I stepped up to the microphone and took a deep breath. I had never performed spoken word before, much less in front of strangers. I concentrated on lowering my heart rate, and loosened my grip on the mic stand. There was no turning back. I took a leap of faith and opened my mouth:

“Sitting in the middle seat

Next to my friend in the carpool

Ugh, she says

My thighs

Are the size

Of Australia.

Looking over,

I didn’t need a measuring tape

To compare the circumferences

Of our ten-year-old legs.

Even by eye

The wider

Were mine.

Why?”

I stopped. A lump rose in my throat, I could feel the tears welling up. I suddenly felt too vulnerable, too exposed. I couldn’t get the rest of the words out. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as the audience waited silently.

Body dysmorphia is the strangest thing. You don’t see yourself the way the world sees you, no matter how hard you try. I could be sickly-looking thin, but in the mirror it wouldn’t be enough. Now I look at pictures of myself when I was at my smallest, and I can’t believe I ever thought I needed to take up less space.

I have always had an unhealthy relationship with food, the way I looked, and the number on the scale. At some points I tried to stop eating, at other times I couldn’t stop. I’ve been at both extremes of the BMI chart, and I didn’t feel good at either one. I want to practice body positivity, I really do. I want to see food as fuel, and work out because it makes me feel strong, not stress eat junk and then run myself ragged trying to “cancel out” the calories I feel guilty about. I’m not there yet. You won’t catch me in a bikini at this size, or wearing anything other than a baggy t shirt at the gym. I’m very fortunate in that I have no serious medical problems, and I know I should be grateful. I hope one day I do better at loving myself and taking care of my body. That day is not today, but I am making more of an effort to remind myself of the end of my poem:

“Why do we dislike ourselves?

Blatantly

Or deep down.

Is there someone who is perfect?

Who would get that crown?

Today I’m standing on two feet

They have taken me everywhere

I’ve ever been.
My thighs,

They are wide

Because they’re powerful

They’re strong.

My stomach lets me be nourished

My heart

My lungs

The blood in my veins

It all keeps me alive

So my arms can hug

And my hands can write.

My eyes

My eyes are the windows

Through which I see

This incredible world.

And through my lips

Flows my story.

This is

My story.

None of me is perfect

But

But

all of me

Is beautiful.”