Just a Waitress

I was 12 years old the first time I hated my body. I was sitting in a car with an 8 year old girl and she told me that my legs were gross and that they looked like toothpicks. I hadn’t ever seen them in that way before and I have never been able to see them as anything but since. I knew that I was skinny, but I didn’t know that people saw me as gross because of how skinny I was. Thus began a life-long journey to transform my body into something that wouldn’t disgust other people. What I didn’t know then that I am acutely aware of now, is that everyone has body issues. Everyone. That woman you see walking down the street with the perfect legs and breasts…she hates her butt. That woman walking down the street with the perfect butt…she hates her arms. That woman walking down the street with the perfect arms…she hates her nose. The man walking down the street with the chiseled abs…he hates his calves. There isn’t a single person who hasn’t dealt with a bit of self-loathing when it comes to their shape.

I was 24 when I had a psychological break that was completely centered around my looks. My BDD and OCD skyrocketed and it was so debilitating that I was paralyzed in my own skin for years. There was so much about my disorders that I didn’t understand then that I understand now. I didn’t understand that I have always struggled with OCD surrounding my body. I have always been a compulsive nail biter (that’s an early sign of potential OCD tendacies). When I was obsessed with how skinny my legs were, I would perform leg exercises for one hour a day to build muscle. When I thought my teeth were too yellow, I would make a paste of baking soda and hydrogen peroxide and sit with it on my teeth for 30 minutes a day. When I was called out as having laugh lines at 14, I didn’t smile for a year. And the list goes on…

Because these types of behaviors had always been a part of my life, I really thought that they were normal. I didn’t see the potential threat in how it would manifest itself later in life. Oopsie. My disorders took me down for years. It was dark and scary for a long time, but I got therapy and I have worked very hard to speak truth to myself instead of believing the lies that I am a hideous person who is disgusting to look at. Or, more to the core of it…that I am a lovable human no matter how skinny my legs are or if I have zit on my face.

I went to see one of my acting coaches in a play some years back and in the play she had to be naked the entire show. The entire show. When she met some of us after the performance, someone asked her if she had anxiety about being completely naked on stage. She said that she was terrified. But, once she got up there and was completely naked…she felt pretty free. She said that when she thought about her body and what people could, potentially, think about her ass, thighs, stomach, breasts…she told herself that they are all just parts. They aren’t good parts or bad parts…they are just parts. They are the parts of us that make up a whole. And, they are beautiful parts because of what they do for us.

Another time, I was in an acting class and the exercise was to bring in a talisman…a physical object that holds an intense emotional connection for us. A woman brought in rocks. She held up the first rock and told us that this was a rock from Mt. Everest. She climbed some of Mt. Everest!!!!! She told us that she had always hated her body. Her specific hate was centered around how small her breasts were, but she hated all of her parts. She told us that she would speak to herself in a cruel way…out loud. She would tell herself how much she hated her breasts and that no one would want to have sex with her. She would tell herself how disgusting she looked. In that moment…this group of humans…my tribe were one. We all felt what she felt because we all do the same thing. How can we say such terrible things to ourselves…things we would never say to anyone else? I digress. She was telling us how grueling it is to climb Everest. That her lungs were pierced with pain with every shallow breath. Her legs were 500 pound weights that were impossible to move. Every step she took was the most painful thing she had ever done in her entire life. It was in those moments that she broke down crying for her own cruelty to herself. She began to praise her body for how magnificent it is. For the strength of her legs. She began to love her lungs for giving her breath. She celebrated her heart for pumping blood to her beautiful parts…all of her beautiful parts…including her small breasts.

I walked out of that class a changed person. While I knew that I had been cruel to myself, it took hearing this for me to understand how spectacular our bodies are. What they do for us is a miracle. My legs are skinny, but they allow me to dance around my apartment whilst singing to my cat. (She loves it). My teeth might not be the whitest, but I can chew a delicious steak. My laugh lines might be deep, but they show a life of joy.

I love my parts. I love all of my parts. I am so grateful that my parts allow me to live this beautiful life. Now, I must take my parts to work so that I can make some money. That’s the other thing that my parts do…My feet and legs carry me through hours of walking. My arms carry trays and plates. My smile charms the guests. My hands grab that cash at the end of the night. (I like that part the best).