body dysmorphia

Working Out to Feed My Mind

When we moved into our house nearly four years ago, I told my husband I needed a treadmill and some weights so that I can create my own “gym” in one of the extra rooms in the basement. I didn’t want to pay for a gym membership as I knew working out at home would be easier for me, especially with a kid. I also know me and leaving the house to go to the gym can be a mission.

Soon after we moved in, we set up my own “gym” in the basement. I say “my” because I use it 98% more than my husband does.

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No, I Don’t Need To Put More Meat On My Bones

As someone who has lived most of my life with body image issues, I’ve had a great few months living with a broken scale and not worrying too much about how much I’m working out and what I’m eating. Instead of working out four or five times a week, I’ve been okay with working out once or twice a week. Instead of swearing off take out and junk food, I’ve allowed myself a little more leeway.

Until today. Because today is the day that things changed. Today is the day that, since 8:45am, I’ve done nothing but think about how much I want to work out and what food I can have. Today is the day that I heard my first comment related to my body in a long time. Today is the day that a woman at work told me I should put some meat on my bones if I want to stay warm in this frigid weather, and thanks to that comment, I’ve done nothing but think about how I look and if I’m truly satisfied with my body. Today is the day that I took the dead battery out of my scale and put it on the table to remind myself to get a new one so that I can check my weight.

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My Battle with Body Dysmorphia

Weight has been an issue I have carried with me since I was in elementary school. My first memory of body dissatisfaction was in grade three. My class was doing an activity and we were all asked to all weigh ourselves. There was more to the activity and it had nothing to do with our weight per se, but weighing ourselves was a part of it. I was in line and saw the weight of the girl in front of me. I can’t remember the number, but I remember the feeling I had after I stepped on the scale and saw that my number was bigger. As a child who was eight or nine at the time, I had my first “I’m fat” moment. I have a hard time recalling where that thought would have come from because I have no recollection of ever being told I was overweight.

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