My Childhood Pain is My Passion

I wasn’t born hating myself.

I remember, although having my quirks (I was making a cross-eyed face in my preschool group photo), I was a normal, happy little girl. Somewhere along the line, though, I began to feel shame. During what should have been my most joyous phase of life, my top priorities became self-criticism and obsessively attempting to fix my flaws. I suffered silently for decades before I realized that my life’s purpose was not to be at war with myself. It has since become my passion and my life mission to not only study why this happened to me, but to prevent it from happening to more children. I am working on writing a book on body image for adolescents and creating an inclusive, online community space for them. To reflect on the prompt, I believe I attract followers and supporters because I am willing to authentically share my story, even if it brings up painful memories; because I know that my own vulnerability could pass along courage and healing to someone else.

Perhaps you’d now like to hear my story, so here it is.

I was an artsy kid who felt underwhelmed by sports or physical activities. Partnered with my lack of interest in sports was my love for really terrible food. I was a picky eater; if we were going out to eat at a restaurant, I would throw a fit if my mother didn’t get me chicken nuggets from McDonalds to take in. We now know much better, that fast food is produced with chemicals that are highly addictive. But then, my mom just wanted me to stop screaming in the car. I also turned to food as a source of comfort. Eating became my therapy. Before I knew it, I was the biggest girl in my class. I quickly began to adapt to descriptions such as “big boned” and “chubby.” The teasing was from adult family members and it seemed playful, so I didn’t really take it to heart. But then, one day, it became malicious.

I was in 2nd grade gym class. It was physical fitness day, and this particular class was the one in which I learned to hate this day with a burning passion. It was split up into two parts: physical tests, and overall measurement of wellness. The first part included physical tests of pushups, chin-ups, running sprints for time, etc. I never did well, but I still got good grades for trying my best.

This is where the ball was dropped. Again, in the 90s, we really weren’t thinking about long-term repercussions. So, giving an eight-year-old an index card with sensitive information (i.e.: weight) seemed totally fine. After being weighed, I was handed the index card and shuffled on my merry way back to the class line.

Eight-year-olds are curious. So, when my friend asked, “What does your card say?” I was curious as to what hers said, as well. We shared our information.. and this is when it hit me.

Obviously, I don’t remember exactly, but I believe the number for her “weight” was about 60 pounds. My number for “weight” was 104. I will always remember that weight.

My friend gasped, “Oh my gosh!” which caught the attention of the girl next to her. Before I knew it, the number was whispered to the front of the line. The boy at the front of the line said, “That’s what my big brother has to weigh to play football!”

And so it was written: I was a monster.

It didn’t take long for my peers to certify that narrative. Specifically, there were two boys who were determined to destroy me daily. Every time I was on the playground and I crossed their path, they’d say something about my weight.

“Fatty”

“Heffer”

“Wide load”

“Thunder thighs”

“Fat girl”

Soon, it progressed to not just names, but specific digs. Like, commenting that I was too fat for the pants I was wearing. Commenting that you could still see my belly poking out of my shirt.

It didn’t matter what I was doing: if I was near them, I was hearing about how horrible I was.

I lived in fear of them. Every single day I hit the playground, I did my best to scout them out and try to avoid them. Unfortunately, they weren’t athletic themselves, so they were usually just leaning on the fence near the entrance, which I HAD to pass through. In those scenarios, I took a breath and braced myself for whatever they would say to me that day.

I never cried.

I never defended myself.

I never told a teacher or anyone else.

Because…I had already confirmed that I was a monster who needed to be fixed. These guys were just drilling the screw further into my brain. I was the class loser. I felt it in my entire body. This was totally unacceptable, and I needed to be fixed—pronto.

I didn’t tell anyone how I was feeling, but I had never felt so sad before. I had seen the women in my family use SlimFast products, so I thought, Maybe I should start using those, too. I found this hard to maintain, though, because surely Mom would know if a shake of hers went missing. Also, those were meal replacement shakes…but they were so tasty that I drank them really quickly. Then, I’d still be hungry, so I’d eat more. I was doing more harm than good.

Did I mention that I was 8 years old?

Did I also mention that I didn’t have an Instagram, TikTok, or other vehicles to define my social acceptance?

I am very happy to say that, with time, hard work, and therapy, I have healed. I patiently worked to strengthen my self-confidence and I discovered ways to move my body that I absolutely loved. Through boxing and weightlifting, I could produce endorphins in ways that didn’t feel like I was failing gym class. I did lose 50 lbs (which I’ve kept off for over 8 years), but more importantly: I found a way to deeply connect to the true essence of myself. It was as if I had finally remembered to change the dead lightbulb of my inner light. I whole-heartedly learned to forgive anyone who had contributed to my pain. Today, I can look in the mirror and see not only my outer beauty, but my inner beauty as well. Happiness feels pretty effortless, and I want others to feel that way, too.

