Fine. I’m only 25-years-old. I haven’t experienced a decade of adulthood yet, or even more than half a decade of being outside of my teenage years. I haven’t given birth to any babies nor undergone any major surgeries. My body couldn’t have changed that much, right? I shouldn’t feel that insecure about differences between my body now and my body as a teenager … right?
I wish.
As a teenager, there were a few physical traits that I found unattractive and therefore absurdly disappointing. Each high school picture I brought home left me glum. No wonder boys didn’t like me. No wonder more people didn’t try to be my friend. It all balanced upon my outward image because, in many ways, high schoolers were self-absorbed and I was no exception.
Personally, I think we can partially blame this absorption on survival instincts. No friends? No one to protect you or help you when you’re in danger or dying. Or maybe a teenager doesn’t care about having friends, but having people dislike them stands as a threat to their survival just as much. So, it’s critical to portray yourself in a good image.
But what even is a good image? Who decides what matters?
Society. Culture. Our community. DUN DUN DUNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, even I yawn and roll my eyes when I hear that. As true as it is, it’s a tired reasoning.
Yet, as old as these interpretations are, it wasn’t just high school Mandy that felt bad about her body. It’s been the adult Mandy too. Except this time, the adult me has glorified and longed for the way she looked at age eighteen.
Right before age nineteen, I started to gain weight, and not muscle weight and not water weight. My body created more fat because I exercised less. The decrease in activity came from my dedication to a mission for my church and, after that, from a transition from collegiate soccer to intramural soccer. Most of my energy went toward my studies, not toward workouts.
It felt like I had peaked too early, at eighteen-years-old.
I thought this not because I had mass amounts of popularity, flying colors in school, an expertise on kindness and charity work, or an accomplishment that spoke anything to who I was as a person—that spoke anything about my mind or my heart. It thought I had peaked because I thought I had looked sexy. Because at eighteen you could say something nice about my body.
For a few years now, I’ve tried to figure out the reasons why I had felt this way. I can remember caring about these things as early as fifth grade. (As a little girl, I complained to my mother that I still had a tummy, and she said not to be concerned because I hadn’t lost my baby weight yet—that was all.) I can remember my mother caring about these things for as long as I’d known her. I can remember most women I met caring about these things.
That brings us back to society. The people around us can influence how we think and feel, and that influence takes its greatest affect in our early years of life, when we are the most impressionable. Unlucky for me, I grew up in Utah.
The research does not cover as much as what’s wanted or needed, but here in Utah, image matters more than some might want to admit. From my own perspective, I found my anxiety about my image lessened when I moved away, and it heightened when I returned. My friends who have moved to Utah for the first time have admitted that their anxiety heightened as well.
Here, if you can’t achieve perfection, you might as well look like it.
The few studies we do have confirms this issue. Early on, nearly 20 years ago, Forbes ranked Salt Lake City as the vainest city in the United States. One study tracked state citizen’s Google searches regarding weight loss, dieting, and workouts. Utah ranked fifth out of fifty for the biggest increase in searches. Not only does Utah have the sixth-highest number of plastic surgeons per capita, but breast augmentation was the most common search for plastic surgery in Utah. That’s no surprise. When the American Society of Plastic Surgeons released their 2020 statistics report, roughly 16% of total cosmetic surgeries in the United States were for the breast or buttocks region.
Boobs and the butt. The womanly body parts most referenced in rap songs, objectified in locker room talk, and featured in pornographic content.
Still not convinced of Utah’s image issues? Come take a vacation here. Drive from the Salt Lake City International Airport southbound down the interstate. The further you dive into Utah Valley, the more billboards you will see advertising mommy makeovers, botox, and many other image altering practices.
It’s so common here that I forget how surrounded I am until I travel to another state and stare in awe, wondering at the lack of messages that say, “Change yourself! You need to be better! Look better!”
Of course, better in this case means younger. No wrinkles. No added weight or changed body shape from a slower metabolism or office work lifestyle or, heaven forbid, a pregnancy that brought literal life into the world.
Perky full breasts. Perky full butts. Perky full lips. Because typically when you get older your breasts sag, your butt flattens out, and your lips thin.
Why do younger looks equate to better looks? Why do people like me get caught in a cycle comparing themselves to the past? It’s ridiculous that a twenty-one-year old would compare themselves to an eighteen-year-old because bodies keep changing, even after you legally become an adult! In fact, for your entire lifetime your body will continue to change. Anything alive will not stay the same forever.
The entertainment industry would say otherwise. Social media would too. That’s why celebrities pool their extra dough into these procedures. That’s why there are filters to make your waist smaller and your skin smooth. People want to stay as relevant as they were in the past, and somehow that relevancy gets attached to their looks.
For years, I’ve internally combatted these messages that constantly get fed to us. It’s taken a lot of different approaches to figure out what works: I’ve reduced mirror time, screen time, and selfie time. I’ve reminded myself of the natural course of bodies and taken time each night to list what I liked about myself (externally and internally). I’ve incorporated religion and thought about how Jesus probably didn’t have a six-pack, so why did it feel like literal life and death if my tummy was soft?
Out of all these mental health activities and more, the most effective has been the combination of time and learning to value myself as a whole. As I stayed consistent in my efforts and reminders, my mental health improved. I got help from multiple therapists, as well. They reminded me that it’s not so important what the world views me as—ugly or attractive, boring or fun—my value is not depended upon others.
I’m a lot more confident and comfortable with myself now. I don’t stare at old photos and wish for what was. I don’t make the gym or exercise a chore dependent upon fulfilling an expectation of what I think others want to see. My relationship with food has improved and is improving.
Here and there, an insecure thought will reemerge, but I can cope with the anxiety that comes up. It doesn’t stick as long, and soon I’m back to living my life as if the thought had never occurred.
I haven’t had this type of security in a long time, nor have I had it for a long time. It’s almost been a year that I’ve felt this difference. So, it took me until age 24 to see significant changes regarding my body image issues.
As I was still improving, one of my New Year’s resolutions centered on my bad habit of picking at imperfections on my face. Do I still pick sometimes? Yes. But it doesn’t happen as frequently, and it doesn’t happen as badly either. The same applies to my other improvements, or better put, works-in-progress.
This year has had many hardships, but the love I’ve shown myself has filtered out the dangerous air quality and allowed me to breath fully again. I’ve valued me for me, not for my body. My stress and anxiety has gone done, and simply put, I’m happier. Turns out, I don’t need to look different—I can take care of my physical health and mental health while appreciating who I am now.
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