struggling with the mirror

Kanyin’s journey reveals the silent struggles of body image and mental health. From childhood insecurities to societal pressures, she battles self-loathing and yearns for acceptance. As she navigates

Growing up, I never felt like I fit in; I couldn’t even fit in the image I had created for myself. Family photos became mirrors of self-disgust, each image a painful reminder of my perceived flaws. At just eleven, I questioned why I looked so different from everyone else- too dark, too small, too unattractive. I blamed my parents for bringing me into a world where I felt like an outsider, and to this day, I vow to erase any memory of my younger self.

As I grew older, my self-loathing deepened. I despised my body, hiding it beneath oversized clothes and layers of shame. While my peers blossomed into teenagers, I felt like a stagnant, inadequate version of myself. I fixated on my physical shortcomings, obsessing over my lack of curves, my chubby face, and my nonexistent hips. I tried to shrink into invisibility, holding my breath and praying no one would notice me.

In 2019, the obsession with being "thick" consumed my thoughts, especially within the black community. But I was far from meeting society's standards. Desperate to hide my perceived inadequacies, I stuffed my bra and starved myself, idolizing emaciated models on social media. Their tales of restrictive diets mirrored my struggles, but no matter how little I ate, my body refused to conform. My stomach protruded, a constant reminder of my failure to achieve the desired silhouette.

Then, COVID-19 struck, and the pressure to be "fit" intensified. I followed fitness influencers, hoping their workouts would sculpt the body I longed for. Yet, amidst the chaos, my voice remained silent. I felt invalidated, caught between the extremes of societal standards. I was not "fat" enough to voice my struggles, yet I was not skinny enough to feel accepted.

University offered a sense of control, but I twisted it into self-destruction. I fixated on calorie counts, starving myself to the brink of collapse. With each pound lost, I felt a fleeting sense of beauty, but it was a facade masking a deeper turmoil. My partner's concern went unnoticed as I spiraled deeper into the abyss of my eating disorder, the echoes of society's standards drowning out their pleas for help.

When I moved to a different country, I hoped to escape the constant scrutiny of my body, but family members persisted in their judgment. I feared opening up to them, afraid of being treated differently or feeling like a prisoner to their expectations.
So, I pushed their comments aside, refusing to check how much I’d gained or lost, determined not to return to the darkness I once inhabited. Their probing questions about my weight and remarks triggered painful memories, but I pushed them aside, I refused to check how much I’d gained or lost, determined not to return to the darkness I once inhabited.

In my quest for help, I noticed a glaring absence of voices that looked like mine. Most discussions surrounding body image were dominated by white voices, leaving people of color feeling marginalized and unheard. I realized the immense difficulty faced by people of color in speaking out about their struggles, compounded by societal pressures and cultural taboos surrounding mental health.

As I embark on my healing journey, I yearn for representation from a woman of color whose experiences mirror my own, offering a sense of belonging and understanding. I recognized the importance of breaking the silence surrounding mental health within communities of color, challenging the stigma, and paving the way for future generations to find solace and support in their journey toward self-love and acceptance.