Firstly, that’s not my quote – full credit goes to Lexie Kite and Lindsay Kite who coined this phrase in their ground-breaking book; ‘More than a body’. I first heard them discussing it when they were guests on Florence Given’s ‘Exactly’ podcast. Given has since gone on to explore the topic of the body and its role in allowing us to experience joy in her recent publication ‘Women Living Deliciously’ – which I wholly and highly recommend.

My relationship with my appearance, and in particular my body, has long been a difficult one, and this quote, and Kites’/Given’s expansion upon it, really struck a nerve with me.

I first remember feeling like there was something ‘wrong’ with my body when I was 10 years old and on a family holiday in France. We were on a beach, playing, swimming in the sea and then posing for silly photos pretending to surf on a bodyboard. I’d taken the digital camera I’d gotten for Christmas, and was so excited to capture the memories of a week away. But when I looked back on the photos of our time on the beach, (whilst still on the beach, the joys of instantaneous technology ay – it loves to kill the moment) I thought my stomach looked rounder than I’d ever noticed it to be before. An instant seed was planted that I was ‘too big’ and ‘wrong’, and that I needed to cover up – for context I was a slim child, not that that should matter anyway, but it highlights the beginning of the dysmorphia. I immediately covered myself up in a near floor-length sarong, and from then onward I’ve had a complicated relationship with my body.

I’ve constantly considered whether it would be deemed worthy to enter certain spaces, ‘I’m too ugly to go out tonight’ or ‘you’re not attractive enough to enter that room’. I’ve cancelled plans and avoided amazing life experiences altogether because I didn’t think it was up to the mark. I didn’t think I was good enough because of the way I looked.

But, our bodies are to be lived in. To experience things, to experience LIFE.

Your body is an instrument, not an ornament

Ornaments are inanimate, they don’t get to use their senses to smell, touch, taste, hear and see. They are designed to be looked at. Women are conditioned to believe their physical worth or appearance is their most valuable asset. Even if you grow up, like I did, around a loving family and a supportive community that encourages your other strengths and values who you are inside more, society has a funny way of reminding you that your desirability is the factor that reigns supreme.

I’ve tried to conquer this notion by avoiding putting myself in the position to be ‘judged’. Steering clear of beaches, never wearing anything above the knee, turning down spa days with the girls, not going to the kind of bars/clubs where I know I’ll be judged for not wearing something tight and short. Or I’ve tried to meet the standards society have set; dressing for someone else’s attraction or approval, never enjoying the moment by always having an awareness of how I look doing something, rather than enjoying the sensation of being alive and just doing it.

I’m certainly not alone in this. But how sad that at 28, I’ve already wasted so much life being a slave to these standards, or missing out on just living by hiding myself away.

The body positivity movement is obviously a good thing for many reasons, but it did/does put immense pressure on the idea of ‘loving your body’, which is a difficult task, especially for those of us that grew up idealising size zero and media that had one version of a ‘perfect body’. Instead, I think we are better putting the onus on appreciating your body for being the vessel that keeps you alive, and allows you to experience life. It is an instrument, a functioning tool, a gateway to interact with the world and use your senses. That’s incredible.

It doesn’t make us who we are, but it does keep us alive and allows us to seek joy.

Moving forwards, I’m trying to be a lot nicer to it.

I’ve been on a fitness journey in recent months which has seen my body change and get a little smaller. And yes, it’s lush to fit back into those trousers that were ready to pop, but really I don’t feel too different about it or myself in a physical sense. You always think “I’ll be happier when I look like this..” “When I’m skinny I’ll do…” but in reality, we will just keep moving the goal posts and will never be satisfied. I longed to be skinny and lose my curves, but now I’ve got a bit slimmer I find myself wishing it was a different shape again. We always want what we don’t have, and we will never meet the impossible (and everchanging) standards set for us, so I’m trying to hold onto the mental benefits of the exercise, and not prescribe too much to the physical changes.

That’s why I think gratitude for my body is the way forward.

Much like other mental health issues, body dysmorphia will probably be a part of my journey forever. But rather than be bogged down by that, I’m determined to manage it and not let it dictate the rest of my life.

I am grateful for what my body has done for me, it’s been with me through all of life’s ups and downs, and it will be with me till I die.