Weeks like this really make me wonder what it is about the idea of being thin that is so appealing. Somehow, thin has come to describe not only the size of one’s body, but also a variety of other things about one’s life. The idea of thin is also the idea of perfection, beauty, ease, elegance…every time I see a thin girl walk down the street I can’t help but think, “Why can’t I be like her?” It’s not just the thin body I want, it’s the entire thin life, with all the right clothes, and a great job, and a ton of friends, and everything else that I need to make my life perfect.
Of course, I have no idea what her life is really like. It’s just the fact that she’s thin that makes me think that everything she has must be better than what I have, and all because I consider her body to be better than mine. And I know from experience that being thin doesn’t make things perfect. It’s not a magic wand. There’s no such thing as a magic wand.
I think a lot about whether or not other people ever see me and think, “Why can’t I be like her?” There’s a perverse aspect of me that wants nothing more than for someone to think that about me, as though their belief that I’m somehow special or that I represent some ideal they want to achieve will clear away all the difficulties I have with my own body.
Someday I’ll be happy with my body, and when that day comes I know I won’t be obsessing over what I’ve eaten, what I’ll be eating later, losing weight, and how much I’ve exercised over the course of the week. Although I can’t say for sure, I’m also pretty sure that I won’t be looking at other people and wishing I could be more like them and less like me. I can’t wait for that day to come, and until it does, I just have to constantly remind myself that I’m beautiful the way I am, that my body doesn’t determine what my life is like, and that I am already as close to perfect as I’ll ever need to be.