The road to body acceptance: a tale from restriction to reframing and everything in between

Mar. 17

Written By

Author: Hailey Hechtman

This is not about my body, instead it is an ode to it. A prose of appreciation for all that it has been through, all I have been through to see it now through gentle, appreciative eyes.

Growing up, food was always a fixation. Whether for comfort, for distraction or for affection, food provided something to me before I fully had a chance to comprehend its meaning. As a child, often left to my own devices and constantly questioning my worthiness, I began to binge in my earliest memories. It started with sneaking food from the fridge, eating it in secret in my room and hiding the evidence (in the form of copious wrappers) under my bed. That little girl felt an instant relief from the consumption of this hidden nourishment– finding more and more creative ways to fill the urge as I moved into my teens. My first job at 15 really was the funding source for late night chicken nugget runs. While I thought that I was stealthy with these rendezvous of treats, others began to notice the way my body grew. At school this meant snickering, and pointed jokes. At home and in the office of MDs this meant concern, recommended diets and sly attempts to get me to the gym. I however continued my quest for soothing.

When I graduated from high school and went off to university, freedom fed me. I still binged alone, however I no longer had to be as elusive as no one really noticed. Multiple trips to the grocery per day, drinking and all of the delights that went along with bar food at 2am with a group of friends just as keen to devour the plate of nachos as I was. My body expanded and yet I found peace, I had a group of friends I adored, I had a place that felt like home, I had love pouring in from many angles.

Then, at 20, while in my hometown for the summer, I browsed through photos taken at my cousin’s wedding only mere weeks before. I was shocked. There was something about this larger body that I felt like I had never seen before– the captured image on film shook me as if an insult to the way I thought I was in layers beneath. I made a choice at that moment to make some changes, to pursue a healthier lifestyle. This started with good intentions – like all journeys of self-discovery– I added a little walk/run here, a little more veggies, a little less chips. These small changes began to reflect themselves on my figure and in time my shape began to shrink.

It was then that the voices, the ones of critique that I had chosen to ignore for so many years began to sing a different song– their delight for the way my body morphed was loud and encouraging. The praise, the “you’ve got this” energy began to escalate. It was a validation, an acknowledgment I had never known before. This is where the next chapter began. What started as a simple add and subtract to feel and look a little better, over a period of several years metamorphosed into obsession.

My 20s were riddled with this deep yearning to hear those compliments, those oohs and ahhs and “what’s your secrets?” My goals and my focus shifted completely to my body. I ate little and exercised a lot. I tracked every bite of food in my phone and became a mental mathematician of how much and what type of activity would burn it off. I spend every waking hour entangled in learning about changing my body; I did squats and pushups in the bathroom during my workday; I avoided fun events with the people I love out of fear of what was on the menu at the restaurant. At my smallest, I was miserable. Not just because I had shifted every conscious moment to this poor body but because my “after” didn’t look the way the magazines and filtered images told me it would when I got to the finish line.

I was at my tiniest size, my most insecure. Every stretch mark, all of the loose skin, the apron hanging off my belly were seen as failures in my eyes; assumptions that I had done this wrong, had missed a step during my perfectly curated approach to transformation.

As an attempt to reach the mythical results I dreamt of, I now got into strength-training. This was just a new focal point of fixation. I learned all I could about lifting weights, I bought equipment, I wrote out countless workout routines and ate mostly protein. I told myself this was the healthiest. How could building muscle be bad? And yet, the more I shape-shifted, the more deeply anxious I felt.

At the root of all this was fear– fear that I only had admiration and respect because of what I had been so dedicated to do; fear that if I gained weight I would be seen as a fraud; fear that I was only lovable if I was what the world told me was attractive. This was reinforced by the cheerful voices, the validation still pouring in from all around.

At this point I even sought it out more intensely, sending photos of myself and stories of my championing quest to be small to online publications.

So what was the turning point you may be asking? For me, it was many little nudges that culminated in the great snapping out of it that waxed and waned from late 20s into early 30s. It was the people around me, the ones who loved me not because of the size of my jeans but for the human that I am, showcasing their affectionate desire to see me enjoy my life and find support. It was reading books like the F*ck It Diet by Caroline Dooner, It Was Me All Along by Andie Mitchell and Hunger by Roxanne Gay. It was listening to podcasts like iWeigh and Mary’s Cup of Tea. It was deep diving into the underlying anxieties, journaling, and focusing on self love. It was weaning myself off of habits that had held me tightly for nearly 10 years — I deleted the calorie counting app off my phone, I reduced my exercise, I stopped taking progress pictures. It was learning to love the me that I was underneath all the noise and the me that I was regardless of what I looked like. It was in decluttering my social media follows and prioritising people with bodies of all shapes and sizes; seeing them as beautiful helped me to see myself differently.

Now before you get too excited and say to yourself “wow you managed to become cured, to fully recover from your eating disorder” I want to stop you. This has not been and will never be a linear roadmap. I still have moments of deep insecurity and body shame. I still have days where I will self-soothe by recounting everything I ate the day before, in a weird ritualistic practice that I take on when I am feeling overwhelmed or out of control. I have moments of self-doubt where I look at my reflection with disdain and fantasise about the woman I looked at 3-4 years ago.

While these still happen, and probably always will to some extent during times of internal turmoil– I have learned to call them out, to speak to them softly and acknowledge their expression of pain.

I have grasped for myself that my eating disorder flourished through feeling powerless and so when the thoughts that have the capacity to drag me back emerge from their shallow slumber, I have learned to face them with gentleness and repurpose that energy into other ways I can feel strong.

Whether through writing, through dance, through long walks through the woods, I can calm the storm by caring for the young girl within just looking for reassurance.

For anyone who has struggled with their relationship with food or their body, you are enough. You are stunning, you are powerful, you have gifts beyond anything the world sees on the outside. I hope in time you embrace that and that you find peace from the perils of the critique in favour of the flourishing that can happen when we realise that our bodies are the containers that carry us through life. That they allow us to do all the fun, exciting, adventurous, scary and wondrous things and we should in time learn to appreciate how they help us each day without us ever asking.