Dwelling On The Past

Yesterday I caught myself scrolling through my personal Instagram looking at old photos of myself prior to recovery, wishing I looked like that again. I found self pining for that size 4/ 6 body, that thigh gap, those stick-like arms, that flat stomach. That body in which I wouldn’t have to worry about squeezing into clothes, or whether an outfit wouldn’t be flattering because it would show my tummy or accentuate my legs. At that point I was confident in my body, but the fear of weight gain ruled my life. I was miserable to put it simply. I was in a low, lonely place, where each day was a struggle and there seemed to be no light at the end of the tunnel. I had no ambition, all I could focus on was getting through each day.

I’m never going back there.

As soon as I realised how deranged my thinking was, I stopped and reassessed. Does being skinny make you a better person? No. Does being skinny make you more worthy of love and respect? No. Does starving yourself allow you to enjoy life? No. Does starving yourself make you an isolated person with no energy to do anything? Yes. Does starving yourself make your brain shut down to the extent that you can’t think straight? Yes.

I’m never going back there.

There are days when my body feels like it’s taking up a lot of space. I’m bigger than a lot of people I know now, and it’s been hard adjusting to the fact that I’m no longer the smallest person in the room, but my God has recovery been worth it. I’ve come to terms with my new, or should I say my real body, and so I was surprised to find myself trawling through old photos. But thinking back to that time has also reinforced my determination to continue to look after myself and live life to the full. I want to continue honouring the body I destroyed for so many years, the naturally curvy body that I was born with. This is me. No apologies.