There are many factors that cause someone to develop body dysmorphia, but the factor that keeps it alive is perfectionism: the persistent belief that the status quo is not good enough and a higher state of existence is possible.
Why does a young lady who is 5’6” and weighs 85 pounds see a flabby, bloated body in the mirror when others see nothing but skin and bones? Because her permanent conclusion is that her body, in its present form, isn’t as attractive or lean as it could be. In her mind, her body isn’t perfect—so calorie restriction must continue.
Why does a young man who is 6’1”, weighs 200 pounds, and has 7% body fat see a gaunt weakling in the mirror when others see an Adonis? Because his permanent conclusion is that his body, in its present form, isn’t as attractive or muscular as it could be. In his mind, his body isn’t perfect—so relentless workouts and extreme dieting must continue.
The problem for those experiencing body dysmorphia is that perfection, as it pertains to the human body, is an illusion. Quality of appearance is subjective, which means there’s no cumulative set of attributes mankind collectively judges as ‘perfect’. That means what one person sees as perfect another might see as hideous.
So, like a rock climber scaling a mountain that is growing taller by the second, those with body dysmorphia never arrive at the summit. They never come into the moment when they look at themselves in the mirror and decide that they’ve reached their ideal physical appearance because there’s always something they could do to make themselves just a bit more attractive.
I know this for a fact. From the ages of 18 to 28 I constantly sought perfection in my appearance. My body dysmorphia was borne out of the belief that I was simply less valuable than everyone else and that, in order to get myself on an equal footing with the rest of my peers, I needed to improve every aspect of my life that I could control. Because I was naturally skinny, that meant gaining weight and putting on muscle.
I eventually fell into a pattern of working out four or five (and sometimes six) days per week and eating copious amounts of every healthy food I could find. There were stretches when I ate 4,000 calories per day, downing forkful after forkful until I was full and then, for an added bonus, eating just a little more. I went through a period of several months when I was eating so regularly I felt genuinely hungry maybe only once or twice a week.
Over time my distorted mindset convinced me that it wasn’t necessarily that I needed to be big, but that I simply needed to look better than everyone else—because again, I believed that I had to look better than everyone else in order to just be considered equal to everyone else. I began obsessing over my weight and became addicted to working out and eating. If I didn’t go to the gym for more than a couple days in a row I became overwhelmed with feelings of worthlessness and self-hatred. If I ate junkfood I felt like a failure and believed my muscles were going to disappear overnight.
When I was 23 I used to drive by the same pudgy middle-aged man each day on my way to work and every time I passed him I thought about how I wished I were him so I could just live my life and not care about whether my biceps or abs looked defined enough. Imagine that: I was trapped in such a totalitarian cycle that I was fantasizing about being someone who was the exact opposite of everything I was striving to become.
Later that year I went from 185 pounds to 215 pounds and back to 185 pounds in the span of six months. I gained those thirty pounds by eating meals between meals and downing mass gainer supplements. I lost those thirty pounds by eating salads at every meal and increasing my cardio.
Not long after that I began experiencing daily fatigue, nausea, and depression that I would discover three torturous years later were the side effects of a severe gluten intolerance. Apparently eating pounds of wheat every day for months and then abruptly cutting back to eating mere ounces of wheat every day for months caused what was once a very minor gluten intolerance to go ballistic.
But I was so addicted to reaching perfection that even feeling ill didn’t stop me. I forced myself to go to the gym on days when I felt so sick that I could barely get out of bed. I ran miles on the treadmill while holding back vomit. I pushed myself to do lunges when my knees felt weak and inflamed. There were times I was so tired I fell asleep on the weight machines between sets.
My dieting binges also continued unabated despite my symptoms. I stuffed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches down my throat when I was so bloated I had no appetite. I ate entire tubs of pasta when just the thought of food made me want to heave.
When I was 26 I developed a hernia in my stomach as a result of doing awkward situps on a yoga ball and I had to go under the knife. I was also diagnosed with gastritis and acid reflux shortly afterwards.
And yet, despite all these things, when I looked at myself in the mirror I had the same thoughts I had when I started my journey: ‘This isn’t good enough. I can do more. I can look better.’
I was climbing a mountain that was growing taller with each step I took. I was trying to catch the wind with a net. I was searching for that which cannot be found.
It wasn’t until I was 28 that I finally realized the error of my ways and gave up my pursuit of perfection. And guess what happened? I actually started liking—and appreciating—how I looked. I stopped evaluating myself against everyone else and became comfortable in my own skin. I found myself smiling and laughing more. Plus, I had so much more free time to spend on productive tasks like reading, writing, and volunteer work.
Sure, I still work out and follow a healthy diet, but it's so much more relaxed and I do so purely to maintain a baseline of health. I no longer care about how much I weigh or how big my triceps are; my only concern is how I feel.
Why do I say all this? We’re entering a time of year when we’re told our appearances matter more than at any other time during the rest of the year. That’s right—it’s summertime (for the northern hemisphere). Over the next few months we’re going to be showing more skin at pool parties and cookouts, increasing the likelihood that we’ll be scrutinizing our bodies and evaluating them against those of our peers.
This summer—and from here on out—be mindful of how you perceive your appearance. If you find yourself lingering in front of the mirror analyzing the contours of your stomach or debating whether your arms are too big or too small, stop and remind yourself that you’re trying to find the answer to a rhetorical question.
Your responsibility is to eat a healthy, moderate diet and get some form of regular exercise. That's it. It’s a responsibility you owe to yourself to promote your physical health and mental wellbeing. Stop caring about how your body looks and start focusing on how your body feels. After all, your body is meant for function, not appearance. Your body’s purpose is to enable you to do the things you enjoy doing. Whether society equates your body to a Mazda or a Maserati is irrelevant because both get you where you need to be—and both look the same when wrapped around a telephone pole.
Accept this truth: your body will never look perfect.
But guess what? Neither will anyone else’s.
Submitted May 28, 2017 at 01:11AM by ZachJGood http://ift.tt/2s8hI6V
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