Tia G.
If you’re reading this, you can not hate yourself into loving yourself.
The term “Self-Love” used to sound more like propaganda to me as I’ve stood in front of mirrors that felt more like battlegrounds, picking apart reflections that didn’t deserve my cruelty. Believing that if I had “the perfect body” like the girls who ruled my Instagram feed, or the faces only a plastic surgeon could create, I truly would love the girl looking back at me.
No matter how conventionally “skinny” I was, the mirror never reflected it. All I could see were the two jean sizes that separated me from my friends. A silent reminder of how much bigger I used to be than my friends. I would shake at the thought of asking to wear something of theirs, scared it wouldn’t fit over an arm or a thigh.
It wasn’t just my body I picked apart. Growing up in a predominantly white town, I wasn’t conscious of my ethnicity until my first kiss commented on how “unique” I looked. I am half-Chinese, but that label felt heavier than ever at that moment. It was always emphasized to me, especially in the media, how “sought after” it was to be mixed, to be Wasian. Yet, I never felt like I looked like the girls they were talking about. The mixed girls I saw getting attention actually looked Asian, something people have told me, more than once, that I do not. I wasn’t white enough to fit in, or Asian enough to stand out. I existed somewhere in between, never sure if people liked me or just liked the idea of what I represent.
I hated myself. The girl I saw in the mirror was ugly in every way she’d been taught to measure beauty. I wanted to change everything about myself so badly. Starting at the tender age of 13, I was a consumer of the well-known weight-loss tea FitTea. Anything trending and marketed as a “weight-loss” product was what I bought with my allowance. I swam on my high school’s varsity team, but even when I got home, I put myself on the treadmill to run a mile before eating dinner. I was obsessed with my clothing sizes. Three letters that defined my adolescence were S, M, and L. When people noticed I was losing weight, it only fed my obsession further. As thinness equated to love and acceptance.
Obsessed with my appearance, I did everything to avoid looking like myself. I dyed my hair, I changed all my clothes. If there were a photo of me that I didn't like, I would use FaceTune to alter it, because even if I didn't have the perfect body or the perfect face, I wanted social media to see it differently. I begged my mom for a gym membership after quitting swimming, fearing that my lack of activity would lead to weight gain. I would spend hours at the gym obsessing over how many calories I burned, only to go home and count how many calories I consumed.
Sometimes I look back at old photos and think, “Wow, I looked so small.” But it doesn’t make me proud. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. If only the girl in that picture had thought the same, she would’ve saved herself years of pain.
Until very recently, my mindset about diet and exercise had changed. It used to be that the gym was about no sugar, no calories, and no food at all. When you become skinny, you'll feel good about yourself, and others will too. But even when I reached the goals I thought would fix everything, I was still deeply unhappy. It was never enough.
What I’ve learned, and continue to try to learn, is that real self-love isn’t about altering yourself to feel better. It’s about showing up for yourself every single day, even on days when you feel your worst. For me, it was meeting my little self in the mirror and promising her she’s everything she wanted and then some. It’s forgiving my body for all the ways I criticized it, and forgiving myself for believing I deserved that. It’s choosing nourishment over restriction, movement over punishment, and compassion over comparison. Because comparison truly is the thief of joy, and until you stop measuring your worth against someone else’s, you’ll never feel safe in your own skin.
I’m not here to tell anyone that it is easy, because that’s not true. I still catch myself hyperfixating on my reflection and photos of myself. Self-love is not an instant gratification but a conscious choice.
The moment you stop trying to hate yourself into loving yourself is the moment you discover you were worth it the entire time. You’ll never find peace by chasing someone else’s reflection.
Tia G., Syracuse University
Connect With Us
To follow IfYoureReadingThis at Syracuse on Instagram, get in touch with our chapter, and learn about more resources available to Syracuse students, visit our chapter’s homepage.
AUTHOR CONTACT
This author has opted to allow readers who resonate with their story to contact them. If you would like to speak to the author of this letter about their experience, please use the form below.
