I hinted at this on my Instagram yesterday, and if you look through the tags, you’ll see that #beYOUteFULL has appeared in my past 3 posts.
For uni, we had to plan a media campaign. I decided to do one on something I knew well: eating problems, disorders, and coping with them and recovering. From that planning stage, I decided no. No, this wasn’t just going to be a planned project that would be marked then forgotten about: I’m actually going to do this.
A little backstory for you: when I was 15/16, I was on the verge of anorexia, if not anorexic. I went to a size 6/8-ish, which for me personally is not healthy. If you’re naturally that size or get to that size healthily, you work it and rock it, I support you. But for me, when I’m naturally an 10/12 through eating a balanced diet and working out (hips, thighs and arse are a 14, but I’m just blessed💁) it was not healthy and I looked incredibly ill on those pictures.
I was in an awful relationship and suffered horribly with anxiety and I was depressed, I was having suicidal thoughts. If I got bigger than an 8, I was made to feel big; it’d be pointed out that I’d gained weight. On top of that, I was doing my GCSE’s, so was stressed enough without the added pressure to be perfect. To be able to be shown off. For the size of my thighs to dictate the size of my worth. I was still pursing modelling, and I know the less pounds you weigh, the more pounds in your pocket. For me, to take control of something when I was losing control, I controlled my eating. I looked in the mirror and saw somebody bigger than I was. I was slowly killing myself, to be brutally honest. I ate my tea and very few other meals, but when I did, I was so stressed and so depressed I’d not gain the weight, I’d lose it. I was dancing, doing athletics, and even after I had to stop that for a foot injury, I was still tiny: I couldn’t use that as a reason or an excuse anymore.
I reached a point where I wanted recovery when my mum sat me down and told me she was worried. To everyone who knows me, you know I’m a mums girl, so to be upsetting and worrying my mum and dad (and even my brother who is oblivious to the world around him) was the thing I needed. My best friend Georgia told me she was worried, and that kicked me up the arse. She’s a walking ray of sunshine, so to kill that shine that killed me. Just after this, my then boyfriend split up with me after months of mental and emotional abuse, to put it plainly. I should have walked, but I didn’t. I was too wrapped up thinking I deserved what I put myself through and what he put me through, unable to see how much I was hurting those around me. This was a month before I turned 17. Many of you read my blog what I was suffering: I hid it well.
Now, I’m 19, and I’m happy. I’m physically healthy. I have rougher patches and bad days, but I’m mentally healthier. I’m in a relationship with somebody who truly loves me and treats me like a princess- he loves me no matter my size, my shape, my past or my opinions. I’m not hurting my family (something I see as a massive bonus point, I hate the fact I hurt them and I still hate my past self for hurting them so much). Do I still have days where I feel big or don’t like my body? Yes: every person does. But I look at my thunder thighs (I could crush you and will crush you if you fuck with me, there is strength in these thighs) and my tiny tummy and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I’m proud that I’m no longer hurting those around me, that I know my worth. I thank my mum and family and Georgia every day (mentally, I should actually say it a lot more) for what they did for me, because if it wasn’t for them I could have been a lot worse.
Another reason why I do it and why I decided to go all out with this?
I had a family member point out to me a few months after my 17th birthday that I’d gained weight. That I was bigger. They eyed my pizza and my cake like I should be eating less. Like I should be moved away from the food. In contrast, my mum was looking at me with pride and love and she knew she had her daughter back and not the shell of the girl I had been. I think the family member actually said, ‘A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips‘. The disgust on my mums face and the tone of my brothers voice and she still didn’t get it. I remember my response still:
“The thing is, I was incredibly sick. Now I’m not.”
She still didn’t get it and still doesn’t; she doesn’t seem to understand how I could be happier now I’m bigger and willingly got bigger. The comments on my weight roll off me now. I’m healthy and I’m proud of my curves…
Oh, and moment on my lips is a blessing for these hips, I’m an hourglass for a reason.
So, why Be-YOU-te-FULL? Well, everyone deserves to be and feel beautiful (pass the cheese) and there’s nothing wrong with being full. Whether it be because you’ve been starving your body and you’ve finally ate enough, or whether you’re suffering BED and you don’t binge until you’re overly full. Being YOU is you being beautiful. Every person deserves to feel confident in their own skin, no matter if you’re a 6 or a 26- as long as you’re healthy.
You should be full. Full of food. Full of life. Full of love. Full of laughter, energy, happiness. You should be full of you and your personality.
I’m an instance of recovery: my mental illness made me starve. I’ve recovered from both an illness in my head and an illness with my body and I’m still here. I know that life is worth it and your body is just a shell to carry your beautiful soul around in. You’re worthy of love. If you’re struggling, you deserve recovery and you deserve respect for the hell you have been through.
If you want to give me a boost or share your own stories, tag me in the picture and use the hashtag. If you just want to show off your body and how gorgeous you are, go ahead. I want to spread positivity. Beauty comes in all forms, and you are one of those forms.
Be you. Be-YOU-te-FULL.
Stay safe and stay happy, Angels ❤