*I was requested to answer this question on Quora, a Q&A site where questions are asked, answered, and edited by Internet users, either factually or in the form of opinions. *
Sounds like a simple yes or no question, right?
I literally cannot answer this question… The more I think about it, the more I realize that I am completely detached from my physical self. I guess I just… don’t care anymore? Not in a confident way, more in a dissociated way– it feels like my body isn’t mine. When I look in the mirror or at pictures of myself, I feel no connection between my mind and my body. Honestly, I go days avoiding the mirror because seeing my reflection weirds me out. It’s not that I think I look bad, I just don’t identify with my own reflection.
Growing up, I had the relatively common experience of being mildly bullied in middle school and occasionally feeling ugly. I had (well, still have) a big forehead, and people would call me cranium or five-head. I find this pretty funny now– kids are so dumb. I was no saint myself (case in point: one particularly overweight boy teased me, and I told him to stop causing earthquakes when he walked. He shut up after that.)
Even when I was teased for my appearance, I always had a sort of innate confidence because I liked other aspects of myself. I was kind, funny, and loving, and always had plenty of friends.
(Left – 8th grade)
In senior year of highschool, things changed. At around 16, I got my own car. This was both a blessing and a curse. With liberty came diminished physical activity. As a result I gained weight. At around 16-17 years old, I became increasingly self aware of my appearance, particularly my body.
Almost overnight, I became fixated on my weight. I started obsessively working out and trying to eat as little as possible. I was never overweight, so when the pounds quickly came off, people noticed (in a bad way). Of course, part of me liked having people tell me that I looked unhealthily skinny.
My ex boyfriend came out as gay to me around this time. Instead of feeling honored that he came out to me before anyone else (even his family), my self-absorbed teenage brain decided that I was so undesirable a straight man would never want me. This belief was bolstered by the fact that my previous ex had also come out as gay.
By the time highschool ended I was skinny, but a shell of my old self. I was constantly irritable (probably from lack of nutrients) and had completely isolated myself from my loved ones. I was so worried about weight gain that a missed workout would send me into a panic. Food scared the shit out of me – I wouldn’t even eat a small slice of birthday cake when I turned 18 (and almost lost it when my friends tried to convince me to). I thought I looked good at this time, but now I realize that I didn’t. I had neglected my inner beauty and it showed.
(18 years old, summer after highschool. This was my profile pic on Facebook and my mom commented “you look sick”. Needless to say I blocked her, although she was right.)
After highschool, I moved across the world to France for college. I thought things would be amazing; that I would reinvent myself as a confident and secure individual . Instead my eating issues morphed into bulimia. During my first year of college, my days consisted of attending class, going to the store to buy junk food, and binging/purging in my studio. I rarely went out and basically had no friends. Besides food and my weight, I focused all my attention on a guy that ended up being my first love. He was older and lived two hours away, but with him I discovered my sexuality and felt desirable for the first time. That feeling immediately disappeared once I was alone however, and my eating disorder raged on.
During my second year of college, my boyfriend moved to Canada (to the city of Victoria, ironically). Although this year was an improvement from year 1 (I actually made some friends and didn’t feel quite as insecure), I decided to follow him there to complete my 3rd year of college abroad.
Before moving, I went back home to California for the summer.
During this time, I realized that I could “get guys”. Whereas in France, no men seemed to pay attention to me, in California they suddenly did. Up until this point, I was convinced that my boyfriend was a fluke (aka the only man who would ever find me attractive). As a result, the new experience of getting male attention was addicting. I ended up cheating on my boyfriend several times, all in the sake of validation.
Six months after I moved to Canada, my boyfriend and I broke up. It wasn’t because of the cheating – we actually worked through that. He wanted me to stay in Victoria with him, and I wanted to move to DC to get my Masters degree.
After this first significant breakup, I jumped from relationship to relationship. I’m ashamed of how I treated the men I dated during this period. They were all lovely people, but I was never with them for the right reasons. It always came back to validation-seeking. I would subconsciously mold myself into the “ideal” girlfriend in order to get maximum love and attention. After a few months of this, I would resent the person I was dating then discard them, often in a heartless way.
My relationship with food greatly improved once I moved to DC though, and my confidence level went back up. I’ve always loved school, so getting my Masters was immensely gratifying. I made amazing friends and finally felt like myself again. I definitely felt pretty at this time.
(21 years old – first year in DC)
Once I started working however, things changed once again. I fell into a deep depression and suddenly everything felt meaningless. My job required little mental effort and I felt like I had nothing to be proud of anymore. I started drinking heavily and primarily alone; life felt a little more interesting when I was drunk. I eventually got on antidepressants which helped a lot, but my drinking still got worse. I would take my Prozac with a swig of vodka many mornings (not recommended).
I switched jobs, but that didn’t help. By this point, my drinking had me 100% detached from my appearance. The validation seeking from men continued, and of course with the alcohol I got more and more brazen and out of control. I didn’t care if my body was being used. Well, when I sobered up I did, but I would drown out any negative feelings as soon as they became unbearable. Did I feel pretty? Well, no. I didn’t feel anything at all.
(Some point in 2017, with some random guy.)
This takes us to the start of 2019 – the worst year of my life so far, but possibly the most transformative. I left DC and went to rehab for the first time. When I got out, I quickly relapsed, and so began a seemingly endless cycle of detoxing, getting a few weeks of sobriety, relapsing again, and so on. Each relapse was worse than the last – I was raped, arrested, suicidal, etc. My life for the first half of 2019 didn’t feel like mine. When I look back on this time, it feels like remembering a nightmare. Honestly, I’ve only recently stopped having flashbacks of those awful months.
I ended up back in DC in May 2019, and though there have been ups and downs, I do feel that I am finally in a much better place. The fact that I can feel OK seems like a miracle – most days, I actually like myself again. Meeting people in rehab, AA, and even jail has opened my mind and my heart to others, and boosted my confidence tenfold. I feel like I can talk to anyone now.
Despite this newfound confidence, I remain disconnected from my body. My looks feel irrelevant at this point. Maybe I’ve dissociated as a result of trauma. Maybe I’m just more “in the moment” now. Maybe with more sober time I’ll eventually feel tethered to my physical self again.
Do I consider myself pretty? I can’t answer that question. But I do consider myself strong and resilient and that’s enough for now.
(November 2019 – at my first “real” job since January/ starting my recovery)
Almost Linear 