Wednesday, 17 June 2015

Thigh gap.

Was it last summer, or the one before, that thigh gaps officially became A Thing? The dream empty space at the top of your thighs, when you stand with your feet together. All of a sudden, completely blind-siding me, my main way of judging my worth became all everybody seemed to be striving for. It put my nose out a bit, to be honest, and I got a bit weird (more than usual, I mean, if you can imagine) and paranoid, like, right, the same I get when people skip meals or go on diets. Worse, though. This was a popularised, slow suicide, a sure symptom of an epidemic just waiting to happen. I swear, I'm not even exaggerating, I really did over-think it this much. But how would you feel about everybody apparently striving to be, I don't know, some other kind of addict? Social media covered in posts of people shooting up? To have a secret you have concealed so well, the only skeleton left in your closet after it's been ransacked by professionals, and to have it seemingly everywhere?

Of course, it wasn't actually the skinny revolution I feared. It wasn't everywhere, on the whole there was no ED promotion and it had nothing to do with me; you might not even have come across it and I never told anybody about how important the gap was to me. A permanent obsession for me became a temporary goal for some. Then life moved on.

But not for me, not then. I finally stopped measuring the gap when I last did re-feeding, this time last year. I am a year clean of thigh measuring. It was mostly because I committed to weight gain voluntarily (ish. Eventually), and so I knew the gap would get smaller. It was also because I was tired. I was tired of it all. The measuring, the counting, the striving each day for a higher number when measuring the gap and a lower one for measuring my weight. And lowerlowerlower still for any form of measurement of my self-worth.

You know what? As of this week, I don't have a thigh gap. I am officially the biggest I have ever been as an adult. But you want to know a secret? I am far, far happier than I have ever been. My relationship with my body isn't great and I get sad and mad and bad, but it's never tinged red any more. I have my grey days, but I don't have black ones with red cuts. Sometimes, just sometimes, I have glittery days and glitter IS my favourite colour after all. 

Measuring my worth by my thigh gap- A GAP- really underlined a lot of what was going on. See, I was measuring myself by an absence. Not by my good features, or even my not so good features, but by nothing at all. By air and space and nothingness; everything that isn't myself. I was, to myself, worth far less than nothing and as that nothingness between my thighs increased, that became more apparent. I didn't deserve that. I don't deserve that. I am not nothing. I don't deserve to be reduced to nothing, to be measured by my absence or to have my humanity ripped away for the sake of air. Air can exist anywhere, but I can't. We each come around once and there's more than enough space already around without creating more room for it between my- or your- aching bones.

2 comments:

  1. Rebecca, I have to say even if I wanted to aspire to the thigh gap, it never would have happened for me... I am bottom heavy. I am so glad you don't measure the gap or the fact that you have don't have a gap... I have followed along with you for a few years and I have to agree that I have not seen you as happy as you are now and I love reading that xox

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  2. I was always perplexed as to how looking bow-legged ever became trendy.... Ribs and hip bones, yes I definitely wanted those in the throes of the ED, but the thigh gap, not so much.

    The measuring and the counting are meaningless. A slow suicide, to use your own well worded phrase. Unless you're measuring your boobs, because hey boobs are awesome. I'll take boobs over bones any day, and it took me a hell of a long time to get to this point. I'm glad to see you are doing well. <3

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