Today at work I met a lady that called me beautiful.
I don’t know why this really hit me.
In the past, I’ve been called beautiful. But I never believed it.
When I was sick with the eating disorder, I thought I was huge. My freshman year of college, I began to run. A lot. I lost a lot of weight. Suddenly, I was a size four, maybe 110 or 115 pounds. My clothes hung off of my frame.
The stress of maintaining this ideal weight–this idea of beauty–felt like a thousand pounds. I ditched the scale around this time. The constant weighing brought me down (pun intended).
Then I moved to the northeast for a summer job and went to rehab. I gained a fair amount of weight really quickly, too quickly.
When I moved back home, I went to a rehab in my town. At this point, I was completely distressed and confused. I gained more. Since I decided not to weigh myself, I never really knew how much I gained, only that I went to a size 8.
Over the next two years, I became a size twelve/fourteen; still not weighing myself.
What I looked like in my mind and what I looked like in pictures were completely different. My body image improved when I was a size twelve, very much in fact. I met Glen. On our first date, he told my size twelve body that it was gorgeous. I thought I looked okay, but there were still times that I would look at pictures of myself and be completely shocked.
In the last 8 or so months, I’ve been able to focus on getting myself into better shape just being. I don’t count calories, I just eat what I want. I lift weights and run because I enjoy it. I do yoga because it makes me feel good. I rock climb because I love the thrill. The weight has slowly melted off, and I am at a comfortable size. I have no idea how much I weigh. I have a guesstimate, of course based on my clothing size, but that’s okay.
I feel so much better about myself than I did four years ago.
So when that lady said I was beautiful today, completely out of the blue, I kind of believed it.