Unexpected Visitors
March 7th, 2012
Dear Body,
I think we need to have a serious talk because apparently we are not on the same page or, for that matter, on the same chapter...
I put on my hot pink Sugarlips tank top, ready to take on the day, until I was greeted by a relatively unrecognizable reflection of myself in the mirror. Let's just say my tank top was doing an insufficient job of hiding what laid underneath and no nylon bando was going to fix the problem.
It was later that week, on one of our many Tj Maxx trips, that mom told me it was time to invest in a real bra. I picked out a couple: a white one covered in multi-colored hearts and a solid baby blue one that appeared to be sophisticated. Little did I know that my mother also expected me to come up to the cash register with her so that I was witness to the purchasing of my first big-girl bras. An unbearably embarassing encounter that inevitably left me red-faced in front of the cashier.
Now, not only am I taller than most girls (and boys) in my grade, but I have these alien creatures attached to my body that will not stop growing. My friend, Julianna, even made a comment accusing me of being a C-cup, which is so not true.
Oh, but Body, that is not all. You see, when I was changing the other day, I was suddenly filled with so much confusion and alarm. If we are being honest, I truly thought I pooped my pants at the age of 12. After confessing to mom, she cleared up that I had not in fact pooped my pants but was having my first period. If I am not mistaken, I think she even congragulated me?
Body, this month has revealed a lot to me. You see, it seems I was previously unaware of your generosity and love for gift giving... it is like Christmas came early. Yet, as appreciative as I am, I would really like to return all my newly opened presents before more people begin to notice.
Yours Truly,
Molly
Post-Puberty Revelation
September 10th, 2015
Dear Body,
I suppose you could say it has been some time since I last wrote to you, so I figured I would give you a bit of an update. Ironically enough, I am no longer the tall, newly puberty-stricken 12 year old girl I complained to you about long ago. I may have sprouted before everyone else, but I also stopped before everyone else. At a whopping 5’ 2,” I rank low on the height scale. In fact, I rank low on most scales: my boobs never did grow to be a C-cup, I wear a size zero jean, and my mother has put me on birth control for the sole purpose of reawakening my menstrual cycle. As you can see, the problem I confronted you with in my previous letter seems to have been replaced by a different one, leaving you and I in quite a dilemma once again.
In the past, you remained relatively irrelevant, aside from the fact that I required you to be me: you are my legs for walking, my hands for holding, my mouth for breathing. I used to shove you full with carbs and cakes and ice cream without a second thought. I used to put you into a pair of pants and not question whether they were tighter than the last time I wore them. It was fun. It was fun when you were irrelevant to me. When food was just food, not calories or fats. When weight was something only the doctor cared about at annual checkups. When you and I coincided peacefully.
Now, you take up so many of my thoughts and so much of my time. You have gone from irrelevant to all encompassing. I sometimes forget that I require you to be me. Instead, I believe I require you to define me: you are my chubby legs, my flabby arms, my bloated stomach. You may be a necessity but that does not matter if you are flawed, if you are fat, if you are undesirable. When did our relationship change from life being easier because of you to you making life so much more difficult for me?
Yours Truly,
Molly
Constant Confusion
August 2nd, 2016
Dear Body,
When I was younger, I did not understand Erika. To me, my oldest sister was beautiful and smart and kind, but she struggled regardless. I may have been ten years younger than she was and oblivious to so much of life’s difficulties, but I was observant. I knew there had to be reasons she and mom would argue sometimes. I knew mom worried and so, Erika was sent to see therapists, nutritionists, psychiatrists. Anyone that could help because mom felt she could not. My mother, the person who fixed all, was incapable of fixing this. I guess simply because she did not understand why her eldest daughter could not see herself as she saw her. She could not understand how Erika could struggle with an eating disorder when she was already perfect.
I did not understand either. My sister’s problem was a foreign concept to my prepubescent self. She replaced bread with lettuce, pasta with vegetables, and avoided desserts altogether. It was craziness: what was a slice of pizza or a piece of cake going to do? Aside from being delicious, they were relatively harmless. Nonetheless, my sister’s self-control was unwavering. Her food limitations strengthened and as her portion sizes dwindled, so did she.
I could not tell you when things began to change but at some point, my sister’s habits started to become less and less absurd to me. Years later, I find that I am incapable of understanding how people indulge in carb after carb and dessert after dessert. I have replaced bread with lettuce and pasta with vegetables. It seems that my plate has become identical to that of my sister, while my eating habits mirror her own and my many insecurities replicate those that I confusingly watched her battle with so many years ago.
I understand now. I understand the inability to see myself as others do and the incapacity to rationalize the harmlessness of consuming a slice of pizza or a piece of cake. What I do not understand is how this came to be? I used to stand with my mother, unable to comprehend the problems of my sister. Now, I simply cannot fathom the confusion my mother faced. The confusion I faced. The confusion I wish I still faced…
Yours Truly,
Molly
A Formal Apology
February 18th, 2017
Dear Body,
I know you are often angry with me. I can tell by the sounds that my stomach makes after hours of trying not to eat and the exhaustion my legs face after three consecutive days of exercise. If only I saw the same version of myself every time I looked in the mirror. Instead, I look at my reflection in the evening and find that I have gained what looks like ten pounds since when I looked in the morning. I convince myself that you have grown in just a few hours time: my thigh gap is no longer noticeable, my stomach looks impregnated, and my collar bones appear to be protruding a little bit less. Of course, I make sure to check in at least three mirrors before coming to a final consensus, which is sometimes followed by a semi-fashion show to be sure my clothing fits the same (more often than not, things feel tighter).
