This wasn’t the topic I expected to get into. Despite how it probably seems, I try to plan ahead for this blog and have ideas laid out in advance. But the topic I was working on wasn’t flowing for me. Talking about body dysmorphia and my own issues with body positivity will go more smoothly. After all, it’s me bashing me. I can do that for days!
Body dysmorphia was going to be a topic earlier than this, but I kept getting distracted. I mentioned it way back in the Ambiguity of Male Sexiness post, the one that got the momentum going for the blog (thanks, Cate!). Erin also alluded to my issues in her post about body positivity leading up to her boudoir photoshoot. Coach April (of Naughty Gym fame) recently posted about her own issues.
Being mere days after Thanksgiving and us entering the Christmas season (which is usually a bleak time of year for me for reasons I shan’t get into), it seems a good time to talk about my own issues.
Scratch that. I feel it’s a good time to discuss my struggles with this issue. I don’t have the time now to go into my issues, of which there are many.
And yes, in case you were wondering, this will be one of those posts that makes me look super confident and sexy for all the lady readers! </sarcasm>
Body Dysmorphia: A Definition
First, let us start (as we so often do) with a definition. From the Mayo Clinic, Body Dysmorphic Disorder:
“Body dysmorphic disorder is a mental health disorder in which you can’t stop thinking about one or more perceived defects or flaws in your appearance — a flaw that appears minor or can’t be seen by others. But you may feel so embarrassed, ashamed and anxious that you may avoid many social situations.
When you have body dysmorphic disorder, you intensely focus on your appearance and body image, repeatedly checking the mirror, grooming or seeking reassurance, sometimes for many hours each day. Your perceived flaw and the repetitive behaviors cause you significant distress, and impact your ability to function in your daily life.”
I’m not that bad. I wouldn’t suggest I have a disorder per se. Rather, for me, body dysmorphia is more akin to just not being able to perceive myself rationally nor objectively. I don’t obsess about a perceived flaw. Though, I do find that language a bit dismissive, “perceived flaw” as if it’s illusory or a hallucination.
“It’s a ‘perceived flaw’ not an actual flaw, you dumb git!” Fuck you, definition from the Mayo clinic! It’s a goddamn flaw!
Anyway, for me, this presents thusly: When I look at myself, I don’t see someone who looks strong or fit. I’ve been told otherwise, but being told a thing hasn’t helped me internalize that thing.
From Where Did This Issue Arise?
This is mostly my brother’s fault.
When I was roughly eight years old, I started to gain weight over and above most of my school peers. When I was six, my family moved from a development with kids my own age out into the middle of nowhere where there was no one with which to play other than my older brother. Even at this time, we didn’t really get along, so we didn’t play together that much. Which meant I didn’t have anyone to play with as a child.
A review of family stories has revealed just how much my older brother resented having a new baby in the house. He went out of his way to get me in trouble as a child–and my mom viewed his tattling on me as him being a loving, protective older brother.
I participated in some sports as a kid, but that wasn’t enough to counteract my overeating at this time, and overall, I was generally fairly sedentary. I began to prefer computer games and reading to physical activity. And as the weight went up, so did my brother’s bullying about my weight.
It’s funny, looking back: I remember telling my mom about how he was picking on me and her trying to find ways of rationalizing it. Specifically, I remember a long stretch of my brother calling me Bilbo. My mom would say, “But Bilbo was a brave and courageous hobbit! Think of it as a compliment!”
Well, Mom, it’s difficult to take it that way when both my brother and I are well aware he’s calling me that because hobbits are generally considered fat and lazy. I can’t just decide it’s a compliment when we all know it’s meant as an insult.
Internalizing…and Then Changing
At some point, I just accepted the identity and decided to revel in it. If I couldn’t stop my brother from bullying me, then I would wear this moniker as a badge of honor. I willfully became fat and lazy. I took pride in being inactive and pushed myself to overeat. My weight was never a health issue nor was I so large that it was problematic. I could participate in gym class, though I hated it. I could wear clothing from normal stores, though I was always in the “husky” or XL sizes.
