I wrote my last post, "
No Pictures, Please", three years ago, and since then I've had both wins and losses. I've actually struggled with some of these issues for over a decade, starting back when Cake Wrecks hit the best-seller's list, and forced this already camera-shy introvert into the limelight. The panic of losing my anonymity was only compounded by the fact that I didn't like the way I looked.
I never thought I'd get better, and often dreamed of being the eccentric recluse author, hidden in deep shadows for the rest of my days. But to do what I love - to connect to people through this blog - I knew I had to show my face. So I tried. Eventually I fought back my self-loathing enough to film some Youtube videos - a thing I
never thought I'd do - and over the years I've shared quite a few photos of myself here on Epbot. I won't say it's ever been easy, but there have been times when it was
easier, at least. There were even times I
liked a photo of myself! I was making progress.
When I stopped pushing myself, though, it always got worse.
I reached a point of not only avoiding photos and mirrors, but even neglecting my own appearance. After all, what's the point of wearing nice clothes or styling my hair when there's no use, no hope?
More dangerous, I found myself so anxious at the thought of going places where fans would see me that I was tempted to cancel important trips and plans. Even visits with friends became a challenge.
I'd be so ashamed of these feelings that I would get trapped in a loop: hating myself for hating
myself, struggling to overcome a feeling I still don't understand, struggling
to understand how everyone else seems to be fine with how they look, while I'm just over here...
stuck.
Then I posted "No Pictures" last week, and was OVERWHELMED.
It turns out that not only am I not alone, I am SO not alone that I'm starting to think our club of self-hate is in the majority. In the first 24 hours I had
hundreds of DMs, e-mails, and comments, ranging from teenagers to 70-year-olds - and the vast majority were a unified chorus of "Me, too."
I'll be honest, some of your responses made me sob. The amount of visceral, unbridled self-hate among you was like a punch to the gut. I wanted to take it away. I wanted to hug so many of you, to cry with you and heal you and distribute light-up unicorn headphones so we could all dance this pain away.
Then I got mad. Because this isn't right, gang.
This isn't right. This has to change.
We have to fight.
Look, I know my feelings are lying to me, that the people who love me will find beauty in me no matter what I look like. I know physical appearance is the least important part of a person, and that all I need is a little confidence and a lot of kindness to shine through for people to enjoy looking at me.
I know this, but I don't
feel it. Sounds like most of you don't, either.
So here's my battle plan.
Step One:
Declare War... On The Right Enemy
We spend all this energy hating our own bodies, but the truth is our bodies - our bellies, our double chins, our bad skin - none of these are the enemy. In fact, our bodies are our allies. (Or at least a neutral party. That's right, y'all, MY BODY IS SWITZERLAND.)
The
real enemy is our own distorted self-image. It's the mental selfie with a self-hate filter that lies to us, hurts us, and actively works to bring us down. No one else sees it. I repeat,
no one else sees what we see when we look at ourselves. We're attacking the wrong enemy.
So first things first: Declare war. Recognize what you're
actually fighting: Not your weight, not your face, but a false internal image so deeply embedded that you've long since accepted it as fact.
This is so important that I need you to go back and read that entire section again. I'll wait.
Now, do you believe that, at least in your head, if not your heart? Do you believe the problem isn't in
any way your body, but only your perception of it?
When the answer is yes, move on to step two.
Step Two: Gear Up
It's dangerous to go alone, so gather your forces. Don't have any? Just take a look in my comment sections here, on Facebook, and on Instagram. WE ARE LEGION. And we're gonna need to hold each other up.
If you don't have a group of friends in real life who will support you in this battle, then I
highly recommend
Fans of Epbot on Facebook. I've already seen half a dozen discussion posts over there sparked by my last post, and the amount of encouragement and celebration and support among virtual friends there is incredible
. In fact, I have an action plan I'd like to propose for FOE, but I'll get to that a bit later.
You'll also need some weapons, and as any nerd will tell you, the mightiest is INFORMATION.
So do your research! Go see if
Body Dysmorphic Disorder describes you, and if it does - or even if it doesn't - consider talking to a therapist. No shame. You go for physicals, right? Therapy is a check-up for your brain. It's good. It's preventative. It's healthy. And if everything I'm writing here today has you backing away, shaking your head, and insisting that may be fine for everyone else, but not YOU, then please.
Talk to someone. I'm just a geeky blogger muddling through best I can over here; I'm no substitute for a licensed professional who can work with you one-on-one.
Step Three: Exposure Therapy