Reclaiming Your Spark

There is no other time as special as when you are a child. There is an unspoken agreement between us all, as we look down at little kids whose faces never glow as brightly as they will in that time in their life. This sort of melancholy that spreads over us as we start to reminisce when we were just as luminous. We were untouched by any affliction that is the adult life. I like to think of the little girl with the impenetrable spark and a grin complimented by cute bucked teeth and choppy bangs. A girl at the time, who had no idea.

As a little girl, I was quite the goofball. My poor mom had to put up with the games I liked to play when we would go to the mall. I would tap my mom's shoulder and hurriedly disappear into a rack of clothes without making a peep. It would take her 30 minutes to find me. Every time the sky would cry with rain, I'd grab my mom's hand and excitedly ask if we could jump into a puddle. My mom would. On every birthday, I'd always go against my parent's wishes and scoop up a piece of the cake before we even sang "happy birthday", giggling away as I proudly thought I got away with it (they were literally behind me, why I thought I could get away with it, I don't know).

I like to remember that undamaged girl, before the world tried to tear her apart. The first crack in the glass appeared when I stepped foot into first grade. I believe there is something immanently within human beings that drive us to input ourselves into a hierarchal system, based on what I believe is our appearance. Extra points go to those who don't speak up for themselves. If you looked different, you were going to be at the bottom of the food chain. The first time I was treated differently was in the first grade. The prettiest girls would gather in a corner and laugh in a whisper, with their eyes glued on me. Even at the age of 7 years old, you have enough of a good intuition to know something is up.

I think everyone remembers the first time they are called fat. The word alone seems innocent, but when put into a sentence under such spiteful tone, you know they don't mean well. "She is so fat," I heard one girl say right behind me. When I got home that day, I sat down at the kitchen table that was filled with the scent of my favorite, blueberry french toast. "Mom, am I fat?" My mom's face changed completely. I had never seen her that upset until that moment. "Who told you that? Of course you are not." We spoke about what happened at school for a while, but no matter what she said to me, for some reason those four words pierced at the back of my head the rest of the week. I didn't eat the french toast.

There was no going back after that day. I was suddenly fully aware of a part of life, that only a day ago, I had no understanding of. Due to my own personal connection, I suddenly noticed all those words on magazines that were laid on my living room table. One that sticks out in my mind was one in large yellow letters that declared you can, Get a Beach Body in 30 Days! I remember looking into the mirror, paying close attention to the person across from me for the first time. I made a personal relationship with the mirror from then on. Watching commercials that played between my favorite television shows displayed videos of women before and after they lost weight. I remember feeling really small as I watched it.

As I started to get older, people only became crueler. I didn't look like everyone else. I was a shy Iranian girl, with bangs that fell into my eyes, and a body that didn't look like the one I saw on TV. Kids in my 6th grade class would say all sorts of things to me. "Hey there, Dora! Wow you look fat. Yeah, you're not pretty. You should really get surgery done on your eye bags." All the while smiling as they waited for my reaction. At home, my dad and grandmother started to tell me that I did not look good the way I was and had to lose weight. I'll never forget one night, when I heard screaming all the way from my room. At first, I thought nothing of it until I heard my dad say, "She has to lose weight. She does not look good. She has to lose weight . She needs to lose weight. " As he repeatedly yelled at my mom, with his voice filled with such rage, I cried into my pillow. Not only did everyone around me tell me I didn't look good as I was, but now it was my own father. Just about everyone around me told me the same thing and I started to believe them. That goofy girl started to fade away.

When you are a kid, everything seems like the end of the world. When you hear something enough, you will start to believe it. These cruel words will hit you as if a dagger had plummeted into your chest. You'll try to patch it up with stitches, but its reminder is still there interlaced in your skin. You can swallow the words deep within you (and I did), but what you don't realize is that when you do that, it doesn't disappear. It stays with you.

By the time I entered high school, I was a beaten up version of myself. I felt defeated and wholeheartedly believed all the things I was told all my life. Every day, how I felt about myself was at the forefront of my thoughts and just when I started to think about something else, people would love to remind me. Yes, I had become quite chubby, but not to the extreme that I was unhealthy and had to lose weight.

Every activity was something I dreaded doing. Whenever I was invited to a fancy party, my chest would tighten and my ears would get hot from the thought of trying on dresses with my mom at some pretentious brand store. I'll never forget the crude lady that wouldn't look me in the eyes when she told my mother no dress would look good for me (I mean, she definitely sucked at her job because I'm pretty sure you are supposed to get people to buy the clothes in your store).

