To my younger self: you will go on to do great things

When I was a kid, growing up in New Zealand, I remember that I was the biggest girl in my ballet class. I was only eight years old, but for me, that’s where the “issue” started.

The critique from the teacher saying “tuck your bum in more” (of course, there was nowhere for it to go), being placed at the back of the group dance, and the fact that the studio didn’t have the correct-sized shoes, leaving me to wobble in heels.

I was only eight years old when I couldn’t help noticing how different everyone thought I was. My body was bigger than the other girls. I know that I am definitely not the only girl who was made to feel like this as a child, and looking back at it now makes me feel sorry for my younger self.

So this piece is a prayer and meditation for my friend and you, my reader, about our body and finding acceptance.

As a 24-year-old woman, I still have a complicated relationship with my body. I scroll on social media as much as you would expect and can’t help but feel the way eight-year-old me felt all those years ago.

Depressed, unworthy, and unwanted by society.

What makes it worse is the comparison I see in real life, my mind an echo chamber for self-hate towards what ought to be natural. What feels like a need to slim down and skip meals even though I know it’s all toxic diet culture. I remember the comments about my clothes at camp, crying about being different, and the “well-meaning” comments from family whenever my body changed. I could flood my room with tears, but that wouldn’t fix the real issue.

So many little girls are socialised to feel bad about their bodies.

How we were treated when we were deemed “too large” or took up too much space. As an adult I have to remind myself how lucky I am to have a mostly healthy body.

The fact that my heart beats, delivering blood to every part of my body. How brilliant my body is, whether my cold toes keep me stable while standing, to my thumbs which help me hold things. While at times, my inner voice might criticise my chest and my belly, I know ribs protect my internal organs, and my knees are incredible, in allowing me to bend so I can reach things.

I have learned to appreciate what my body has to offer, rather than how others perceive it.

My mind sometimes goes through mental gymnastics, and makes me sick from stress, trying to fit in and be liked by people.

“You should eat less”, “you aren’t eating enough”, “wait till after the event to have water so you don’t look bloated”… But I have to remind myself that the food I eat, and the water I drink, keep me alive. Eating and drinking keeps my body functioning. So what if my belly hangs out a bit?

My body has not always been perfect, and sometimes people can fail to see the scars on my body. Each scar has a story, a memory, from a time in my life. One is from falling over at Hebrew school, and the other from my old moles. I have stretch marks and acne scars. I have learned to accept these things about myself and see them in neutrality. I don’t have a simple solution to make a peace circle and love yourself (but hey if it works for you, do it).

Rather, I have come to a sort of stalemate with my mind, because I opened up to people about how I felt. Through being vulnerable with how I felt with my closest friends, I found appreciation for the body I have. We sit together, give each other advice and most importantly, we give each other acceptance. These scars are part of me and help me remember my story. I am grateful for the scars that tell my stories.

While I sometimes need to fight with my mind about how much I eat, how I look in clothes, or what others may think, I am still grateful for my existence, scars and all. I am grateful to be here because of the love I feel from the wonderful people around me (and good ice cream).

So while my body has been at times a source of complicated emotions, I like to remind myself: How would I like to be remembered? By my body, and the way I looked or as someone who made my friends laugh or gave someone a shoulder to cry on.

In the end, to me fitting society’s narrow standards doesn’t matter.

When I’m having a bad day, I like to remind myself that all humans are all creations in G-d’s image. We are more than our pain and anxieties. And we deserve to take up space and speak our minds.

If I could talk to my eight-year-old self, who is shy in the ballet class, I would give her a big hug, and tell her she will go on to do great things. I would tell my younger self that the struggle with appearance will not fully go away, but will become more manageable once I find meaning in contributing positively to the world by volunteering and sharing good times with my friends.

But most of all, I would tell eight-year-old Arbel: you are loved, and your body deserves kindness, and the people who truly love you, won’t judge you for your body.

Arbel Tenembaum is an Israel-New Zealander who moved to Melbourne two years ago and currently works in healthcare accreditation and assessment.