For the Sake of Your Ankles

I remember the tights, the leotard, the looking at my gut, thinking, “as long as I can see my toes, I’ll be okay,” or as long as my boobs cover my stomach, I’m fine.” 

I remember standing at the barre and looking at my stomach, legs, and the shoes I danced in.

I remember my crush telling me that the reason I didn’t make the high school cheer squad was because I was fat. 

I remember my ex telling me that his friends called me fat and they asked him why’d he be with me. I was fourteen years old.

I remember my ex telling me that she liked me better now than when she met me. I was twenty five years old. She told me that I was “too skinny” back then; I was nineteen years old.

I remember when I was a middle school cheerleader and my other fellow cheerleader said, “No, just smaller legs only,” when taking a picture. And I also remember a lot of the girls just letting that slide.

I remember my beloved dance instructor pulling me to the side after class and saying, “Anna, I think if you lose five pounds, it’ll be easier on your ankles. Just, ya know, lay off the sodas,” with a chuckle at the end. After listening to her and just taking it while paying attention and smiling, I went to the breakroom and just cried. And I thought I was fat back then.

I, still, to this day, want to please her. I get nervous seeing her. I’m nervous a, “You sure have gotten bigger,” statement or her pointing out something that has to do with me being different than I once was.

As a dance teacher myself, I never EVER will comment on my dancers’ weight. And I hope to God I would never make them feel like they need to be fearful of never pleasing me or like they need to be fearful of my opinion of them. A lot of my worth was put into that woman’s opinion and thoughts. I regret letting someone have that much control over me. 

Opinions are like assholes, every person has one. And everyone poops the same way. Doesn’t make me right, doesn’t make you wrong.

I wear black leggings because I prefer black leggings. Is it because they match with everything? Or because they hide the most impurities? Or because they make me look skinnier?

I wear big sweatshirts and clothes that are too big for me to feel smaller. And they are also a comfort for me and a security for me. I remember Miley Cyrus saying in an interview, one time in one of those magazines we all used to read, that she loved hoodies because they made her feel safe. 

It is no secret that I have self-worth issues. Or a body image problem. Or a fear problem. Or feeling like I can’t be loved. I’ve gained people, lost them, thought I found the one, they left, too. I’ve gained weight, lost it, gained it back, and here I am now with it gone. I haven’t entirely reached my final goal weight yet, but I’ve lost 40 pounds and I’ve met my first fitness goal. Even in that last statement and sentence, I downgraded my progress. Since June, I have lost 40 pounds and I’ve gotten my blood pressure and my resting heart rate down. I am healthier and am I happier. A few days ago, I reached my first fitness goal of under 200 pounds. And I am proud. And yes, I still eat the damn cake.

One thing that is definitely on my mind today is that I don’t feel pretty. I cut my hair off in June of 2020 and I have loved it, and so has everyone else, but it makes me feel ugly now. I really really struggle feeling pretty. And feeling emotionally confident because I’m scared one of my loved ones are going to think I’m “too much.” So sometimes, I know this is hard to believe, I try to keep things in because I just don’t want to start an issue or give people a reason. Things that didn’t use to bother me when I was younger, anxiety wise, do now. And I hate it. And I hate that I allow that demon on my back to be louder than the angel of reason.

If you’re friends with me on social media, you’re probably thinking, “But you post all these selfies all the time, how could you think you’re not pretty or that you’re not confident?” That’s because I’m trying. Hardly ever will you find me in the corner sulking for very long, I am very resilient.

I’ve never had a thigh gap, don’t want a thigh gap. I’ve always been bigger. But I am also a small person. 

Also, 5 pounds? Let’s work on the ignorance, here. 5 pounds is poop. 5 pounds is cake and a steak. I mean hello, people. 

I told my therapist about that story about my teacher, and she said, “That is how an eating disorder could’ve started.” 

I’ve wondered if I’m on the way to developing one or if I have developed one. I’ve told three people, at three different times, that I’ve thought I’m developing one. Don’t get me wrong, I love to eat. And I do eat. But the unhealthy thoughts are there. The negative thoughts are still there even if the action isn’t. The obsessing over my weight is there. The fear of gaining it all back is there. The stress eating is there. The feeling guilty if I don’t work out 4 days a week is there.

I wonder if I eat enough sometimes.

Then there’s the binge eating, for me, the stress eating or the eating of the feelings.

The bottom line is: I don’t have a healthy relationship with food.

There’s the, “life is short, eat the damn cake” mentality and then there’s the, “you’ll gain it all back” mentality.

If you’re typing in, “do I have an eating disorder?” on Google, you probably have some sort of struggle. I’m that person.

Sometimes, life is about balancing the two wolves in your head, the one that is positive and the one that is negative. Life is about balance.

Nothing is perfect; if it was, it wouldn’t be real. And would you want that?

A