At a little over 24 years of age, I stand here today, 5'8" in front of a wardrobe that spans from UK sizes 12 to 16 (US size 8-12).
I pull out my 'skinny mini jeans' and ask myself if today's the day where I can finally re-live my early teenage years and sizing. Pulling them past my upper thighs was very much like attempting to stuff a whole leg of ham through a drainpipe. As I kick those jeans off with a huff I catch my reflection in the mirror.
The morning sun has filtered through the window as the rays caress the smalls of my back. The lighting was almost perfect enough to cast a silhouette of me in the mirror but I can see my face. My cheeks flustered and my forehead glossy with a sheen of sweat, I watch as a drop trickle down the side of my cheek and cling on my jawline.... taunting me.
For as long as I could remember, I was considered 'plump', 'fat' and 'big'. Occasionally I was treated with the words 'hefty', 'rotund' and 'obese'. I have been dabbling with diets for as long as I could remember and 'battled' with my weight and body image since the early days of my dancing years.
I was the teenager that had sporadic bursts of loyalty to the temple of ab-crunches and core training. Like praying very hard to any religious sect for my desires, I didn't have much to show for when it came to my ability to do 300 crunches a night or my ability to hold the plank position for a minimum for 2 minutes. Simply put, I wasn't about to lift up my shirt or brave the gym in a cropped sports top. Just t-shirts and track pants for me - tank tops were reserved for the 'skinny mini days' only.
At a little over 24 years of age, I stand here today, 5'8" in front of a wardrobe that spans from UK sizes 12 to 16 (US size 8-12).
I see myself in the mirror. With flustered cheeks and a glistening forehead, the meandering tributary of sweat ended at my jawline. The droplet lingers for a moment on my jaw as my wrist smudges it away. Not today. I won't fit in my 'skinny mini jeans' today but its ok.
I move away from the mirror, put my leggings back on and I re-adjust my sports bra. A remix of 'I am not alone' by Calvin Harris plays on my iTunes and I drop into plank position. The rays of the morning sun tickles the droplets of sweat on the smalls of my back as I lower myself to the start of 10 push ups.
I won't fit in my 'skinny mini jeans' today but its ok. My body is strong and I am physically fit. While I can push my body to contort into what some may consider as pretzel like positions, I can't force it to fit into jeans that mimick the stuffing of a sausage through a straw.
At a little over 24, I am done fighting my body. I stand here today at 5'8" and say come what may with the shape of my body. This is the start of my journey in rehabilitating the relationship between my psyche and my body.
I pull out my 'skinny mini jeans' and ask myself if today's the day where I can finally re-live my early teenage years and sizing. Pulling them past my upper thighs was very much like attempting to stuff a whole leg of ham through a drainpipe. As I kick those jeans off with a huff I catch my reflection in the mirror.
The morning sun has filtered through the window as the rays caress the smalls of my back. The lighting was almost perfect enough to cast a silhouette of me in the mirror but I can see my face. My cheeks flustered and my forehead glossy with a sheen of sweat, I watch as a drop trickle down the side of my cheek and cling on my jawline.... taunting me.
For as long as I could remember, I was considered 'plump', 'fat' and 'big'. Occasionally I was treated with the words 'hefty', 'rotund' and 'obese'. I have been dabbling with diets for as long as I could remember and 'battled' with my weight and body image since the early days of my dancing years.
I was the teenager that had sporadic bursts of loyalty to the temple of ab-crunches and core training. Like praying very hard to any religious sect for my desires, I didn't have much to show for when it came to my ability to do 300 crunches a night or my ability to hold the plank position for a minimum for 2 minutes. Simply put, I wasn't about to lift up my shirt or brave the gym in a cropped sports top. Just t-shirts and track pants for me - tank tops were reserved for the 'skinny mini days' only.
At a little over 24 years of age, I stand here today, 5'8" in front of a wardrobe that spans from UK sizes 12 to 16 (US size 8-12).
I see myself in the mirror. With flustered cheeks and a glistening forehead, the meandering tributary of sweat ended at my jawline. The droplet lingers for a moment on my jaw as my wrist smudges it away. Not today. I won't fit in my 'skinny mini jeans' today but its ok.
I move away from the mirror, put my leggings back on and I re-adjust my sports bra. A remix of 'I am not alone' by Calvin Harris plays on my iTunes and I drop into plank position. The rays of the morning sun tickles the droplets of sweat on the smalls of my back as I lower myself to the start of 10 push ups.
I won't fit in my 'skinny mini jeans' today but its ok. My body is strong and I am physically fit. While I can push my body to contort into what some may consider as pretzel like positions, I can't force it to fit into jeans that mimick the stuffing of a sausage through a straw.
At a little over 24, I am done fighting my body. I stand here today at 5'8" and say come what may with the shape of my body. This is the start of my journey in rehabilitating the relationship between my psyche and my body.
Grooming experts say that in order to create an illusion of being more svelte, one should never pose for a photograph facing completely forward. Therefore, to comemorate this, I will share a very rare full frontal photo of me. This is me, done with the fight.
