Upward Spiraling Out of My Body Dysmorphia

Image by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

trigger warnings: body dysmorphia, suicide, mentions of disordered eating, illness

If you remember what your body looks like, I think you’re one of the lucky ones. If you don’t, then I’m not so glad this is what we have in common. Coming from an older West Indian family, my body was always a discussion. No matter how many soccer practices I showed up to, salads I ate, nor how well I did in P.E. class, whenever an aunt approached me it was always “You’ve gotten bigger!” Even throughout my adulthood my body has gotten bigger. I know I’m big, but I wish they knew that I didn’t need to be reminded every second of my life.  

I think it’s important to note that I wasn’t always fat, but I still struggled with food and dieting at a young age. Having to deal with cholesterol issues during elementary school was the start of my long, relentless relationship with food. I remember sitting in the doctor’s office with my uncle, his eyes glazed over, listening to every word my pediatrician said. My relationship with food not only originates in this moment, but also with my family’s history of heart disease, diabetes, and many other debilitating diseases. By the time I reached high school, my uncle had a coronary angioplasty, stent insertion, triple bypass heart surgery, and several other surgeries for various kinds of cancer. He never wanted me to suffer like he did.  

For as long as I can remember, my uncle micro-managed everything that graced my plate. There were even times we fought at the dinner table so he could see whatever takeout I’d brought home. The stress of bringing home any form of food that he would scrutinize started to transfer into other aspects of my life. In middle school I discovered how uncomfortable it made me feel to eat in public spaces. In high school I even went as far as to become the library aide so I could escape the daunting task of consuming food in the adolescent-filled cafeteria and tried my best to retreat back to the library every lunch break. The library was my safe haven, a place of structure for the moments where I felt the most vulnerable. This is still a habit I have today, I always look for security.

It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that I started my first romantic relationship. He was beautiful, smart, and even had a piercing on one ear that was the jackpot of my teenage girl fantasies. Being with him was the first time someone told me I was pretty. For someone that had only dreamed of having a boyfriend, that meant the world to me. I naively thought that feeling would last forever. As the pandemic raged on, and quarantine forced us into our isolated nests, there became an evident strain on our relationship. Still, we continued to stay with each other. I never noticed when his demeanor changed or that I couldn’t fit into half of my jeans anymore, or even that I was getting bigger than him. I made a huge mistake. You know that horrible mistake people make when they get lost in a relationship because they already have constant bodily validation? Yeah, that one. I gained the “happy weight”, I let myself go. People hate happy weight because being fat makes you feel empty and alone after a relationship. Nobody thinks that you’re attractive anymore and it feels like now there’s this huge responsibility that you have to get back to when you were skinnier. I fucked up.

Coming out of that relationship I became extremely depressed. I moved back in with my family, back to a space I never felt secure in. Endless nights spent scrolling through Tinder, a space where your body is always being perceived, felt completely invalidating. I was a completely different person. And I didn’t feel that way because I had loved and learned valuable lessons about navigating relationships, but it was because I was fat. Everytime I looked into the mirror, a devil appeared on my shoulder pointing out every flaw on my now monstrous body. It’s like my ego had turned against me. 

I didn’t want to live in my body anymore. I thought I was nothing without the comfort of another person telling me I was good enough. I can’t say that I never feel that way today, but I’ve worked on it. I’m not about to go on a spiel about how much it matters to love yourself, nor about how self-love is a journey and not a destination… but would love really be worth it if it meant that I had to be skinny, athletic, or fit any of the aesthetic qualities guys on dating apps wanted? Probably not. But I want to be better, because I know that the moments in between these feelings of doubt and despair are much more important than these superficial views of my body. Though, how I never saw myself changing is still a phenomena to me.

In the end, I’m still trying to upward spiral out of this feeling called body dysmorphia.

Excerpts from my investigation into disability on campus

The following is a series of excerpts for an article that I wrote for The Retriever that was published on Wednesday. (Below is from my original draft, some changes have been made in the final version for newspaper formatting.) If these tidbits interest you, you can find the whole article in print on campus now!

UMBC, I have a challenge for you.

Administration, Student Disability Services, and Facilities all tout the campus accessible routes map as the end-all, be-all solution for disabled students navigating campus. My challenge for you is this:

Make your way to the stadium lot, and then walk to the Fine Arts Building using only routes labeled as accessible. You are not allowed to use stairs, though you may use the short cuts available through buildings via elevators.  (The elevator short cuts are labeled on the map below.) For extra credit, start at the top of the hill near the Walker Apartments and go to the library.

I have marked the destinations for you below. The full map is available here: https://about.umbc.edu/files/2021/09/2021-UMBC-accessible-routes-map.pdf

While you are walking, focus in on your body. Ask yourself: What would this walk be like if my calves were screaming in pain? What if I struggled with balance and were prone to tripping on uneven surfaces and could fall?  What if I were using a walker right now? What about a non-motorized wheelchair?

What about crutches, or a lower-limb cast? When you arrive at your destination, take a note of the time. How long did it take you compared to using the stairs? Did you have to use a new route compared to your ordinary routine?

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It was disclosed to me by several students that after they met all of the (stringent and privilege-laden) requirements to receive an accommodation appointment with SDS, they are told they will be unable to get the accommodations they need. In addition, it has also been reported to me that these meetings are often negative in nature with the student seeking accommodations being met with derision and/or hostility for their accommodation requests. One student, who wishes to remain anonymous, reported being “refused note-taking assistance because they needed to ‘learn how to take notes themselves,’” as well as being refused alternative text formatting as that is up to the teacher and “they cannot do anything about it.” The student accurately pointed out that both of these accommodations are among the published list on the SDS website. Another anonymous student trying to receive accommodations was told, “I know migraines can hurt sometimes but that doesn’t mean you can miss class.”

