April: If Your Body Feels Like Prison

Have you ever felt trapped in your own body? I know I have. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I feel like a prisoner inside of myself more often than not. Especially since a slew of health issues that have continued to unravel for me since October I could only describe my declining health as feeling like I’m being held hostage. Honestly, I try not to feel sorry for myself but it would be a huge lie if I said I didn’t feel victimized by my own body for the last 6 months of my life more than ever. There have been weeks on end when I cursed my “faulty” genetics and then cursed people who seemed to have been blessed with “lucky” genetics. While I was doing everything right, or so I thought, there they were drinking themselves into a comma and eating fast food every day yet they had a flat stomach and perfectly clear, glowing skin. Meanwhile, here I was working out for 2 hours a day and hating my life on the keto diet yet I was gaining a pound a day. I felt like my body was playing a joke on me and I couldn’t figure out how to undo it. All I knew was that I was fed up and tired of my body betraying me. I was ready to call it quits and give up on her, she was the worst home anybody could’ve chosen to live in and I wanted to move out ASAP.

It’s October 3rd but instead of watching Mean Girls, I’m on my way to get a bilateral blepharoplasty. For the full story of this, you can refer to this blog post HERE. After a lifetime of hating my physical appearance, I decided to spend 3,500$ of my grandmother's will to get surgery which my body dysmorphia convinced me would solve all of my problems. The issue was not my crippling low self-esteem but rather, my uneven eyelids, I told myself. If only I could make my face perfect, no man in his right mind would ever reject me again, or so I thought. And so I go under the knife, only for my life to unsuspectingly change and not for the better. In a matter of two weeks, my health began deteriorating and I found myself spending every day at another doctor, in a different office, and eventually hospital, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. By the grace of God, I made it to Spain on November 19th even though I had to cancel and change all of my prior travel plans to get there. I was partially paralyzed for a month, spending my days crippled in bed, but at least I had symmetrical eyelids now, right? 

I was diagnosed with the autoimmune disease interstitial cystitis and chronic inflammation which the neurologist said would eventually dissipate. He told me I would be able to go back to feeling like my regular self and continue to live my life. Despite this freak accident, I was hopeful that things would get better. After 2 months, I went off to Italy for Christmas and I began to remember for a split second what it felt like to be “normal” again. Or so I thought…

I returned home from Rome and had the realization that I had gained a few pounds since coming to Europe from America so I figured I could be a lot hotter AKA skinnier. Mind you, when I left for Spain in November I had lost close to 10 pounds because I was so malnourished from being unable to eat. Nonetheless, I had recently begun talking to a new potential partner I met on an online dating app and the thought of being naked in front of someone scared me shitless. This is mostly due to the fact that the last time I had been intimate with someone 7 months earlier, they turned away from me in disgust and made it clear they were revolted by my fat rolls and cellulite. The prospect of having sex with somebody and reexperiencing this insanely painful and traumatizing rejection again was my worst fear come true. Being triggered by this thought led me to fixate on the one thing I have always turned to when I feel helpless, and that’s aiming to manage my weight. And so even though I was in Barcelona and trying to live my best life by enjoying the paella and gazpacho, I figured the only thing I could do was to start to restrict my diet. I proceeded to turn down social engagements and dinners with my friends while instead I ate my salad and hated my life, wishing I could enjoy some patatas bravas instead and just be like everyone else. I blamed my sluggish metabolism and not the utter lack of carbohydrates for stealing my joy. After about 2 weeks or so, I was shocked when my pants started to not fit, and no, they weren’t getting bigger but actually started to get tighter. My skirts were getting smaller and smaller while my waist grew bigger and bigger. I couldn’t figure it out because I had tortured myself for 14 days, intermittent fasting, drinking coffee in place of meals, and joining an insanely expensive Pilates studio where I went twice a day for Ariel classes.

There comes a point when you’ve endured a lifetime of yoyo dieting that you revolt. You get so sick of saying no to yourself that you instinctually swing to the opposite end of the spectrum and start saying yes to EVERYTHING. So what did I do? I started rebelling against the self-inflicted punishment by eating virtually everything I could get my hands on. I was RAVENOUS all the time. I’ve never felt so hungry in my life. I would eat and then thirty minutes later feel a throbbing in my stomach desperate for more. I was an insatiable, bottomless pit. I found myself consuming as much as I could as if I were in a hot dog eating contest. I had fallen back into the binge eating cycle and it broke my heart since I hadn’t had an episode in years. I thought it was over, I thought I healed it; I thought compulsive overeating wasn’t something I struggled with anymore. I felt like a failure and disappointment. I felt out of control with my body, my food, and worst, my life. 

