-so-flat stomach and thighs that seem closer than I am with my family. Why do I seek so much outside approval?

My body isn’t everything – in fact it isn’t anything. It is a vessel I use to achieve my goals. My love handles do not define me. And as acutely aware as I am of this fact I cannot help but cry when I look down from that hideous angle in the shower. The frustration I feel when getting ready to go out never fails to dampen my mood.

Knowing and feeling are completely unrelated emotions. I know I am more than my body and yet I feel as if a perfecting it is the answer to all of my problems. Rational thought, as prevalent as it may be in my head, cannot hold a candle to the prison of my self-hatred.

And as the media attempts to rectify my feelings it has so often toiled with, telling me that I’m worth more than I look, it does not do much to my self-esteem when I am at a bar surrounded by men who do not give me a second look. It doesn’t do much to see “real” models in a magazine when I can barely button my jeans.

But I will slap on a smile, feed the words I myself cannot absorb to my fragile friends, and continue on in my path to bring light to the darkness of others.