Many of the interactions that were shared with me have a common thread that is heard all too often by the disabled community: “You’re just not trying hard enough” or “It can’t be that bad”. The implications that we are lazy, that we haven’t developed strategies to succeed in our classes, or that we are somehow exaggerating our health problems are not only outdated ways of thinking about disability but are also extremely harmful.  The reality of our lives is that it frequently is “that bad,” and that we wouldn’t be asking UMBC for help if we hadn’t already exhausted all of the resources available to us as individuals.  To hear these words from the people put in place to help us succeed is equivalent to lifting us up only to kick us back down. UMBC is not the only institution in Maryland struggling with this problem, as this article (https://www.jhunewsletter.com/article/2021/08/disability-isnt-taken-seriously- at-hopkins) written by a graduate student at Johns Hopkins details out. Laurel Maury was awarded accommodations by JHU but found that her professors refused to use them (even under threat of legal action) and some went as far as to bully her for having them. Maury’s struggle echoes many of the sentiments that have been expressed to me by current UMBC students.

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To my fellow disabled students: You are not alone, you have a voice, and your voice deserves to be heard.

What do I look like? Superhero vs. Monster

My mind was wandering the other day, as it usually does, about what the difference is between why a hero is accepted for their differences and why a freak/monster/alien/other is not. It came from reading a research article by Susan Stryker titled “My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above The Village of Chamounix.” Stryker raises points about the negative social implications expressed toward people who have a different gender identity that is not their assigned-at-birth identity. Stryker likens society’s feelings about it to how the Frankenstein “monster” was treated.

The Fear of Fear Itself

Content warning: Home invasion, home intruders, fear, potentially sensitive topics

What It Feels Like to Hiccup

You have the hiccups. What do you do? Think about this for a second. Odds are, you came to an answer to this question rather quickly. Have you ever stopped and wondered why that works?

Trust your body

About a month ago I went to visit my Doctor for the first time in about 5 years. I found after a certain age my primary physician was replaced by my gynecologist.

In general I think I’m healthy other than once a year getting the common cold or flu. Since the beginning of this semester I hadn’t been feeling my normal self. I had been suffering from stomachaches constantly, feeling exhausted even after a full night rest and suffering from headaches daily.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Come along friends and allow me to tell you about the time that my body was invaded by an alien…

(No aliens have been harmed in the making of this post)

Why Do I Feel So Guilty?

 

 

It is always the same scenario.  Someone who is either blind, struggling to guide their way throughout the bus with their walking stick tapping the ground in a rhythmic motion, or someone who cannot walk, as the bus driver has to take the extra minutes to load that individual in a wheelchair into the front of the vehicle.   While all this is happening, I usually look away uncomfortably.  But the question is why?  I’ve decided to answer with that I feel guilty.  But why should I feel guilty?  I haven’t contributed to what society calls their “disability”.  But somehow I feel somewhat responsible for the way the blind can never see the beautiful scenery during a hike, or the deaf may never be able to hear the wonderful melodies embedded in music.  Maybe it’s the fact that I enjoy these pleasures, that it is tearing me inside.  Sometimes I wish it was me . . . . that I was blind, deaf, lame, dumb and so on.  I feel that then the guilt would disappear because I would be stripped of the “pleasures” society says that I have.

But are the disabled really suffering? Is that a legitimate cause for me to feel guilty?  The strange thing is, I only feel this way towards disabled individuals that are strangers to me.  I know at least one person very well that is disabled.  And I wouldn’t even call her “disabled” because she is so driven and strong.  She doesn’t seem to experience any limitations and boldly reaches for the same opportunities that I or any other “normal” person would want.  Because of that, I feel no sense of guilt around her, she greatly inspires me.  Maybe if I stopped to look at the “disability” of others and feel sorry and crappy about it, as society has so often told us to do, I would see greatness and not sympathy.

To be honest, I never dared to express my thoughts on my guilt toward disabled people.  To me, I thought it was inappropriate to do so.  But now letting all my thoughts out here in this post for the first time, I’ve realized that it is society that is causing my guilt, not the disabled.  The disabled are not telling me to feel sorry for them, society is; the disabled are not telling me to look away, society is; the disabled are not telling me they are not enjoying life, society is.  And looking back on it, the way society is downgrading the disabled is really shattering.

Who, me? Disabled?

At the beginning of this class’ section on disability studies, we created a list of a variety of disabilities that may or may not be recognized by society. We listed the ones most people think of, like physical and mental disabilities, but when we began talking about “invisible” disabilities, something struck a chord in me.

TW: Blood mention

What the F**k is a Diva Cup?

So this past summer I made a very important purchase, an investment.

I bought myself a Diva Cup.

When I told my mother this she literally replied with “¿De que carajo es una Diva Cup?” – literal translation: What the f**ck is a Diva Cup. She was still confused when I explained it to her, no longer about what it actually is but why I would even want to use it. She said it sounded “dirty” and “gross”. She wasn’t mean about it but I could hear the judgement in her voice. It made her uncomfortable and I understand that. I’m not going to lie, her reaction hurt my feelings and I felt defensive. Yet her response is exactly what I expected to hear.

(Talk of Menstrual Blood to come!)