By 16 years old, that spark was barely there. For the most part, my self esteem had plummeted to my feet. That was when I started to tell myself I didn't deserve to enjoy anything until I looked "skinny enough". Whenever I would go out, my outfits were consisted of jackets twice as big as me (think Adam Sandler-esque) so that my love handles were not visible and black leggings because jeans never felt right. The worst part was, it felt like my thoughts were validated due to the way people would ever only call those around me pretty. Boys would never speak to me, and if they did, they were either mean or made sure to friend-zone me. Meanwhile, I took notice to all my other friends (who were all thin), getting male attention all the time. I believed that these instances only confirmed what I thought was the truth about myself.

One cold December night, my friends dragged me out of the house to go out with a group of guys at an ice skating rink. As I took off my shoes by the opening of the rink, in the corner of my eye, was a boy unashamedly smiling right at me. I never felt that attention from a guy before. As a teenager, you know how these things go. He confidently comes up and starts a conversation, I shyly mumble something back and my cheeks flush. Overtime, I grew to like him quite a bit, but there was always something holding me back.

Whenever I would try to enjoy anything, those voices would become the loudest. "You're too fat. Not yet. You can't be with a guy yet. You can't until you are skinny enough." I was devoted to these negative thoughts. I remember during one of my last nights with this guy, he looked over at me with a look of confusion and disappointment. He tried to get me to open up to him, but I wouldn't budge. How could I explain something to a guy that had no idea what it felt like to be your own worst enemy. To completely hate the way you look to the point that most of yourself is under the water holding her breath. Every time he would grab my waist, I would push away out of discomfort of my own body. I never let myself enjoy any of it because I was too stuck in my head.

Towards the end of high school, I started to go on and off diets. I would spend weeks convincing myself that salads were delicious and that I could not even take a bite of pizza because it would deter my goal of finally looking "pretty enough". At first, I lost a lot of weight (in an incredibly short amount of time) and many people started to compliment me. I'll never forget one person in particular, who told me they were proud of me for doing it. That memory has stuck to me ever since. It's extremely hard to change your beliefs when everyone around you believes it too. A little after graduating high school, I started to gain the weight back. These yo-yo diets were like a poison that disguised itself as medicine that claims it will heal you, only to be the wrong prescription, making you sicker.

You feed yourself the same thoughts over and over again until suddenly you are 20 years old and come to the aching realization that this is who you are. It's who you've been for a long time. The dialogue you have with yourself is the most important. They don't teach you these things in school. I ignored the deeper, real issues I should have been working on. Instead of going to a doctor who could help me with my infection, I just patched it up with an old bandaid and told myself I was fine. I was too busy focusing on how my body looked, without realizing how much harm I was doing on the inside. Now, I was the one pushing down that dagger. No one else was responsible for that.

Suddenly I was an adult who had absolutely no idea that a problem I have had basically my whole life was manifesting into something so big it was ready to implode. I had no idea. Here was a girl with bangs whose glow had gradually started to fade. Society had clutched her by the collar of her shirt and thrown her to the floor, demanding her to get back up.

Things had come to its end when I had entered college. I had gained a lot of weight because I was suddenly experiencing a level of stress I had not experienced before. Due to the anxiety I had, the only thing I could use to distract myself from the pain was food. Four months later, you look into the mirror and are faced with that little girl who has never liked herself. But now I was an adult who felt that way, and for some reason, that's different. I was in the "real world" now, and it no longer felt like I could ignore what was really going on.

It was a Monday morning. "Meet me at Murphy Hall, room 403, the one next to the cafe." I read the text message from my best friend as I make my way to the classroom. I watch students walking through the door, with my friend standing at the front, waving her hand at me. As I walk up to her, a feeling of deep sorrow started to fill my chest. A student shuts the door and my feet halt in front of my best friend. I burst into tears. I feel a hand on my back as I cry. The kind of cry you feel will never stop.

"I can't do it." My friend tells me everything is going to be alright. We sit there in silence for the rest of the period.

This is the moment I knew something had to change. I couldn't even go into a classroom anymore because I was too scared of what everyone would think of me. My thoughts were in super-speed mode. I believed they were thinking all sorts of things. She looks so bad. Wow, she's so fat. What happened to her, she gained even more weight. I had convinced myself that I could no longer go outside until I looked a certain way. The way I felt about my body had grown into something over-consuming and deadly, and I had finally succumbed to it.

Everyday from then on was an ongoing battle. It was me vs me. There was a part of me that refused to step foot out of my house until I felt comfortable in my skin. But just as I would tell myself that I would diet, the guilt of everything that had happened made me want to punish myself by eating more food. It's an incredibly hard thing to fight. Your brain really convinces you that what you are doing makes sense. Months and months would go by, as my friends and family would try their best to be there for me with kindness, love, and patience. I would continuously fight between my thoughts. Every few days I would "start over".

