“He was the perfect husband, until my 27th birthday. He took me into the storage closet of our tiny apartment. ‘Surprise!’ he said, pulling out a white envelope. I thought it would be a cute card. Inside I found cold, hard cash. Literally hundreds of dollars. ‘I saved it. For your new boobs!’ I felt rage overtake my body.”
‘You’re not getting breast implants for me? After all I’ve done?!’ Just like that, my marriage was dead.’: Woman divorces husband after pressure for plastic surgery, ‘never alter yourself for a man’
‘He was looking at my new body in full light. ‘Rawr,’ he’d exclaim, flicking his eyebrows up and down.’: Woman embarrassed by postpartum body thankful husband ‘never slowed down in his affections
“My husband knew that while I dried my hair or slathered on moisturizer, I was perfectly comfortable with him coming into the bathroom to continue a conversation or tell me what I’d missed in the show he was watching. I never had an issue with him seeing my body, as I did unsexy things like brush my teeth. Until now.”
‘I found out devastating news. She’s in jail, permanently lost custody because she’s an addict. Crystal meth.’: Mom too wrapped up in her own ‘self-loathing’ to see past friend’s ‘mask’ of why she was so thin
“I walked in the door of their beautiful, suburban dream house. I looked up to see a woman whose body would’ve made Heidi Klum look like a hobo. She was so thin. She looked tired, as you would expect, but there wasn’t an ounce of baby weight left on her barely a few months postpartum. I instantly judged myself.”
‘I didn’t remember I had my shirt off. ‘Mama, can I take a picture of Bowie?’ I vaguely remember shifting him on my hip so she’d see him better.’: Mom felt ‘disgusted’ after postpartum photos, says it’s ‘normal to mourn your body’
“Alas, a picture was taken. I scrolled through the 50 she took of us and I was not thrilled with what I was looking at. Why? Because of my stomach. The little house this baby grew in was the reason for my disgust. It took me 3 days to even look at those pictures again.”
‘I have stretch marks, saggy skin, a weird fat fold around my C-section scar. I don’t really love myself. This has to stop.’: Mom insists weight does not define us, cannot keep letting ‘my imperfections consume me’
“I can’t pass this on to my daughters. I can’t have them looking at their bodies in search of flaws. I don’t want them to put all of their worth in what they see in the mirror. I want them to know, what I still am trying to convince myself. We might have fat, but we are not fat. This is not WHO we are.”
‘I was teased that toothpaste had calories. I hated the whispers and stares. I thought it was cool to not get my period anymore. I’m ashamed of this.’: 43-year- old mom finally confident in body image after struggling with eating disorder most of life
“It intensified when I left my parents’ home and went to college. I drastically reduced my food intake. I hate thinking about the look of shock, disappointment, and concern on my mother’s face. She hadn’t seen me since Christmas, so when I came home for Spring Break, my mother was worried sick over my frail appearance. I felt guilty, but not guilty enough to change.”
‘If not your breasts, they’ll attempt to convince you your worth depends upon your thigh gap, complexion, weight.’ Mom shuts down 8-year-old daughter thinking her body is ‘flawed’
“My darling girl, there is something I must get off my chest before you grow into yours. As you get older, society, men, even some women, will try to convince you that your breasts — their size, shape, level of ‘perky’ — are what define you as a woman. Hear me clearly when I firmly inform you, they are wrong.”
‘Are you going to lose weight for the wedding?’ I felt judged for my shape, ashamed and humiliated. ‘Yes, I will be losing weight.’ Then came the moment where I found the dress.’
“I stood there semi naked, holding my breath. I stepped into the wedding dress. My consultant whipped the curtain open and my mom gasped. All I could think was, ‘Here comes my further humiliation.'”
‘185. That’s my number. It is what pops up on the scale when I decide it’s time to torture myself. I stress-ate after being diagnosed with breast cancer.’
“Or is it 390? Maybe that’s my number. The size implant I want when they reconstruct my breasts so I can feel more human again. I squeezed every weird gelatin blob in my plastic surgeon’s office before settling on one. ‘I dunno, this one?’”
‘This is me in a dress I have NO business wearing.’
“I don’t want you to say, ‘OMG, YOU LOOK GREAT!’ I don’t want you to say, ‘GOOD FOR YOU!’ I want you to know why I’m wearing a dress I have no business wearing.”
