The emotional seesaw of loving (and losing) your body

On a balmy, teenage-angst-fuelled summer—two years into the new millennium in 2002—two tracks competed for spring break anthem supremacy in my bedroom: John Mayer’s 'Your Body Is a Wonderland' and Christina Aguilera’s 'Beautiful'. I had just completed a two-week-long mountaineering course, which gave my well-padded arms muscle memory and visibility. My love for my body was at its peak; I was Mayer’s girl and Aguilera’s BFF. Even though I had always been the ‘healthy’ (moniker for big girl when CDs and cassettes were a thing) national-level gymnast and basketball player, size digs never really got to me. No matter where they came from, my thick skin was guarding my aura.

Then came my early twenties, and my hair became a constant source of rebellion—buzzed on the sides, super-short curls, sometimes long, often changing colour to match my inner and outer revolutions. My body responded to the shifting mindset with breakouts (thanks to all the protesting, film shoots, studying, working). Mind over matter was the daily mantra, but it also showed up in my cup size—and on my already-full, heart-shaped face. The one quick to notice the fault in my stars—my aunt flow. All the crazy hours at work and late-night binge to finish deadlines, delayed periods became a thing, and slowly, self-confidence took a beating. Gone were the days when the voice in my head was enough to tell me I was beautiful. Unknowingly, I let every little nit-picking get to me, seeking validation outside of myself.

And just like that, I woke up one day and went for the kill—eating clean, making love to mindfulness, and being joint at the hip with exercise. My body responded to the change, as it always does. For someone who had swung between a size 12 and 16, a size 8 now fit like a glove. Then something strange happened. Everyone around me thought I looked amazing—but I didn’t see it. I thought I looked exactly the same. Worse, I started feeling sorry for my now-smaller breasts. No one talks about the body dysmorphia that can come with significant weight loss, even when it’s gradual and intentional. I used to know my body was a wonderland, a powerhouse—but somewhere along the way, I stopped loving it in all its forms. Instead, I found reasons to berate it.

Today, when I look back at this brief history of torment, I have learnt my greatest lesson. I believe in my body more than I ever have—it plays up when I play up, it cracks down when I crack down, it listens to me in all my glory and all my grief.

Body Love Project

In 2021, according to findings by the Body Love Project by Hearst in partnership with Philips and Story Lab, prior to COVID-19, only six per cent of British women said they loved their body, while one in 10 said low body confidence was causing them to opt out of important life events. Forty-one per cent of Hearst UK readers had confessed they were even less confident about their body since the lockdown began.

Lead image credit: Getty Images 

This piece originally appeared in the May-June print edition of Cosmopolitan India.

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