This a message to all the people that felt free to comment my looks today. This is the kind of situations I have to stand every single day.
To that grumpy grandpa that refused to move from the way when I was trying to find mine with the bike and pushed. Your hurt me, my body and my esteem. My scar will remind me how impolite people like you are. My scar will remind me your mockery just because I believe that a kid like me can get in the way of a noble person like you, even when you are not in the pathway. You don’t have the right to push me until I fall, nor to yell and humiliate me in the street…
To my mate B. in the Farmer’s Market that thought I shouldn’t even dare being a swimming instructor, a swimming referees or a professor in the future because my student will never take me seriously. Because I look like his little cousin and a stupid ignorant kid that no one should listen to. Because I can’t help anyone and no one could learn anything from me. According to you, I shouldn’t even try because I am deemed to fail. You too hurt me. I don’t want to learn from you… Where you angry with me, after I could help M., our other mate in the market, and you failed? Something so simple as opening a jar hurt your ego, and you needed revenge humiliating me? You couldn’t open the jar with your muscled arms. I opened it within 3 minutes, just using my tools and resources. My strength didn’t help, because indeed, there is nothing strong in my deprived body.
To that woman that I asked me how I am and just replied with a nervous laugh after I told her my age…
Thank you all that make me feel even smaller than I am. Because I see how much bigger my heart is.
I can’t change your comments or your thoughts, but I can change how they affect me. Your lack of compassion and tolerance don’t deserve a second of worries.
My self-criticism is enough, I don’t need to handle with your comments about my body and my appearance too.
My struggles to eat are enough, I don’t need your comments about how thin I am and my luck of not getting fat eating that icecream I was trying to savour.
My obsession for calorie counting is enough, I don’t you to remind me how many there are in each bite I bring to my mouth or in each bite you refuse to take because you are on a very important diet.
I wish I could take a breath or jump up and down and shout to the world: “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I don’t care about your judgements. I have an eating disorder. I will do whatever it takes to recover, and I don’t care who knows it!”.
But how can I expect the others to understand? I still feel hideous too often for who I am, how I look, what I do. I still beat myself sometimes for having anorexia, for doubting about recovery, for losing faith.
The only way of overcoming all this, is not caring about it. Letting their comments go, like I do with my negative thoughts.
By noticing how painful your comments are, I become aware of how harsh I am to myself. I know now that I have to focus on being self-compassionate, and on accepting me how I am and loving who I am.
I am grateful to some of those voices outside my head reminding me to stay positive when the one within feels lost.
To those other voices, I can show you that I can be loved and deserve love and respect, because even us, cadaveric sufferers, are Humans. We need your help to preserve our dignity and cultivate self-love, and not your hand to push us to our tombs, even if we have been preparing for years.
I am tired, I am very tired. If that is all you can say, please let me alone. I can bury myself, but I don’t need cheerleaders for doing so.
I never asked your opinions, I never asked to have anorexia, I never asked to be born small.
This is me.
I am learning to nurture this person and grow as a delicate beautiful woman just as I am. No more, no less. Just me.
“You are responsible for making yourself happy for the rest of your life.” – Sonya Teclai