The beginning of the New Year is filled with urgent and strong worded resolutions. Weight loss is always at the top of the list for Americans, especially women. That is why I was I surprised learn my body is worth acceptance, no matter the size, in January of 2018. I can look in the mirror and accept myself, accept my body for what it is. Every curve and bit of pudge in every place that society deems to be unflattering and inconvenient. The problem is it can be difficult to keep that strength throughout the year. 

I am a healthy weight. Sure, I might have a tummy and thick thighs. My hipbones don't protrude when I lay down. My face is full. But I'm not obese. When I go to the doctor, they tell me that my BMI and weight are on par with my height. 

But ever since I can remember, I've been the bigger person in my age group. I've always been tall (I am now 5' 7"). My best friend was underweight during her elementary and preteen years. I was surrounded by skinny individuals in dance classes and school musicals. I was constantly comparing myself to my peers, wishing I could fit into the (insanely minuscule) size large costume for my sophomore year dance. I tried not to break down in tears when the costume designer desperately tugged the zipper around my midsection. Everyone else comfortably fit in the Forever 21 dresses.  

Ever since I was a child I’ve had a negative body image. I remember looking down at my thighs and despising how they spread when I sat in the car. I must have been only seven years old. My stomach always stuck out a little, like the start of a pregnant belly. I easily latched onto the culture of older females in my family saying, "I have to lose weight" and "I hate this big belly." 

In high school, I was determined to change my body. I had always aspired to be skinny, and I would be skinny no matter the cost. 

When I have a goal I am strongly invested in, it takes my world by storm. Recalling how devoted I was to my studies back in high school, I laugh at how strict I was with attendance and not missing a single extra credit opportunity. I would compulsively check my grades three to four times a day. I applied the same behaviors to losing weight. 

Tracking exercise became my obsession. The goal was 10,000 steps. Sometimes even that wasn’t enough. I counted every calorie, and made sure to do extra exercises to burn more than I took in. I celebrated when I managed to only eat 800 calories a day, and frowned when I pushed 1600. I skipped meals when no one was watching and tried to go to sleep before ten to avoid the hollow feeling in my stomach. 

I went through emotional turmoil. It worked. I got slim. I was giddy off the feeling of my ribs sticking out when I laid down. I could finally wear a crop top confidently. But after a while, I burned out. It wasn't healthy. It took all my energy just to wake up at six for school every day, not to mention dance practice. By the end of the day, when my homework was all finished and my FitBit tracker notified me that I had burned 2,000 calories, it was midnight. 

 It was never enough for me. My family complimented my newfound slimness and admired my dedication. But I always shot it down and said I wanted more. Even though at times the scale told me I lost 1-2 pounds a day, I always wanted to be skinnier. Stomach just wasn't flat enough. And when my weight wouldn't budge for two or three days, I exploded in frustration. 

Finally, I got out of that situation. I stopped harshly restricting food, and quit dancing for a bit. I realized my environment was too emotionally tiring and not supportive of my mental health. All of this didn't come without shame. I would repeatedly relapse, feeding off of my family members’ restricted diets and self-criticisms. Even today I'm afraid that I might give in again. But I realize the shame I forced upon myself for being 100 calories over my 1100 per day limit was just as intense as if I’d lost the twenty dollars my mom gave me to pay for groceries. Providing nourishment to my body in no way equates treason. 

 In the past year I have been following numerous body-positive accounts on social media, trying to boost my confidence and believe that I can be beautiful no matter what size. My body keeps me alive every day. It pumps blood through my veins and shields me from infections, heals my cuts and provides me with insulation. It is unfair to constantly criticize my figure when all it does is live and work for me. 

In the past few months, I’ve realized I can be happy with my weight. My boyfriend consistently tells me he loves my figure. Although he has said that for the past year, I finally comprehend that he means those words. I look in the mirror and see the beauty he sees, for real this time. It doesn't matter what size I am, as long as I am happy and healthy. I deserve to realize I am beautiful. Now, I finally feel proud of my body.

 -Vera Armstead

Vera Armstead is a 19 year old woman from Crofton, Maryland. She studies Psychology and English at St. Mary's College of Maryland and aspires to be a novelist. She is passionate about dance, film, literature and family.