I’ve spent years at war with my body – now I’m learning to make peace

This one’s been sitting in my drafts (and heart) for a while.

I wanted to write about body image for years – not just as a trend or a hot topic, but from a place that felt real. It’s taken time. I only ever write about things I’ve truly sat with, done the inner work for, and this was one of them. Still is.

The words that stuck

It’s something I’ve struggled with since I was young. Body image is complicated. We all have silent thoughts, comments we’ve received that echo louder than they should, comparisons we didn’t ask for.

I’ve been called names – pig, fatty, spotty. Words that, at the time, didn’t just sting, they stuck. They rewired how I saw myself. If other people think this, it must be true, I thought.

When thinness was the goal

I grew up in the early to mid 2000s – peak size zero culture. Salads were glorified, diet teas were everywhere, and the media made it seem like beauty had one definition. I even remember being praised or complimented for losing weight – I must’ve been about 13. Even then, something didn’t sit right, but I took it as praise.

At home, most of my family were slim, and I often heard women talk about themselves with so much shame. You absorb that. It makes you question yourself before you’ve even figured out who you are.

The girlhood bond of body shame

A lot of girlhood is spent bonding over how much we don’t like our bodies.

“I feel so fat today.”

“I can’t go out, I look huge in this.”

We didn’t know it then, but most of us were dealing with some version of body dysmorphia. And it felt completely normal. That’s the scary part.

At one point, I genuinely believed that seeing my collarbones meant I’d made it in life. That was the marker of being beautiful. Even if I got there through stress, skipping meals or being unwell.

My body changed – and I panicked

Then in my twenties, I was diagnosed with PCOS – and suddenly, my body’s ups and downs made more sense. I gained weight, and it hit me hard. I cried a lot. I mourned a version of me that felt long gone. I felt out of control.

Slowly softening

But over the last year, something shifted. I started dressing for my body – not the one I wished I had. I wear more colour now. More patterns. Outfits I never would’ve dared wear before. I even changed my haircut recently – after years of playing it safe. That felt like quite a relief.

Healing didn’t come from one big moment. It came in pieces. Unfollowing people who made me feel small. Saying yes to the outfit even when I felt bloated. Going on a walk just because. And sometimes, just being kinder to myself in silence.

I’ve learning to feel comfortable in my skin

I’ve had eczema since I was young — and honestly, it’s still something I feel self-conscious about. I’m better with it now, but it’s taken years. I used to pull my sleeves down on hot days, avoid certain fabrics, or choose outfits based on what would cover flare-ups. I didn’t want to deal with the “What happened to your arm?” questions and subtle stared. It made me feel exposed — like my skin was something I had to apologise for.

Even now, there are days where I feel uncomfortable wearing certain things. But I wear them anyway. I’ve started choosing clothes that I like, not just ones that feel “safe.” I’m not fully confident all the time — but I’ve come a long way. Some days I still overthink it, but I remind myself that my skin isn’t something I have to hide. I deserve to feel good, even if I’m still figuring it out.

Wearing what I want, even when I feel a bit unsure, has been part of the process — part of learning to show up as I am. Not perfect, not always bold, but more me.

Being brown, female, and always compared

And growing up South Asian came with its own beauty ideals. Fair skin, small waist, thick hair, but only in the “right” places. If an aunty didn’t comment on your body at a wedding, was it even a wedding.

I smiled through a lot of those comments. But inside, they left a mark. A quiet one, but deep.

When you never fit the “ideal”

We live in a world where the goalposts constantly move. One minute it’s skinny, then strong, then slim-thick. It never ends.

I think when you’ve never fit the ‘mould’, you learn to age differently. You stop fearing the loss of beauty because you never felt like you fit in anyway. That kind of freedom is quiet, but powerful.

Body Dysmorphia Doesn’t Care What You Look Like

I’ve had friends I consider stunning tear themselves apart in front of the mirror. It made me realise — none of us are immune. We all have our stuff.

I used to hate my nose — the way it scrunches when I laugh. Now, I kind of love that about me. It’s real. It’s mine. And it tells a story.

My Smile, Reclaimed

And then there’s my smile. People always compliment it — they say it’s warm, or that it lights up a room. But for so long, I held it back. I was scared it brought out my double chin. I’d pose carefully, half-smile.

But recently? I’ve started smiling wide again. It feels like I’m finally catching up on all those years where I didn’t feel confident enough to show it off. My smile is mine. I’ve earned it. And I’m not dimming it anymore.

Seeing myself through softer eyes

I’m also learning to appreciate the parts of me I used to pick apart — the scars, the lumps, the bumps. They’ve carried me through everything. They tell my story. My smile lines show I’ve lived, laughed properly, felt things deeply. I used to worry about them. Now I think they’re kind of beautiful — they remind me I’m not holding back. They make me feel like myself, a little bit like Julia Roberts when she laughs with her whole face.

Even my lips — they’re not the plumpest, but I like them. They’re mine. They look like me. A blend of my parents and everything I come from. And there’s something grounding about that. I wouldn’t pick apart their faces — so why do that to myself? Beauty’s always been subjective. What makes us different is what makes us worth noticing.

I’m done treating my body like something that needs fixing. It’s not a makeover waiting to happen. It’s my home. And even on hard days, I want to care for it like it’s something sacred — because it is.

If You’re Still Figuring It Out

If you’re still figuring out how to feel good in your body — same.It’s not about big self-love moments. Sometimes it’s just wearing the outfit, or being a little less harsh with yourself.

You don’t have to have it all together to take up space.

  That’s enough.

Just us being bloated after some dinns x