Dear Mirror: An Open Letter from an IBD Patient
Dear mirror,
I am not afraid of you anymore. I am not ashamed of you anymore. I am not chained or answerable to you anymore. But it wasn’t always this way…
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the puffiest of them all? “You, you!” It sneered back at me, “Isn’t that obvious?” Shifting my gaze downwards to the floor, I retreated, but not before my eyes landed upon my legs, the legs that were now more filled out and round. