Wellbeing

an apology to my body

*Trigger Warning: content contains themes concerning disordered eating

i stare at you in the mirror and
my fingers creep down your edges
what once were curved like 
rolling hills on the skyline are now 
flat like razed earth and hard in places 
i hadn’t felt before 

i don’t know when you started shrinking 
it happened so rapidly last year but
somehow i didn’t see it til 
i came across a picture taken 5 months prior

I would say that when it comes to life advice, I am an expert in a few categories. I can recommend a really good fake tanner that isn’t streaky and lasts a long time. I can tell you where to get the best turkey and avocado sandwich in the United States (the Texas Wave at Hester’s Cafe in Corpus Christi, TX). I can also let you know that Birkenstocks don’t look good on anybody, and that is not an opinion, that is an established fact.

The hypochondria comes at night. Always at night.           

She slithers in through the window along with the breeze. The air that was once fresh becomes rancid and noxious. Fumes of anxiety and self-doubt twist and hang in the air. “You should Google your symptoms,” she whispers, her voice soft and soothing. “It will help.” She strokes my arm lovingly and curls against my chest.

On a crisp, sunshine-and-laughter kind of day, I break up with my boyfriend.

A deep pit in my stomach. I checked the time on my phone every fifteen seconds, waiting for the perfect time. The perfect time to ignore down the rapid beating of my heart and the sweat that began to form under my arms; the perfect time to decide, “fight or flight?”. I picked “fight” every time, because I had no other choice.

I convinced myself I had no other choice.

My body wasn't always my worst enemy. Growing up, I didn't love my body, but I also didn't hate it. I was learning to understand it, as much as a young teenager can try to understand her body. In seventh grade, I started getting my period, and things were as they should be. My body was doing what it was supposed to be doing.

At some point, things changed.

My first year at the University of Virginia was absolute shit. And that’s not an exaggeration. For every second of every day, I literally wished I was anywhere else but here.

Each year in May, the Women’s Center gathers its graduating interns to thank them for the impact they’ve had on the UVA community. As they look back on their experiences working with the center, they offer some terrific insights that we at Iris want to share with you. 

 The other day I heard a woman, a law school graduate with a really awesome job and absolutely no reason to think her life is boring whatsoever, describe college as “the best four years of your life.” This statement was distressing for multiple reasons. While I have loved most of my time at this school and hope to look back on these four years as an incredibly formative part of my life, dear God please help us all if this is really the best it’s going to be.