I would tell myself, "In a few months, I'll be ready. Then, I will get to enjoy my life." I would sit in my bed every day, sending emails to my college professors telling them I had been struck ill with a terrible cold. My grandparents and cousins would take it personally when I never showed up to holiday meals, not knowing what was actually going on. My mom looked at me with tears in her eyes, asking me what she did wrong to have let this get so bad. Every now and then my dad would say, "I'm sorry."

Through everything, there was a small part of me that refused to give up entirely.

As a new year approached, I looked back in deep disappointment over myself. I had missed nights out with friends, my time at college, time with my family, all to my poisonous thoughts that convinced me I did not deserve to go out until I looked a certain a way. I had become so caught up in this idea that is fed to us as a society, that I forgot what actually mattered. I never realized how blessed I really was.

One night, I was under the blankets of my warm bed, watching videos of people my age out with their friends. I scrolled down my feed as I viewed picture after picture, of girls whose faces did not match what I believed they were actually feeling. There were pictures of people who had photoshopped their bodies to what they believed they should look like. But what struck me most were the videos of people who looked just like me, but were out living their life. They did not let anything stop them from enjoying this beautiful thing called life. A lightbulb had gone off in my mind. What have I been doing?

I ran to the mirror and stared at myself. The girl before me looked broken, washed out, and most of all, exhausted. "How did I get here?" I started to think. After all this time, it felt like I had finally found the missing piece to a puzzle covered in cob webs. A sense of relief swept over me as I burst into tears. I thought of the times people would tell me something was wrong with me. I would hold my breathe. The moments I was told I should go to the doctor because of the way I looked. I didn't say a word. Memories where girls would laugh in my face. Times where family members would take the piece of bread out of my hands and hand me a plate filled of lettuce instead. I never stopped holding my breathe.

I take a deep breath. 23 years of holding it all inside had dispersed in that moment. I wasn't self aware of the cycle I was in for so many years now. The hardest thing to accept was that doing this "my way" would never work. You're fed these lies of following 1,000 calorie diets, taping cut out pictures from magazines of models who are actually miserable, and not wearing the things you like because you believe it's not meant for you. Not until you look skinny enough. Have you ever thought that clothes are meant to fit you, and not the other way around?

I was a girl who easily let other's words make me a lesser version of myself. I didn't even realize it. For so long, I had forgotten that goofy girl. The one who loved herself. When people start to tell you that you are not good enough the way you are, you believe them after a while. I didn't know any better. I just took in what I saw around me, whether it was those in my life or what I saw in television and magazines. But there comes a certain point where no one but yourself is the enemy. A time where you must hold on to that spark inside of you, that person who was unscathed by the lethal ideas and words that you realize will always be there.

The next day, I sat with my mother and told her I needed help. I no longer wanted to do this on my own. I wanted to get better, the right way. At the end of 2019, we found a therapist that was the perfect fit for me. Yes, it's scary to start healing from something that has basically taken up your whole life, but don't ever think it's too late. You are not alone in this and there are so many people who feel the way you do. Since 2019, I have been working with a therapist that has been helping me undo thoughts I have been believing about myself my entire life. Gradually, I have been going out regardless of how I feel about my body. I make sure to thank my body for working the way it should. I no longer look at any kind of media that tells me I should lose enough weight in time for swimsuit season. Most of all, I look back and realize I was beautiful. You are too. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise. As cheesy as it sounds, don't ever let that spark diminish inside of you.

I realize now that I am and always have been a strong person, especially because of everything I have been through. I have learned that I am empathetic, kind, and want to help other people. At 23 years old, I have decided that what I want to be is a psychologist that specializes in eating disorders, so that I can help other people who have been through what I have. Throughout it all, no matter how small I started to feel, I tried to hold on to what was left of that person I used to be. There are so many memories where, no matter how sad I actually was, my inner child still came out, whether that be with my friends on nights where our voices would melt into the sound of our favorite songs, sitting with my family talking about nonsense, and going on trips where we laugh over my friend who turns into a marathon runner whenever she's drunk. We get caught up and trapped in our misery sometimes. But because of that, I believe those beautiful moments are even more powerful. I am eternally grateful for every single one.

I know this might be dramatic, but sometimes, when I have my headphones in and my eyes closed, I like to imagine myself far away from reality. I'm in a pitch black space, with a little girl before me. Her eyes shine with an effervescence you forget exists when you're all grown. The dark room starts to light up. You run up to her and she grabs your hand. Without warning, you both head straight for a puddle. "We're going to get wet!" I say over her loud giggles.

"Who cares?" She replies with pure joy. We jump in.