Skin Deep

Image Courtesy: Pinterest

I’ve been looking forward to my 21st birthday for a long time. Drinking legally, feeling like a real adult, they were all things that I dreamed about. Most of my friends had already reached and surpassed this milestone, so I felt like I was running behind. When the day finally rolled around, I was buzzing with excitement. I daydreamed about the outfit I would wear to celebrate my entrance into real adulthood, and I rushed home to try on all my options before the event began.

For the past few weeks, I’d been almost hyper aware of my body. It started with a visit to the doctor. When I stepped on the scale, I expected to see the number I’m familiar with. I’ve been around the same weight, give or take five pounds, for a few years. I’ve come to accept and be happy with my body. I don’t have big boobs or much of a butt, but I’ve learned to appreciate what I do have.

When I stepped on the scale and saw the number, my heart drop a little. This wasn’t normal for me. It wasn’t an exceptional difference—no one but me would probably notice, but it felt like a slap to the face.

I must be eating too much. Drinking too much or not working out enough. I got off the scale, trying to soothe myself by remembering that I was wearing shoes, and I’d just eaten lunch. It must be a mistake. I went home and tried to forget about it, but the thought nagged at me like an annoying mosquito.

I supposed I might have gained a little weight. Maybe it was relationship weight, or the result of my birth control, or just a side effect of eating more food.

After that, I regarded myself with a critical eye. My birthday grew closer, but part of me began to dread the thought of getting older. Was this a result of turning 21? All my life I’d joked about getting older and going downhill with age, but was this actually happening?

It was always easy for me to practice “self-love” when I didn’t have anything to worry about. If I was being brutally honest, the prospect of looking differently than I did a year ago was terrifying. I tried on shorts as the weather warmed up and felt like hyperventilating when they were tighter around my waist and thighs. I was having an identity crisis, and it settled on me when I rushed home to pick out an outfit for my 21st birthday.

My jeans were too tight. My stomach didn’t look the way it did one year ago. I hated the way I looked, and I hated that I felt this way. If only I’d gone to the gym more regularly and eaten less these past few months.

Twenty minutes before I was supposed to leave for my party, I was frantically wiping away tears lest it ruin my makeup and scouring my closet for something that would make me look like the girl from a year ago.

I thought I had moved beyond body image issues. I thought it was something reserved for middle and high school kids, but here I was hating the way I looked, crying to my boyfriend about it and hatefully scrolling through old pictures of myself.

I wasn’t comparing myself to other women; I was comparing myself to past Olivia. I was painfully jealous of her. Sure, I wasn’t as happy back then, but I was smaller, and I thought I looked better.

The time came to leave for my party, and I had no choice but to wear something I felt passable in. I didn’t let the feelings ruin my birthday, but the thoughts continued to follow me.

I didn’t realize how much pressure I put on my physical appearance until that moment. I’ve always thought I knew how to love myself, but when the time came to practice self-love, I failed miserably. It was disappointing and humbling to realize how wrong I really was.

Comparing my present self to my younger self is a new experience for me. It’s hard to see myself change physically, especially when it’s something I’ve always been able to rely on. It feels like the ultimate type of vanity, where I want desperately to look like the person I used to be.

It has forced me to reckon with the value I’ve placed in my own appearance, and it has made me aware of the words I use when describing myself in my head.

We see body positivity everywhere in the media. There are countless quotes telling me that my weight is not my worth, or other such platitudes. I know this, but I don’t know it. We know how wrong it is to judge the way other people look and we’ve heard the words “self-love” so many times I think most of us have gone numb to it. I never realized how easy it was to compare myself to myself.

It’s easy to preach self-love and body positivity, especially when we’re telling other people that they must love and accept themselves. It’s much more difficult to practice that in real life. If one of my friends thought of themselves the way that I have felt about myself, I would tell them they’re being ridiculous. Looking a little different than you did a year ago is normal— certainly not something to be terrified of, yet I can’t help but to criticize myself for not maintaining the figure and appearance I used to have.

Getting older is scary for countless reasons, but I never expected this to be one of them. The way we regard ourselves has to be malleable. Change is inevitable, and I realize that I have to be able to accept both physical and emotional changes as I get older. 

I will never look exactly like the person I was one year ago. I will never think exactly like her either, and for that I am extremely grateful. I would rather look like the person I am now than feel like 20-year-old Olivia any day of the week.

Strike out,

Writer: Olivia Wakim

Editor: Shelby Wingate

Athens