I try not to follow models or actresses on Instagram like so many of my friends do but there come times that I find myself scrolling through Kendall Jenner's profile. I end up exiting out of the app many minutes later with an exceptional knowledge of the model’s life and an even worse opinion of myself. It is so simple to compare you to others, Body, and so impossible to accept you; the more and more comparison there is, the harder and harder it becomes to accept.
I do understand why you may be upset with me: why you are tired so much of the time and hungry almost all of the time. I suppose imposing diets, workout regimens, and high standards upon you is my way of trying to fix you. For that, I apologize.
Yours Truly,
Molly
P.S.
We really do need to work on containing our hangriness... I think it is often being misconstrued.
Putting things into Perspective
October 4th, 2018
Dear Body,
Not long after I last wrote to you my world was flipped upside down. I was noticing that my mother was acting strange. She seemed detached, confused, distant. I told my father who insisted she was just “in a funk,” but I knew better. I spent most of my time with my mom: she was who I came home to after a long day of school, who I shopped with on weekends, who I told everything to. Simply put, she was my best friend. So, yes, I knew better and apparently I was not the only one.
When I told my sister, she reaffirmed my concerns. A few days later, a trip to the doctor, and a head scan proved that my mother was indeed not in a funk. Instead, she had a tumor pressing against her brain. A tumor that we were originally told was benign to only later be informed that the doctors were mistaken-- my mother’s tumor was very much malignant.
Months passed by. Months that included a surgery to remove the tumor, my oldest sister’s wedding, and the first rounds of chemo. Watching my mother undergo treatment was like watching the most depressing movie, one that you could not turn off. This was the woman who continuously tried to comprehend the problems I burdened her with. The woman who used to tell me she missed the old me, the one who would indulge in Carvel’s “Wednesday is Sundae” with her. The woman who continuously wanted me to appreciate all of you, Body, when so many people did not have the luxury to do so. I now watched this woman as her own body failed her. I watched as she lost her freedom, her independence, and her hope. She fought hard in what was a losing battle and on August 6th, 2018, my family lost its most beloved member.
I am sorry to write to you about something so depressing, but I know the loss of my best friend will take a toll on the both of us. We have lost our most valuable confidante and greatest supporter. However, if this past year has shown me anything, it is that I am capable of so much more than I have given myself credit for. So, Body, I am not saying this quarrel between us is over or that it will end anytime soon, but I know now that I have the power to keep fighting. Unfortunately, it took the most unimaginable event and the worst years of my life to regain some perspective.
Yours Truly,
Molly
Everything Happens for a Reason
November 11th, 2020
Dear Body,
I suppose we can both agree that I left on a bit of a distressing note. It has been some time since the passing of my mother and to say it has gotten easier would not necessarily be true. Rather, over two years later, I can say that it has become more bearable. Understandably so, I have yet to comprehend how the most horrible things can happen to the best people and I do not believe the frustration this causes me will dissipate anytime soon.
I had always believed that everything happens for a reason, that is, until my mother was diagnosed with a glioblastoma. The faith I had in this ideal wavered greatly and I cannot say that I have yet to regain it completely. However, sometimes, after the worst moments in life, the need to see the good in them is almost impossible to fight. As I had previously mention, the problems between you and I, Body, are not ones that are easily fixable, especially in today’s culture. Young women are surrounded by images of extremely thin models, actresses, and influencers, making it more and more difficult to avoid the idealistic body. Therefore, I cannot say I will ever fully overcome this internally external struggle, but when put into perspective, it has become a little less overpowering and a little more beatable.
Most of my greatest concerns going into freshman year of college revolved around the ideas of food and weight. The impending doom of the “Freshman Fifteen” was one I could not face. Yet, while adjusting to my new life, I realized that although these concerns would never truly leave me, I was a different person than before. I had fought a bigger battle and when looking for the good amongst all the bad, I discovered my strength. Corny, I know, but I could not just leave you with so much sadness.
I now am a sophomore, living in a sorority house with more than 50 other young girls. To an outsider, these girls can be grouped into superficial categories: tall, short, petite, lanky, curvy, thick, blonde, brunette, slim, fit, pretty. This is the issue our society faces, an issue everyone is subject to including myself. This categorizing may not be inaccurate but it is missing so much. I know that each of these girls is more than the color of her hair or the size of her jeans. She is funny, kind, smart, and insecure. It is these attributes that are hidden beneath the surface that society does not show. So, yes, it can be difficult to live in a sorority house where comparison is made exceptionally easy. I live with girls who may be prettier than I am, curvier than I am, taller than I am, and thinner than I am, but I also live with girls who are funny, kind, smart, and insecure just like I am. For me, the key is to be surrounded with those who allow me to see those qualities within myself. Those who help me to appreciate being me.
Yours Truly,
Molly