When I was in my teens, I must admit, I hardly cared about my appearance. Somehow, I dodged that bullet a lot of teenage girls, very unfortunately, had to take: disliking the way we look.
That isn't to say I was "better", though. I was liberated from having to think too much about how I looked to make myself feel better about myself, but at the same time, I didn't make the effort to take better care of myself and my body. I was so “confident” that I at times appeared untidy and unkempt.
And well, I think I just got on that train late. Because eventually, the feelings did catch up to me. I did grow to feel at least insecure about my body and my appearance.
I started being more conscious about my appearance in university. As I entered my 20s, I suppose like every other woman, I started to be more aware of the growth of my body. In my 20s, my thighs and hips grew in a way some may even sadly call “disproportionate” (what an unfortunate word) to the rest of my body. I felt conscious of the way my legs, thighs, hips, bum, and tummy generally grew more compared to my arms, torso, and waist. I ate the way I normally did (not incredibly clean or healthy but not too unhealthy either) but somehow a lot of the matter settled in areas I thought to end up making me appear conventionally unflattering.
But because I didn't feel the pressing need to regularly exercise or take on healthy eating habits, I didn’t really do anything to change the way I looked.
Which, I think, I may have sub-consciously resorted to hiding it. Whether I looked or felt good or otherwise was irrelevant. I wanted to feel... unseen. As though this part of my body didn’t exist. I wore a lot of loose clothes and pants. Part of it was because of my own understanding of the hijab, which is to cover parts of my body as necessary. Part of it may also be because of the laziness that never left me, I didn't want to think too much about which clothes really make me look and feel good because it was too energy-draining for me anyway.
But I also cannot deny that part of it could have been because I just didn't feel good seeing some parts of me. I wanted them to go away. And so I hid them, even if it meant not looking good or making bad fashion choices.
All this was on the back of my mind, though. Thankfully, it didn't consume me, but I didn't properly address it for myself, either. I just... moved along. And that went on for quite a while.
Today, I very much am more conscious and caring about how I look. So I work towards the way I want to appear. I want to lose weight, so I have been regularly exercising, and I want to maintain my good skin, so I invest in products and ingredients to keep my skin looking good. I have grown to realise and internalise that body care and skincare is not mere vanity, it is also healthcare. And even if it is vanity, an element of it isn't all harmful, because there is goodness in taking care of how we look. The bonus part is that looking good also makes me feel better about myself.
Where do I draw the line, though? Because now that I do care, I feel even more conscious of my thighs, tummy, and bum, all of which have been growing so much recently. In fact, I'm currently at my heaviest. I've gained upwards of 5kg since I started at my new workplace (where I tend to be happier!). When I share this with my friends, they (flatteringly) tell me they cannot tell the difference, but I can. I see the curves, the folds, the chunks, the flabs. I see the lines, the dark areas, the rounds, the jaggedness, the silhouettes. I feel the effects, too. I feel more sluggish, less energetic, more tired. I feel like I want to eat more and not care. I feel the hate, the resentment, the jealousy, the regret.
But strangely, I also feel content. I feel happy and at ease, I feel glad. I feel hopeful and I do love the body I am given.
It's a messy and ironic mass of emotions. I am happy and thankful to eat, yet I wish I didn't have such a huge appetite. I love the feeling of exercising my body, yet I hate having to do so much. I care about how I look and I smile more at my legs, yet I wish I had someone else's thighs. I am grateful for all that my hips and legs have done for me, yet I wish they hadn't grown the way they did. I am excited to wear clothes that flatter me, yet I don't want anyone seeing any of me, and not for religious reasons. I enjoy being healthy, yet I occasionally wish I didn't have to actually work to maintain it.
There is no resolution to this. I am just unlearning, re-learning, and re-processing that loving my body and taking care of my body health isn't a linear journey. God sees me for more than my body and appearance, but He also raises the importance of taking care of it. I suppose while I undeniably will grow, I want to also grow to be comfortable, I want to grow into someone with a body I can easily love and appreciate even more.
Here's to that ongoing and lifelong journey. :)
