A Story Of Eight-Year-Old Me

Everyone has a billion little moments and a million stories that make up their childhood. This is just one of mine; something I often think about amidst happy memories of wonderful years growing up. It may also explain why I'm SO against people commenting on my daughter's physical features (I've written about that here and here).

Every picture tells a story.

It was the summer of 1988. The two weeks I spent at the country resort with my family were filled to the brim with fun. Swimming, exploring the countryside, playing with new-found friends and trips to the local ice cream store every afternoon. Life was good. The summer holidays seemed blissfully endless.

Most people would see the same thing in this photo of me: a happy, carefree child enjoying her summer holidays, a healthy eight-year-old girl with a summer glow and contented smile.

To me, though, this picture is a reminder of the moment in time I became aware of myself. As it was taken, my mind was consumed with worry: Do I look fat? I must suck my stomach in. If I sit like this, my pot-belly should be hidden. At the tender age of eight, my prevailing thought was of the need to look skinny.

That was the beginning of years of self-consciousness and low self-esteem. Growing up, my level of happiness became directly linked with the size of my stomach. I learned to shop for clothes that would help to disguise any hint of a bulge. I thought skinniness was what made people attractive and popular.

The change from a happy, carefree child to a girl constantly worried about her body occurred suddenly. But, in hindsight, it had also been building up over time.

People had started making comments about my sister, two years older and skinnier. They would gush about her ‘beautifully thin’ figure and then just look at me, saying nothing. At one point, this question was posed to me: ‘Your sister is so thin and pretty; don’t you think she should be a model?’

These remarks were devastating to me. The message I took from them was: not only was I not attractive enough, I was not good enough in general. That it was impossible to find something positive to say about me.

I was perfectly healthy and fit, but I felt inadequate and wished I could look different. If I looked like my sister, perhaps people would compliment me as well.

The support from my Mum and sister was probably what saved my thoughts from becoming anything more physical. They never realised I felt that way, but still managed to find the right amount of reassuring and complimentary words, just for me.

Now, I am a woman who is still coming to terms with her body, especially following the changes that childbirth has brought about. But I am learning not to focus on my physicality, or that of my sister. After all, it is our differences that make each of us special.


Megan