RESCUING SELF-LOVE
Body confidence is a difficult journey, especially if you do not fit the social standard for beauty. Navigating feelings of self-hatred, Lauryn Kenny creates a plan to love herself. By: Lauryn Kenny
T
he doctor’s office messes with my self-confidence. I remember going to the Walgreens nurse, my stomach a bundle of nerves. I am only here for a strep throat test. I get strep throat every year, but every time, I feel the same dread. The same shame. The awful scale awaits, the dreadful number that everyone hates. A doctor comes in, an older white man with judgmental eyes. His hair is white, and he has a permanent scowl on his face. He looks like the type of guy who hates children. Here we go.
14
BURST
He sits in his chair and looks at me, “You do know that your weight is a problem, right?” I recoil, even though I knew he was going to say that. I only came for a strep throat test. Younger me looks him right in the eye, tears threatening to come. Yes, I do. This isn’t the last comment about my weight. After many doctor’s appointments like this one — with the leers and the jokes — my younger self began to learn something: I don’t deserve love, not even self-love. I take up too much space. I am too fat to be loved. You might be thinking, “Wow, that’s pretty heavy.” Wondering, “Is there a point to this?” Yes, there is.
I remember looking at myself in the mirror, doing the usual routine of “why I hate myself today.” Today, it’s my legs. Maybe tomorrow it will be something else. I pause, looking at my reflection. Why am I doing this? What’s the point of all this heartache? What’s the point of all this self-loathing? So, I do what any rational person would do. I make a plan. The plan is simple:
1. Make a self-deprecation jar.
Every time I say something bad about myself, I put my name in the jar. If the jar fills up, I have to buy my roommates dinner.