By the end of January, I started spiraling into a depression. I watched my worst fears come to fruition, despising my reflection more with each passing day. Even worse, I began getting involved with someone. Why was that bad? Because when we spent time together, he would touch or look at my body. It’s a weird thing, wanting to be seen but simultaneously, being so ashamed of yourself that you wish to be invisible. Would he still want me if he knew what was hiding under my clothes? I felt comfort in knowing it was winter and my puffy jacket could conceal me (for now) but I knew there would come a time when that excuse no longer cut it. I felt humiliated to take up space. I wanted to disappear. I didn’t want to exist anymore. My body was hideous. I was an embarrassment. I didn’t deserve to be alive. Without beauty, my life had no meaning. These thoughts consumed my mind day and night. It got dark, really quickly. Luckily, I have enough insight to know when I’m losing my shit, so I decided to enroll myself in an eating disorder support group and get back to weekly therapy in an attempt to keep myself afloat.

On February 1st I slept with the guy I was dating and surprisingly, I didn’t feel as self-conscious as I imagined. Conversely, this dude made me feel like a goddess. I felt safe, I felt special, I felt the way a girl should. But then I left for Madrid… Things took a turn when he ghosted me for nearly all of February. Once again, I was drowning in self-hatred. I blamed myself for our demise. If I was smaller, he would be nicer. If I was prettier, he would've chosen me. If only I was different, if only I wasn’t me I’d be married by now. Nobody loves me, I’m inherently unwanted, damaged, too flawed to be happy. I was defeated and heartbroken, once again. Without him, with no friends or family, I was alone. I couldn’t deal with the stress anymore. Overwhelmed and sleep-deprived, I bought a ticket to NY.

One of the good things that came out of Madrid was being able to focus on myself. On the bright side, I stopped emotional eating, even though my emotions were more dysregulated than ever. For the past 5 weeks, my sole focus has been healing. My only job was getting better and self-care. I went to the doctor who diagnosed me with PCOS which made me happy that the sporadic weight gain wasn’t my fault. It made me feel valid there was an explanation and wasn’t because I was a pig with zero self-control. He recommended I jump on 3 different medications since apparently “there is no cure” and I just need to deal for the rest of my life. Being the spiritual junkie that I am, energetically, it didn’t sit right with me because I trust everything is fixable. My logic is that if it finds a way in, it can find a way out. But I won’t lie, I was and still am tempted to take the pills because I know it’ll be a quick bandaid to the discomfort and unpleasantness of being 30 pounds overweight. I know with the medicine I can easily lose weight in a matter of weeks versus taking the long, slow, hard route of healing naturally to undo 29 years' worth of abusing my body. But I am aware taking what he prescribed will not reverse the damage and cause even more problems. It may be a temporary solution but it’s not getting to the root core of the issue. 

Now I’m at a crossroads of what is the best decision moving forward. Do I prioritize my physical or mental health? Is there a balanced resolution for both? If I remain overweight, my mental health with suffer. If I go on Ozempic, my physical health will take a hit. I’m trying to sit with my decision and allow my intuition to guide me on this one. I tend to be quite impulsive and do not consider the long-term consequences of decisions. I realize that part of me is programmed to desire to look a certain way because of societal conditioning. If women didn’t feel the pressure of the male gaze none of us would get Botox/filler or plastic surgery. Bodily insecurities wouldn’t exist or they would (at the very least) be a lot less prominent. Do I want to be thin because it’s what I truly crave? Or is it because part of me is convinced that’s the only way men will like me? Is being beautiful that important? Can I approve where my body is at right now and be gentle with her? Will I offer her unconditional positive regard and patience? 

Whether you are suffering from a medical condition, dealing with chronic pain, a psychiatric illness, miscarriage, or anything else, perhaps you can relate to feeling out of control in your body, like it’s not on board with your heart's deepest, purest desires. Maybe you feel your body is working against you like it’s a war versus yourself. Perhaps you cannot trust her to take care of you. You resent her, you’re upset and frustrated because you don’t see your effort and hard work paying off. You ask, why are you doing this to me? The relationship with my body has taken its toll, so while I don’t have the answer, I do believe in the body’s resilience, I have faith in its intelligence. Your body will do whatever it needs to keep you alive. It fights for you until your very last breath. Your body forgives you every day even when you do things that put it in danger or harm. It is your best friend, it stays by your side no matter what. All it wants is homeostasis. Your body is not the enemy, it is your companion. Ceasefire. Allow it to do its job. If you support her, she will feel that loving gratitude and reward you in return. I’m not suggesting it’ll be perfect or everything will go your way but I am suggesting the battle is not in your body, it’s how you perceive it. Switch your perception. Stop fighting against yourself. Choose peace. Set yourself free from the confines of your mind. Only you have the key to escape. Your body will be thankful you did.