Over time, I began to dabble in personal training, health coaching, being a fitness instructor, and just generally empowering other people to live happier, healthier lifestyles. But, when people asked me what I was personally motivated by, I’d say, ‘the childhood version of me.’ Each time I’d see a picture of my 8-year-old self, I’d feel a sense of sadness. “If only I’d figured it out sooner,” I would say to myself. And deep in my heart I could feel it: there are more little me’s out there, who need to figure it out sooner, who are dealing with way more pressure than I could have ever imagined.

As social media continues to dominate, so does the importance of how the world perceives us. About three years ago, I experienced trolling on an impactful level. I had participated in a charity run, and the organization used the photo of me as an advertisement. What I thought was a great opportunity quickly became a self-esteem test: there were dozens of comments about how ugly I am. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect me at all, but I was incredibly grateful that I had done the inner work and developed the emotional intelligence to shrug off losers on the internet. But, what if I had read those things as the 8-year-old version of myself? How much would it have contributed to my emotional damage? “I’m so glad I grew up without Instagram,” my friends agree, in-between mimosa sips at brunch.

There is so much talk about the body image issues of Generation Z. I’ve done independent research and found these statistics via the Park Niccollet Melrose Center: “Over 80% of 10 year olds are afraid of being fat. Additional research reports that at age thirteen, 53% of American girls are "unhappy with their bodies." This grows to 78% by the time girls reach seventeen.”

It’s quartz clear. Adolescents’ body insecurities continue to get worse. But, what is being done? Who is actually taking action? I have spoken about this loudly and for a long time, hoping to increase awareness in my own little social sphere. But, I realized I was still playing small, expecting someone else of Oprah-level magnitude to read my mind. I’ve recently had a personal revelation, which is best articulated in this quote by actress Lily Tomlin: “I said, ‘Somebody should do something about that.’ Then I realized I am somebody.”

Oprah’s got a lot going on, and she’s eventually going to retire. I also tell myself frequently, “Oprah started somewhere.” If I’m feeling called to do something, why don’t I just do it? I will never have a chance at making a difference if I deny myself of taking the risk.

Now that my reason “why” was strong enough, I needed to figure out “how.” My first instinct was to fall back on what I know I can do well: authentically tell my story. I have since been writing a Middle Grade narrative on overcoming body image, and I am currently in the process of pitching to agents. As any aspiring author can attest, pitching can be an emotional trial. At this current moment, I have pitched to 11 agents so far. Only one has politely responded with “no.” To keep myself from feeling discouraged, I have decided to simultaneously invest my creative energy into a concept that I steadfastly believe can change young girls’ lives. I am actually quite excited to learn more about Memberful, as it may be the perfect platform for my intended use.

I am in the early development stages of creating Big Sister Body Talks, an inclusive community space for adolescents to freely express (privately or in a group format) their body image struggles or concerns. The goal is not to replace traditional therapy, but rather to provide ‘sisterly’ support and mentorship to any child who feels alone in the journey of self-discovery and self appreciation. Big Sister Body Talks will be a safe space to be seen, heard, and loved; without pressure to be “fixed” or to apologize. In addition to our comfort zone, Big Sister Body Talks will provide activities and resources that are empowering and fun for each individual child. The goal is to build self-confidence in talents and abilities; to keep natural inner sparks lit and to emphasize more than just appearance alone. Big Sister Body Talks will be more than just a membership: it will be a family, where every child is encouraged to be exactly who they are, without worrying about their weight.

Out of everything I’ve ever tried & failed, Big Sister Body Talks seems bigger than myself. It’s not even about the inevitable mini-failures that are bound to arise, because the purpose is too powerful. This is more than my passion: this, I’ve discovered, is my life’s purpose. I am being called to serve in this way, as my ability to conquer my childhood bullying traumas will greatly benefit the generations that follow me. If I can change just one little girl’s trajectory, it would deeply move me. And, if that little girl passes it on, then our Big Sister Body Talks community can and will move mountains.

I want to thank you for the time you have spent reading this entry, as I’ve vulnerably expressed my life’s passion. I believe vulnerability is a strength and a tool for more meaningful connections, and I’ve noticed that leading with vulnerability invites others to do the same. I deeply believe in the success of Big Sister Body Talks and I cannot wait for how magical it will be to change young lives for the better. With your assistance, Big Sister Body Talks will be able to hit the ground running much faster.

At the very least: I hope you’ll compliment a child in your life today. They probably need it more than you know.