On my wedding day I thought to myself, “This day would have been perfect, if only I was thinner.”
How stupid was that?
I was marrying the man I loved, who was endlessly interested in my body. I’d just found out I was pregnant with an IVF baby I thought I could never have. I was surrounded by family and friends who loved me.
But as I took my first steps down the aisle, I was thinking about my body and how much I hated it.
My wedding day wasn’t the only time when body hatred intruded into my life. Over the years I’ve avoided parties, not gone swimming, and even taken days off work because I was having a “fat day”.
I don’t want to calculate the number of hours of my life I have wasted fixated on my body and everything I thought was wrong with it.
A few years ago, I decided enough. Enough with the constant anxiety about my body. Enough with letting the number on the scales dictate the kind of day I would have.