Casey F.
Photography by Ben Curry
If you're reading this, your body does not determine your worth.
I cannot recall exactly when my thoughts about my body emerged. Maybe it was around the time I realized I wasn’t the center of the universe, that I am just one of billions of organisms floating through time. Or maybe it was when I recognized the diversity among my classmates. Or maybe it was when I started playing sports and the purpose of moving my body was to compete, rather than running goofily around the playground and swinging from the monkey bars at recess just to have fun. Regardless of when it first began, the pernicious thoughts about my body have only intensified. They gained power around age eleven, when puberty hit me like a truck. I started to scrutinize my drastically changing body and compare myself to others. I discovered the parts of me that appeared bigger or looked different and began to pick them apart.
The mandatory fitness gram test in middle school played a significant role in worsening my body dysmorphia and insecurities. For those who are unfamiliar with the fitness gram test, it determines your “health” based on a series of strength and endurance tests, as well as the BMI scale. Every year I would receive a score summary of “overweight; needs improvement.” How could this be? I was playing sports every season of the school year, performed above average on all aspects of the fitness tests, and ate my vegetables. I was already feeling so much discomfort and anxiety about my body, which at the time, was still growing and changing. I hated my big, strong thighs, which remain as one of my biggest insecurities. I was angry at my gym teachers for handing me a piece of paper every year that said I was overweight and unhealthy. In retrospect, it wasn’t my gym teachers fault for any of this, but rather the system that prioritized thinness over health. Likewise, I know now that the BMI calculator and fitness gram tests are absolute bullshit. They are supposedly assessing an individual's health and helping students become more active, but they fail to take into consideration many important factors that contribute to a person’s wellbeing. Ultimately, they are damaging to everyone, especially those who are predisposed to disordered eating, and can exacerbate negative self-image.
I could go on to express my anger towards unrealistic beauty standards that our capitalistic society thrives off of, and stupid health tests that have aggravated my eating disorder. But instead of writing about how fucked up diet culture is, I am here to share part of my mental health journey in the hope that it will be read by those who have or are currently struggling with their body image; disordered eating can manifest itself in a myriad of ways, regardless of an official diagnosis.
Thoughts about food and my body became most destructive during my freshman year of highschool. I was constantly thinking about food. I would wake up anxious about what I was going to eat that day, dreading going to the cafeteria for lunch. A few of my close friends (who were fighting their own battles with body image) and I would constantly talk about how ugly and fat we felt. Looking back, we were feeding each other’s eating disorders. At the time, it was comforting. I thought it was normal to constantly talk and think about my body, food, and how much I hated myself. In hindsight, I do think a part of me knew that this was unhealthy thinking, but I couldn’t escape it.
The thinking, as one would assume, turned into an eating and exercise disorder. My Fitness Pal became my most used app. If I hadn’t worked out and maintained a caloric deficit for that day, I would have failed. I fell into a painful cycle of restriction, binging, and purging. My eating disorder became all-consuming, and my body and brain were at war. I was exhausted, anxious, depressed, irritable, and struggling to perform simple tasks. I was sick, even if I didn’t appear that way on the outside. A major reason I was in denial for so long was because I never looked sick, and I thought that only people who were skinny could have an eating disorder. I feared that if I told people, they wouldn’t think my eating disorder was valid because my body wasn’t small enough. I know now that my perception was false, and that size is not a fair indicator. Regardless of how big or small your body is, your eating disorder is valid.
I finally came to acknowledge that I had an eating disorder after my functionality decreased to a frightening degree, along with many interventions from my best friend. The immediate and fleeting gratification that came with a successful day of restricting could no longer overpower the unhappiness and exhaustion I felt. After admitting I was sick, it still took me about a year to take the next step in getting help. I didn’t think my struggles were valid, and I thought (and still sometimes think) that getting help means getting bigger. At this point in my path to recovery, prioritizing my happiness and mental health feels most important to me, even if it is accompanied by weight gain. The reality is, our worth is not determined by a number on a scale, the size and shape of our bodies, or other people’s validation. We are so much more than our bodies. This is much easier said than done. I don't think I will ever be completely freed from my eating disorder, but I am determined to minimize the power of my harmful thoughts and the degree to which my appearance controls how I live my life.
My journey towards self acceptance is nowhere near over. As I was having my headshots taken for this letter, I was overcome with uneasiness as I knew I would hate all of the photos. Quite ironic isn't it, considering that I am writing about acceptance and my efforts to lessen the power that my self-degrading thoughts hold. The immense anxiety that emerged when seeing photos of myself shows me how much more healing I have to do towards my journey to self acceptance, and hopefully, eventually self love. A photo may seem so minuscule and trivial to someone else, but it wasn’t for me. I was even debating attaching a photo of myself to this letter as I didn’t feel beautiful enough in any of them. But I knew that would allow my negative thoughts to win. If you have ever looked at a photo of yourself with anguish and disgust, this is your reminder that you are not alone in that feeling; other people are nowhere near as critical of you as you are of yourself, and we are all imperfect humans who are taught to think that perfection exists.
It has taken a lot of time and reflection to be able to share about my eating disorder and struggles with self image, but I feel thankful and proud of myself to be able to do so. Being vulnerable about my battle with food and body image has brought me closer to many of the people in my life. It hasn’t been easy, but it is worth it. Confiding in others about my mental health has created a space for my friends to do the same. I encourage you to open up to people about how you feel, because vulnerability is what brings humans closer together. You may discover that another person, maybe even someone you least expect, is also struggling. Loneliness is an inevitable part of the human experience, but being alone doesn’t have to be. You do not have to struggle alone, your feelings and experiences are valid, and your body does not determine your worth as a human being.
Casey F., Colorado College ‘23
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