I've struggled with many things throughout my life. Some I'm not very proud of. But none the less, they have made me who I am today.
I'm just going to put this out there, I'm NOT a self image confident person. Not in the tiniest bit. And I know everyone at some point or another in their lives, usually during teenage years, struggled with self-esteem issues. But mine go back much MUCH further than just at the start of being a teenager.
So we're gonna go through the years just to show you all reading how long I've been dealing with this.
As far back as 2nd grade I can remember HATING how I looked. My mom would tell me I "looked like a boy" because I had short hair. Also because I preferred to play and get dirty than sit around and play with barbies while being her personal dress up doll. I do remember though from then on, everytime I'd put on any shirt, I'd pull and pull until it stretched out enough to not cling to me. In second grade I did this. Normal? No. I still had baby fat because let's face it, at 7, you're still practically a baby.
Moving on to third grade, that's when my obsession with body fat began. Especially my back. Lord knows how many times I'd grab at my "back fat" at 8 years old. To be completely honest, I STILL do it. But now it's not imaginary. When I'd be around cousins, they'd be EXTREMELY confident in how they looked. Wore cute dresses or skirts. Meanwhile I was wearing loose clothes. Girly cargo pants and pretty plain t-shirts just to hide what I felt was unsightly body weight. When in all reality, I wasn't overweight in the slightest.
Fourth grade, I started getting boobs. Usually, girls are pretty happy about that. Not me though. Made me feel like I looked wider. Not to mention, it brought attention to me. Attention I desperately tried to get away from. Excersising during P.E? Forget it. Boobs have a tendency to move when you do, so I didn't want the extra looks.
Fifth grade and sixth grade are pretty much the same story. But as I mature physically, my confidence pretty much hit rock bottom.
In 7th grade is when the real issues began. My home life was a wreck. My dad and I were barely speaking. In fact, he told me he wasn't my dad anymore and that I should call him by his first name "Michael" from then on. I didn't have close friends to talk to. My mom and I's relationship? Practically didn't exist. So I turned to the only outlet I knew how to do at the time. Self harm. And I know that sounds so cliche. But honestly, I was doing it up until 9th grade. Damn near daily. Got to the point where all I could wear were jackets to cover it. Even in summer. Which was fine for me because jackets helped cover my body more. I remember one time I cut so deep , that the blood wouldn't stop. And in a way, it scared me. In another, it made me think that maybe it would be over soon.
Eighth grade comes and I start "starving" myself. I could go a couple days without eating. Little did i know, it only made things worse. But I didn't care. I could have a slice of bread and glass of water and be full. My parents didn't really notice. Which helped I suppose. I got to 110 lbs at 5'4. I was considered underweight. I could see my bones clearly at that point. And although I knew that in my brain, I STILL could only see the flaws in my appearance. The extra jiggle when I'd walk. My naturally wider hips. I was never diagnosed with anorexia. But maybe that's because nobody knew about it.
Ninth grade and the same story. Until I met Julius. He found out about the cutting, saw the cuts and the scars and told me to stop. He checked everyday to make sure I didn't do it anymore. And eventually I stopped. For the most part.
Tenth grade and I was still struggling with self image although not as severely. Then I got pregnant with Logan. And it came back. But I knew I had to eat. I had to stay healthy and gain weight. Not for me but for him.
Eleventh grade and here I am now. 9 years of mental self torture that manifested to self physical harm. To this day, I still look in the mirror and hate what I see. Especially now with the extra baby weight I'm gaining. Although I don't hate what's causing it. There are days when I see myself and just want to cut off every piece that isn't supposed to be there. I want to run for 20 miles just to make it go away. I want to eat nothing forever to help myself be flat. But I don't. And I won't.
I see now that the cutting didn't help. It left scars. Most have faded now, but there's a few that stick around. And I wonder if their purpose is to show me what I've been through. What I've put myself through. And what I've overcome. I still struggle with it. The urges are ALWAYS there. Especially when I'm feeling especially overwhelmed and stressed. Everything negative rushes to the front of my mind. Like demons that never leave.
Only time will tell if this newfound "strentgth" is here to stay. Until then, I'm just gonna keep pushing along.
Till next time,
~Ashley 💋
