“You barely have lunch, and I’m worried that you’re not eating enough.”
My face burnt bright red. They know.
It was true, of course. Throughout sophomore year, my daily food intake slowly inched below 1,500 calories, barely enough to sustain a toddler. Six months in, my period halted its monthly cycle – hormonal amenorrhea. Tired, anxious, scared. Yet, nothing deterred the voice in my head from telling me that I would never be small enough.
With an already petite stature, my health was never questioned; people seldom criticized my diet or the amount of space I occupied in a room. Skinny was healthy, and I bought into that myth. Until I started to listen. I listened as my friend confronted me with her concerns. For the first time, I was exposed to a new definition of health detached from fear foods and aesthetics. Not immediately convinced but willing to change, her perspective encouraged me to do the research and reflect on my health subjectively. In the following week, dietetic research papers and videos filled my search history; the verdict was glaringly clear. I was wrong.
Today, I exercise for adrenaline. I eat for fuel. I recognize my worth beyond the number on the scale. Listening to a different perspective was all it took for me to unravel the flaws of my own, and that, as I currently eat the rest of the holiday toffee pretzels unabashedly, is something that I am forever thankful for.