Learning to love myself was always more of a mind thing than a body thing. Sure, working out and eating less junk food (along with a little bit of help from puberty) did me wonders. It made me feel healthier and happier. But there have always been things about myself a workout routine can’t fix. For example, I have a round face and wider hips than most guys. I could exercise all I want and lose weight, but these two parts of me have a lot more to do with my genetics than my health. They will always be, to some extent, a factor in my appearance.
When I realized this, I also realized that although exercise had a very positive effect on my self esteem, there was a part of me that had a goal in mind that was simply unattainable and, frankly, unhealthy. I wanted (and honestly still want) that triangular figure, broad shoulders and a square waist. I also wanted a thin face with that prominent jawline the man-lovers of the world are always talking about. The fact of the matter is, however, I have bigger legs and a bigger butt, and I was simply born with a rounder face. Currently, I have more muscle and weigh less than I have all throughout high school, but these traits are just a part of who I am.
And there’s just something really sad about the fact that I’ve been trying to get rid of them. They’re unique, they’re what make me me. But the fact of the matter is I would exchange my body for one of those “conventionally attractive” bodies any day. If you told me I could trade in my face, my wide hips, and everything that characterizes my appearance for that “tall, dark, and handsome” look, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
Maybe it’s because of the media, drilling into my head that I need to look a certain way, to fit a certain mold. Maybe it’s because of those few stray comments that just dug a little too deep (“Did you know Connor’s face actually looks like a circle from a distance?”), or maybe it’s my fault for listening to it all. I don’t want to talk so much about where it comes from as I do about how I’m learning to deal with it.
First and foremost, I’ve slowly opened myself up to compliments. I try harder and harder not to argue with anybody who tells me I look “good today.” I stop telling myself I look disgusting, and I start slowly working my way in the opposite direction. I don’t go right into “I love myself! I am a very attractive human being all day every day!” Because that’s downright impossible. There’s a reason you learn algebra in middle school and not calculus. Baby steps. So instead I tell myself stuff like “I look okay today.” I find little things I can compliment myself on such as my hair looking nice or my arms having slightly more muscle. I remind myself that a bad photo does not make a bad person. When I see myself in a mirror and get that sinking feeling in my gut, I say “that’s a stupid mirror” and walk away. It’s all about building myself up.
And lately, I’ve found a way of thinking about myself that really does the trick. First, I remember how I see my friends, the people closest to me. They don’t all fit that standard of “conventional beauty.” And yet, when I look at them, I honestly think they’re beautiful. I find I love the little things about them they see as imperfections. It could be dimples, or the way their hair looks, their height, their hands. They see problems to fix, I see uniquenesses that remind me of them. Over time their face just becomes them, and there’s no way that they could ever be anything other than beautiful.
I take that mentality, and I turn it to myself. My face, as much as I might dislike it, is me. It’s been with me since the very beginning, and it will stay with me until the very end. When people think of me they will think of that face. And at my funeral they won’t talk about the roundness of it, they’ll remember the way it looked when I smiled. My body becomes me, it becomes the good or bad I choose to do in the world. And it seems that over time I’ve realized the more good I do, the easier it is to look in the mirror, because I can see a body that has is capable of doing beautiful things.
– Connor
trolleyproblem 