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

The 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.

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.

RESCUING SELF-LOVE 2. Do things that challenge my negative perception of my body. Going for a run in public, for instance.

The first step was going to be so easy. I mean, I don’t say terrible things about my appearance all the time. No more self-deprecating jokes about my weight. No more self-criticism in the mirror; no calling myself ugly or worthless. This would be a breeze.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Each day, whether it’s morning, noon, or night, I make at least one comment about my appearance. By the end of the first week, I have filled up half of the jar. Awfully bleak, if you ask me.

“How about you make a list of things you like about yourself?” One of my roommates, Sydney, suggests while we eat at the cafeteria.

Sure thing. That will be simple enough.

I stare so hard at the paper that my eyes start to sting.

“Come on,” she tells me. “There has to be one thing you like about yourself. I can name a lot of things.”

I look at her, my expression helpless. It’s impossible. Every compliment I give to myself feels like a lie. You see, loving myself never even occurred to me. Being plussized and loving myself is something I never thought I could do. “Okay,” I say to myself, taking a deep breath. 1. I like my eyes.

Good. A neutral compliment. 2. I like my smile.

Even better, it’s more specific. I can do this.

3. I like my passion.

4. I like my generosity.

5. I like my kindness.

I glance at my list, feeling a bit better. Yes, this can work.

“Looks good,” Sydney tells me, “I’m going to get something sweet.”

I smile at her, feeling proud of myself. I can do this.

After that day, the next step comes out of nowhere, on a random Saturday shopping trip with my friends.

“Get something,” they tell me. My eye goes to a crop top. I’ve never owned a crop top. I never thought people like me could wear a crop top. It is flashy, with all sorts of colors and words on it. It looks like graffiti art.

“I like it,” my other roommate, Charlize, tells me.

“Okay, I’ll get it,” I tell them, my confidence slowly building.

Getting the crop top is the easy part. The hard part is actually wearing it. It, too, is on a random day, a Sunday when we decided to do a photo shoot.

Until then, the crop top stays at the corner of my bed, untouched.

“I look like all the girls I wanted to be.”

MILLITHOUGHTS

I decide it’s time to do something bold.

“You look great!” My roommates tell me, their smiles genuine. For the first time, I feel that the compliment is truthful.

I wear it with my head held high, my smile beautiful. I look stunning. I look like all the girls I wanted to be. Confident, proud, beautiful. Happy. We take multiple pictures, each of them better than the other. I feel like a rock star.

Self-love is hard. It’s a journey that I am still working toward. I tell this to the people who hate themselves, who think they are too much, too skinny, too fat. You, too, deserve self-love. You deserve to hold your head high.