How a Stranger I never met nearly ruined me.
There are many voices that speak powerfully to us as we grow up.
Parents, teachers, siblings, friends. Of those voices listed, I cannot fault even one of them for tearing down my self-esteem and devastating my self-image.
And yet, there I was, a young woman standing in front of a mirror with that same familiar voice screaming softly in my ears:
“What is wrong with you?”
“How can you manage to be so fat, ugly and lazy all at the same time?”
It didn't always speak that violently.
Most of the time it merely forced my cheeks to flush as I attempted to squeeze into a size jeans I thought I should be able to fit.
It would flash disappointment across my eyes when the picture looking back at me was chubbier than I would have liked.
By nineteen, possessed with what could only be described as full-blown Stockholm syndrome towards this Voice; I convinced myself that it was my friend. That the constant scolding was there to motivate me, help me become my 'best self'.
So I began to run, pounding the treadmills until I was too exhausted to think straight, but still conscious enough to hear:
" Not quite there yet, summer is coming..."
On and on it went, stealing more happiness than I want to admit. Capping my confidence, subduing my joy, warping the image I saw to a nearly unrecognizable state of monstrosity.
I remember saying:
"Any day that I don't feel like a hideous monster is a good day, it happens about once a month."
But as I cast a retrospective eye over what led me in such devotion to this 'Voice' that had governed my inner dialogue for so many years - I struggle to target its origins.
My dad had loved me, my mom was proud of me, no friend judged me or boyfriend shamed me. No beauty pageant or superficial standers had shoved their convictions upon my reasonably sheltered upbringing.
But as I stared with increasing intensity at my life to date an insidious shadow came into focus.
I realized it had not been someone close to me that had introduced this voice, it was a Stranger. One who's stench of perfection and self-hatred permeated through such benign mediums into my life.
It was a sickness, a fear and hideous lie that had existed long before I was born.
It had gone viral.
My mother had it.
I saw it as she stepped disappointed on the scale for the umpteenth time that month. As she dieted and exercised but still spoke about those few pounds she wouldn't mind losing.
My friends had it.
I saw it as they sucked their stomachs in to fit dresses, talked about who's breasts were the bigger and argued over which celebrity body they would rather have.
But they were just the tip of the iceberg.
Books, movies, magazines, clothing stores, makeup brands, infomercials even songs all whispered the same devastating message:
" You are not enough. Try harder."
The exposure to this poison was as concentrated as it was consistent.
I never once questioned pumping these lies into my veins as I submitted to the vicious cycle of striving for perfection, knowing I would fail every time.
I'm not sure how long this insidious Stranger who masqueraded itself as my friend and advisor would have stayed with me.
But I remember the day it stepped out from behind its condescending mask just long enough to reveal its ugly face.
The day looked like this:
I had met my life partner, he was crazy about me and for the first time in a long time I felt safe and loved. I believed him and trusted him. Then one day he said:
" You get more beautiful every time I see you."
I shot him a weird smile and looked away, but he picked up on it immediately.
" You don't believe me, do you? You are so beautiful, why don't you believe me?"
"It's just hard." I said, " You wouldn't understand."
I knew he wouldn't understand, hell - I didn't understand!
I believed that he meant it.
I wanted to believe that he was right.
Why couldn't I believe he was right?
The Stranger revealed its true self to me and in that split second I knew: I could never simultaneously listen to Its voice and the voice of the man who loved me.
I had to choose.
The Stranger with many voices nearly ruined me and make no mistake I fought to get back every inch of peace and happiness that it had brutally confiscated.
It was a long fight.
Every now and then I hear its voice, like a whisper on the wind or a passing shadow, so soft and distant.
I almost like to hear it now, it reminds me of how far I have come and how much I love this freedom of self-acceptance.