This armor carried me through high school and college. Or rather halfway through college. At some point during my junior year, I decided I didn’t like being so unfit, and so I started going to the school gym. At first it was just 30 to 45 minutes twice a week on the bikes. I went with a friend who lived across the hall in the dorm during the afternoon when we were both free. We made a pact to hold each other accountable because neither of us had a lot of drive to do the work though we both had the want for the results.
I don’t remember what spurred this change. I think I was tired of getting winded walking across campus and up the stairs to get to classes. Though, now that I consider the timing, junior year would have been after my brother graduated college (we went to the same university), and thus was the first year he was well and truly out of my life. Perhaps that was more of a consideration than I realized.
My father had a heart attack only a few months into this transformation of mine. That drove the point home that I needed to change and to maintain the change or else fall into an early grave.
I Became a Gym Fanatic
Soon after my father’s heart attack, I dove into fitness with a passion. I read about lifting practices and diets and exercise. Lifting was more enjoyable than just cardio because I responded to it well, and I reveled in seeing improvement week after week. I made some friends at the gym, got into a routine, and excelled. More so in this one thing than any other avenue of my life, really.
I eventually got bit by the cardio bug and have maintained that as part of my fitness routine. My college roommate and I picked up racquetball, and we played a couple times a week. Me, enjoying regular activity? Quelle surprise!
When we moved out of the college house and into our post-college house, we switched to a different gym that had racquetball courts so we could continue playing. And through it all, I continued lifting. Over the years, I would fall off my routine occasionally and have to push myself back into getting up early to hit the gym before work. But I always pushed myself back into it. I was determined to not fall back into being high-school me again. I didn’t care for that guy.
Nowadays, it feels odd to not work out regularly, and it throws off my normal routine and sleep schedule if I fall off my daily workout habits.
As Erin mentioned in her post, this new fitness focus created a lot of tension in our relationship. I was not the guy she had started dating in high school. I viewed it as an improvement (did I mention I didn’t like that guy?). She viewed it as judgement on her and as me buying into everything she had despised about her childhood.
Body Dysmorphia Throughout
I was stronger, fitter, healthier…but I couldn’t see that in the mirror. I never felt I looked like someone who went to the gym. It was obvious in my numbers: my body weight, how much I could lift, how far I could run. But I never felt it, never saw it. Imposter syndrome is real!
I remember one trip to the Renaissance Fair–we were in our late 20s, maybe early 30s–I did the swing-the-mallet-ring-the-bell “strong man” game. I managed to ring the bell on all three swings. A younger, college-aged kid, obviously an athlete, tried it right after I had and failed. His friends were teasing him about his failure, one of them pointing to me and saying something like “that guys did it!”
The one who had failed replied, “Yeah, but in my defense, that guy is huge!”
I turned to Erin and said, “I’m huge?”
She nodded and said, “Yeah, you kind of are.”
This exchange remains seared into my brain because it was the first time I felt…I don’t know. Seen, maybe. Like I had made it. Someone beyond myself had noticed and was impressed.
But I still couldn’t see it myself. Body dysmorphia is a real bitch.
Enter Psychedelics, the Body Dysmorphia Eraser
The biggest breakthrough I’ve had getting over my body dysmorphia came from our psychedelic explorations, and fairly early on. Not the first couple of trips (psilocybin and LSD respectively), but soon after.
The best way I can describe it is that no matter how much I improved, how fit I became, I always saw high school me in the mirror. Fifteen years down the road, and my perception of what I looked like was still that far out of date.
It was as if psychedelics erased that perception and allowed me to finally see me in the mirror. I could see that I was big, strong, broad shouldered, and muscular.
Unfortunately, I still wasn’t as lean as I wanted. I tend to hold my fat around my stomach area (the most deadly place in terms of heart issues, which I am genetically predisposed for), and I can’t help but still focus on that.
I managed to feel better about myself. But not great about myself.
I find that psychedelic experiences usually leave me with a better sense of self, my body dysmorphia diminished for a spell. But time erodes these revelations. Eventually I slide back into seeing lazy, fat, unambitious high school me in the mirror.
