I spent a decade struggling with body image; now I’m 19 and still learning to love food and myself

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I was 8 years old when I became aware of my body. 

It was 2012. I was watching television, sprawled out on my couch with a family-sized bag of Lays potato chips. My dad came home, looked at me, and laughed, “You are such a couch potato. Look at you; it’s all going to your belly.” 

I remember looking down at my body and being washed in shame. I never ate regular Lays again. 

Actually, I never ate regularly for the next 11 years. My dad’s comment – meant as a harmless joke – reverberated inside me and began a relentless unraveling of my self-confidence. I began to see myself as “not enough.” Not pretty enough, not popular enough, not skinny enough. 

Today, I’m 19, a sophomore at UC Santa Cruz, still trying to unpack my unhealthy relationship with food, my body and my social image. 

I went on my first diet in sixth grade. I allowed myself a bundle of grapes in the morning, water during school, and a tiny dinner. I was starving, but my craving for a “perfect” body was stronger. 

Then, one day, while running during P.E., I fainted as I attempted to finish a mile.

I briefly cut back on my restrictions. But at age 11, I got my first phone. Instagram. Snapchat. Millions of posts reminded me of what women were “supposed” to look like. So I started again.

Throughout the rest of middle school, I edited every photo I took to make myself look “better.” I used Facetune to tuck in the corners of my belly, make my forehead smaller, and give me that button nose I always wanted.

I became addicted to a warped, artificial version of myself. I liked her more than the real me. I couldn’t take a photo without a filter on it. Natural me wasn’t enough. 

At only 14, I had lost a love for my true self. I knew it was wrong, so I made a quiet promise not to use any filters and only to appreciate myself as I was. Then, I started high school. 

“Get a push-up bra,” my peers said. “Wear something revealing,” “but don’t come off as ‘easy.’” 

I followed all the advice and listened to everyone. But during sophomore year, I gained some weight. Casual snacking and going out with friends all added up. 

I was at the Oceanside boardwalk with some of my friends, wearing what I felt was popular: a white tube top, some low-rise jeans and a fluffy, white Levi’s jacket. I felt good, confident. 

But one of the guys, Adam, looked back at me and said, “You’re too fat to wear an outfit like that.” 

His words felt like ice. I immediately grabbed the ends of my coat and pulled them to my middle. I walked the rest of the wooden boardwalk silently. He apologized once we drove back, but his words stuck.

Flash-forward to my 16th birthday. Excited to celebrate online, I posted a photo on Snapchat with some of my closest friends. I saw some of the football team screenshot my post but thought nothing of it — until I received messages from other girls in my grade. 

“Keep your head up.” 

“They’re just being mean.” 

I was confused. I had no idea why these girls were trying to reassure me. It turns out those guys used their accounts to insult me in any way they could. I felt numb. Internally bruised.

After graduating from high school, I got the flu. I was so sick that I lost 15 pounds in a month, weighing in at 114. My first thought was, “Finally!” I had the tiny body I had always wanted. 

That’s how I started UCSC in 2022. I dieted more over the summer and was only 109 pounds, the lightest I had ever been.

I went to the gym on campus for two hours daily, burning 400 to 600 calories a session. I ate little – mostly Greek yogurt and occasional dining hall meals. 

I thought I would finally be satisfied. But I felt empty. Hungry. Flat. I missed the fullness of my cheeks. I missed being happy.

My best friend, Sachi, had similar image issues. So did many other women I met and continue to meet. The National Organization for Women reported that 46% of 9- to 11-year-olds are on diets, and 59% of girls reported dissatisfaction with their body shape. 

This is all happening despite supposed changes in advertising and the rise of plus-sized models and influencers. Yet, no matter how much we learn about body positivity, the dream of perfection persists. 

Last summer, we had “Barbie”: a blockbuster feminist film that tried to upend our ideas about the iconic slant-footed doll. Yet, as much as my friends and I enjoyed viewing Barbie through a feminist lens, most girls I know still crave her doll-like waist and proportions. 

Among my friends, we each have found ways of coping with this dysmorphia. Sachi found her solace in artistic expression, using physical craft to release inner struggles about herself. She is now a ceramist and also paints, sews and bakes.

I find release through writing — poetry mostly. I’m trying to stop judging my body and instead focus on my health. Recently, I discovered weightlifting — squats, curls and the occasional cardio. I’m trying to focus on the nutritional value of food and to remember how much I enjoy eating it. I’m back up to a solid mass, 125 pounds. 

I still struggle with my body image – but I’m getting better. I’m learning to combat negative thoughts and remember why I like myself. I try to celebrate my authentic beauty, the person I am, not the package I came in.  

Today, I’m a successful college student, a writer, and a social butterfly. Meeting me, you wouldn’t know how insecure I’ve been. I think about that sometimes on campus, in the city, at the grocery store. I try to imagine who else has the same lurking self-loathing, that aching of wondering if they will ever be enough. 

I’m here to say you are enough. I am enough. We all are enough. Maybe if we say it more regularly and openly to each other, more of us will start to believe it.  

Isabella Counts is a sophomore literature major at UC Santa Cruz. She began this piece as part of Community Voices Editor Jody K. Biehl’s UCSC opinion writing class.