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I am a survivor.
That phrase is so surreal to me, considering that every day in every moment I am still trying, striving to survive. I have had numerous therapists, with numerous appointments, and a lot of work has been done. And yet I continue to struggle with one very important thing. My relationship with my body.
The abuses upon my body began so early that sexual assault was intimacy, affection and love. I was so far removed from any kind of connection to my body that I developed all kinds of illnesses, including an eating disorder. I had regular panic attacks that would end in my vomiting, and sometimes even fainting. Outside of blaming myself for my abuse, I never had the thought that there was something wrong with my body until middle school.
I remember at this point in my life I had been in foster care for over a year, I had been separated from my brothers, thrown on antidepressants, and was in yet another abusive home. My puberty had begun and hormones began to rage through my body. I went from having a slender, fast and strong body to a swollen, cumbersome and slow body that got too hot too fast. Running made me vomit, and I gained weight.
I remember vividly overhearing another girl talking to her friends, bragging about her size like she owned the newest iphone. "I'm a size zero!" she snidely announced to everyone, who of course acted like she had attained some amazing feat. Girls started to make fun of me in the locker room before P.E., calling me a whale and a fat pig. I loved food, but didn't want to be fat, and I developed bulimia nervosa.
(Ages 6, 11, 13, 16)
My body went from child to woman from 10-13.
Looking at these photos it's so surreal to me, that the belief I was morbidly obese had a grip so tight that there was no room for any other reality. It was all I could see in the mirror, and so many people around me re-enforced that message. If everyone around you tells you the same thing, how can you believe anything different? I was told to diet, join sports, get more exercise etc. Around the same time as the bottom photo, my Dad was so "concerned" for my weight that he began making me go on bike rides with him to make me lose weight. I was already walking more than a couple of miles to school and home everyday, doing PE classes, and walking all over town to go to work or visit with my friends. If everyone around you tells you the same thing, how can you believe anything different?
By the time I was 18 I was doing weight lifting, but I also drastically reduced my food intake (but still mostly ate junk), took speeders, started smoking, drinking, and I had begun to be very sexually promiscuous. During the next couple of years I experienced homelessness more than once, having sex with anyone that would touch me. I put on a bad bitch persona and totally numbed out. I just needed to survive, and to be honest, anytime anyone loved me during this time, it made me so uncomfortable that I rejected them instantly. I couldn't allow love. It was too vulnerable, and settling into that feeling made me hurt in so many ways. So I continued to self abuse. I didn't give a shit about myself until I became pregnant with my first child.
I had to change. I knew I had to, but didn't know how or who to turn to. With no real support system during my pregnancy I experienced issues. How can you grow another life, and have a healthy pregnancy so dissociated? I did the best I could at the time with the resources that I had, and yet I have so many regrets that still haunt me.
I found out I was pregnant at 20 years old. I have been on this journey of healing ever since, and with time and practice I continue to get better at connecting to and loving my body. But I have had so many ups and downs, weight gains, weight losses etc. The past 10 years of my life having been the most intense, and the last 2 years being the most dedicated. But at 42 years old, I am once again fixing my diet, setting reminders to take my vitamins, trying to prioritize drinking water etc.
I have combatted abuse, trauma, body dysmorphia, eating disorders and addictions.
I am still on this journey of a million moments, remembering to breath, center, allow, release, heal, and celebrate in love. I now allow myself expression however I need; be it dancing, creating art, having a scream, or just listening to music as I lay in full observation and awareness of my body. That last part is actually my favorite. I have met and fallen in love with so much of me doing that, especially the child within who needs so much tenderness and love. Often times I find there is another layer of sadness that needs to be held fully and acknowledged in order to be released. But on the other side of pain, love is waiting, and that love is sweet, full and constant, and I can never be denied it again.