And I really hate that guy. He was a nice dude, friendly, but fuck, was he a lazy git who couldn’t get out of his own way to save his life.
The Ambiguity of Male Sexiness
I have never felt sexy. I’ve had women compliment my arms, which feels awesome. But that’s not the same as feeling sexy.
As I discussed in blog post about this, for the most part it seems that there isn’t as much in the way of male lingerie that women find appealing. The feedback I tend to receive is that the more clothed I am, the more appealing I look–which reinforced my own thinking on the matter. I looked best in every picture that I’m not in.
There are several guys out there leading the charge to take back male sexiness on social media with #ManlyMondays or #ManCrushMondays or some such. Awesome! I approve! But you won’t find me posting pictures there. I look at those guys and think, yeah, go them! Those are some sexy male bodies!
So it’s not that I don’t think men can be sexy. Far from. I just don’t see myself amongst their ranks. And have never felt it.
Feedback Loops
In my day-to-day existence, I get feedback to support my opinion that I am a kind person, funny, and sometimes moderately intelligent. Occasionally even interesting. After all, I have this blog that you are reading (and if you read this, you can’t deny it!). I have been taught to trust these things in myself.
I rarely get feedback about my looks, which allows me to justify my own view of myself and that view is far from positive. Being in the lifestyle has done little to change that perspective.
Not to say that I think Erin doesn’t find me physically attractive. But I would say that my looks were not the key features that endeared me to her. That would be me being a good, kind, caring person.
How horrible that someone should look beyond the broken exterior to see the goodness of the person within! Isn’t that the moral of dozens of hallmark after-school specials after all?
Yeah, it’s great for society at large. But it still feels kind of bad to look back and think, “I don’t know that any girl who showed interest in me (few though they be) did so because she liked how I look.”
To be fair, I’m fairly certain number four out of the four times I’ve been hit on at least finds me cute. I think number two had something to do with my looks. Though I had been making her laugh right up to the point where she said it.
I tend to think that I was found attractive despite how I look. My personality and humor work overtime to allow people to get over my physical exterior.
Can My Body Dysmorphia Be Overcome?
At the very least, I know I have good arms. So that’s a start. But I have a face that would make more sense if bare-knuckle boxing was a hobby of mine at some point in my life. Alas that it was not.
The worst part is, I’m not sure if this is a mindset I can break free from. I can see myself as strong now, but I’m not sure if I can ever see myself as sexy. I hope that interactions in the lifestyle might dissuade me of my opinion of myself (assuming that I’m wrong in the first place; let’s not discount the idea that I might actually be perceiving reality quite clearly).
The real problem is, what happens when you receive a compliment that you don’t believe? You brush it off as misguided at best and a lie at worst.
How many compliments might it take to break through this kind of destructive thinking? I have no clue, but I’m clearly not there yet.
And yes, I realize that I need to forgive high school me (and all the mes before that; it was middle school me that really fucked it up for the rest of us, to be honest). Young me was dealing with a lot of shit; the eating and the being lazy were ways of protecting myself from my bully of a brother.
Still, that little fucker poisoned me for years, and that’s hard to get over.
An Afterthought
Finding the image for this piece was difficult. I wanted an image of a fit guy seeing an out-of-shape guy in the mirror, but I could not find such an image. There were similar/equivalent images of women doing so. Goofy pictures of skinny guys with muscular shadows. Images of fat guys seeing ripped reflections. But not the opposite.
Used the search term “body dysmorphia,” and all the images were women. I couldn’t even find any good pictures of a guy smashing or punching a mirror or even looking at their own reflection through a broken mirror.
Stock images are usually bad, I know this well from my job. My coworkers and I often share awful stock photos with each other as a joke. “Guess what search term brought up this image!” is a common game we play.
But I find it telling that body dysmorphia has been relegated to being a female issue. Yes, women have a lot of pressure on them about looking a certain way or being a certain weight. But this isn’t just a woman problem. Maybe if we realized that most of us feel pressured, trapped, and unhappy we’d all be a little bit better about not putting pressure on others.