Why it took me two decades to stop hating my body

As a child, I learned the importance of dressing well. No matter what happened within the four walls of our house, we would dress up to go out. The image that we presented to the world was of a cool and successful family.

Makeup, sunglasses and stylish clothes were assigned the job of hiding bruised souls.

The image was a far cry from what transpired within our hearts. Wearing pretty dresses made me feel superior to my cousins and friends, especially in the days when people didn't invest much in clothes in small towns.

The lesson was clear: "Dress well to mask whatever is going inside."

Then there was the strange dichotomy of having an exceptionally beautiful mother, who received compliments wherever she went. While I took great pride in my mother's beauty and sense of style, I also felt like ugly, plain Jane next to her. It was so difficult to match her standards. I had to make huge efforts to look half as gorgeous as my mom.

I used to be a thin, scrawny girl in school, one of the shortest in my class. As the years passed by and with the increasing pile of emotional baggage, I started putting on weight.

My weight did not bother me much till I moved to Delhi in Class 11, and gradually learnt about the unequivocal preference for the slim and curvy frame.

Messages in the media and exposure to fashion, boys and glamour further underscored this.

Hailing from a small town, I saw myself facing two choices — either continue being the small town girl ignored by everyone or change my body and dressing sense to suit this cool, upmarket community. I picked the latter. I wanted to be loved, adored and appreciated.

I remember someone in college told me, "Yeah, you are pretty like Minakshi Seshadari. But not hot like Raveena Tandon." It bothered my insecure mind.

With that began a lifelong battle with my own body. We became declared enemies. I hated the way my body was. I hated the way I looked. I read somewhere, "My body is my tangible self."

In a way, I really hated my very self.

At times, I hit the big red button on my body labelled "self-destruct". Erratic eating habits, sleep deprivation, dancing all night and experimenting with substances fuelled the deadly brew of self-hate.

I guess my body hated me as much as I hated it. It kept growing in size, almost like it was mocking me. The more I tried to control it, the more it got out of control.

Over the last two decades, I have experimented with a varied range of diet and exercise regimes. Bottles of nutritional supplements, cups of green tea, glasses of hot lemon water — I have tried it all.

Not without success. A few years ago, I brought my weight down to 47 kilos from 62 kilos in three months. What sheer joy it was — to wear all sorts of clothes without wondering whether my bulges were protruding through my clothes. Unfortunately, the weight has always managed to climb back — sometimes in months, sometimes in years.

I have spent hours brooding over it. I have spent days in depression.

Feeling "less than" and unworthy inside a fat body, I have constantly waged battles with my own body.

From declining participation in events to refusing to socialise and meet friends, to feeling frustrated with shopping trips, my perception about my body has been the central villain of my life.

From wanting to disappear to getting angry with others and myself, my body image has taken me through several emotional tsunamis.

I have tried alternative healing methods like hypnosis and guided meditation.

Till I decided "enough is enough". I could no longer deal with the stress. I decided to switch to the fashion-ascetic lifestyle, and rushed to rid my wardrobe of all my fancy clothes.

They had brought much chaos and confusion to my life.

I wanted a simple life and my wardrobe needed to reflect it. Out went the fancy dresses and what remained were a few T-shirts and jeans.

With my vibrant personality, the ascetic lifestyle didn't work for me for too long. And it wasn't long before I was back to the diets, exercises and style.

I immersed myself in books and into research about the "body image". I learnt that it forms gradually, beginning in childhood.

Life experiences lead some people to relate to their bodies in positive and satisfying ways, while others travel a less enjoyable path.

Cash, Thomas: The Body Image Workbook: An Eight-Step Program for Learning to Like Your Looks identifies four categories of historical factors that govern body image development: cultural forces, interpersonal experiences, physical characteristics and changes, and individual personality traits. These factors shape our body image attitudes —perceptions, beliefs, thoughts, and feelings we come to have about our physical appearance.

These attitudes include not only how satisfied or dissatisfied we are with our looks, but also how invested we are in our physical appearance — to define who we are and who we want to be. That being good-looking pays better than it actually does.

