My Journey to Self Confidence: 13 year old to 17 year old

Confidence.

I remember being 13, crawling to the height of puberty, clad in chunky braces and struggling with an ever-growing bush of hair (which I used to brush then.... mistakes). I got social media. Followed models. Admired other people who glowed with a confidence that seemed so foreign. Began to feel as though my own body was inadequate. Ugly.

What a strange thing mental health is. You hardly even know it’s deteriorating until you look back, realising that the thoughts clouding your mind were draining the life from you. There are few things worse than finding an enemy in your own mind.

In our generation, I have no doubt that at some point you have related to these feelings of self-doubt and insecurity, a symptom of the social-media-bred disease we contract without trying. I hope that in some way, sharing my own experience will help affirm your own worth - especially if you're currently at a stage similar to where I was.

You know, I so vividly remember being sat in the bath at the age of 13. I hit puberty early, which was fun. Tentatively, I edged my finger down the new rolls of fat tumbling down my softened stomach, tracing the silvery stretches of growing skin on my thighs. And I hated it. I could hardly look at myself and this body that I refused to inhabit. My mind a chorus of belittling lashes.

It was in that bathtub that I found the cycle of self-loathing. As my peers adorned themselves in crop tops and tight jeans, I learned to fear clothes-shopping for the girl staring back at me in the mirror, and how clothes seemed to hate her frame. The attractive word “diet” in the pages of magazines and sprinkled in glossy social media platforms called me, whispering its promise of model-worthy beauty.

Calorie counting? Let’s try it.

Low-carb? Low-fat? Less sugar? Okay.

And though I never fell into the dark abyss of eating disorders, I learned that restricted eating patterns cannot fill a hole which has arisen out of lack of self-love. No alterations to my physique could mend the persisting self-doubt. No diets could shape my happiness.

Dragging myself from the gaping cycle was both intangible, and yet the most difficult thing I may ever have done. It involved unfollowing a mass of celebrities, taking my finger from the temptation of editing, and a little thing, that is perhaps the biggest thing, called self-love.

Now I’m here, and can you believe it? I am content. I am a warrior clad in stretch marks, and I am content. My weight fluctuates, and it’s okay. Almost 5 years on, and I choose to love this body I inhabit.

I look back at the darker days almost in disbelief. How could I loathe a body that kept me alive? That was healthy, strong, and flawed only because I was made to believe so.

Stretch marks; thighs that touch; stomach rolls; double chins; needing bigger clothes sizes; bloating; fluctuating. It’s all natural. It’s all okay. You are not defined by the appearance of your body, nor should you let social media or the words of others determine your own sense of self worth. You. Are. Beautiful.
Love your skin my friends, and love your body, for it keeps you alive and breathing even when you may scrutinise it. 
I truly hope that in this present moment, you realise how utterly extraordinary you are, just how loved and how appreciated. We all go through darker moments, but like most things, remember that they are temporary x

I LOVE YOU! x