Whether due to traumatic insults (“Hey, Elephant Girl” or “Look at Bony Boy”), family messages (“Look how pretty your sister is” or “Your complexion looks terrible” or “You’re pudgy and need to go on a diet”), or cultural socialisation (“Thin is in and feminine” and “Real men have massive muscles”), we learn certain basic beliefs or assumptions about the meaning of our looks in your life.

These core assumptions, which psychologists call schemas, determine how you interpret reality.

They operate like templates or guides that influence what you pay attention to, how you think about the events in your life and how you think about yourself.

Society’s preoccupation with and marketing of physical attractiveness reinforces the assumptions:

My worth as a person depends on how I look; I should always do whatever I can to look my best; the first thing that people will notice about me is what’s wrong with my appearance; if people knew how I really look, they would probably like me less; my appearance is responsible for much of what has happened to me in my life; if I could look just as I wish, my life would be much happier; the only way I could ever accept my looks would be to change my looks, et al.

This understanding prompted me towards a deeper introspection about myself. I soon filled several notebooks with notes about my beliefs, childhood pattern, triggers, behaviours and so forth.

I found some relief from them. Yet, the struggle and the angst continued. A year back, I suddenly gained even more weight. The tests revealed hypothyroidism, which meant a lower BMR and hence easier weight gain.

As I went shopping for bigger-sized clothing , I felt the same, old emotions trigger again: "Am I doomed to be trapped inside this big body forever? It does not even feel like my body."

My body is my representation to the external world.

For me it has been my identity, my ego, my superiority, my passport to acceptance and love. The anxiety of being loved and adored less has been unacceptable to my insecure mind.

When I look back, I see so many opportunities and happy moments lost due to the body-consciousness.

Thankfully, I have not been alone on this road. Irrespective of size and shape, there has always a crowd of self-conscious people in constant dysfunctional relationships with their bodies.

Too fat, too thin; too short, too tall; big boobs, small boobs, curly hair, straight hair crooked teeth, yellow teeth. The list is endless.

I have a friend who is really slim but thinks she has a paunch. She is the only one who can see it though. Another friend is always dressing down as she is conscious about her flat chest.

Two other friends wear loose clothing as one feels thickset and another finds her frame saggy.

There are others who keep probing all the time: "How does my dress look? Do I look fat? Are my love handles showing? " Or those who consider it polite to comment on my body and weight whenever we meet: "You have gained weight. Oh, you have lost so much weight."

After discovering that I have hypothyroidism, I decided to stop fighting my body. I guess the wisdom of the years helped. Or was it the fatigue from all the struggles? The truth is I was tired.

Somewhere it hit me, perhaps not consciously. If it’s a problem that affects everyone, then it is not a “problem” to be solved — not a battle to be fought. It is life.

I stopped fighting my body. I meditated and prayed — this time for acceptance. Finally, I received grace. And self-acceptance poured in. I love and accept my body and myself the way I am.

I am beautiful, attractive, pretty, hot, sexy and gorgeous. I can be friends with the mirror again. It's unbelievable that it has taken me two decades to make peace with my own body. But I am grateful that I finally have, what a relief.

So much precious energy released for far important tasks.

I still love to dress well. However, it is no longer to present an image or to feel superior or good or to hide myself. I love to dress well simply because it feels good. After all, God has created a beautiful Universe. She has given me a beautiful body and it is my job to value it, nurture it and keep it beautiful.

Now whenever the sight of a hot, slim and sexy body triggers that old, downward spiral, I quickly remind myself of all the obese and sick people in the world and how lucky I am to have my body.

I quickly remind myself of how grateful I am to have a healthy and fit body. I no longer feel affected by peoples' comments on my body size. Today, I have more respect and love for my body.

As I am beginning to accept and love my body just the way it is, I am experiencing the same acceptance and love in other areas of my life.

My body is also reacting to the truce positively and we have a growing bond of friendship.

I’ve been playing active sports and have a workout regime. I am training to run the half marathon this year. I feel energetic and full of vigour. There’s synergy and harmony between my body and I.

Our relationship with our body determines our relationship with ourselves. How we treat and perceive our own body paves the path in our pursuit of happiness.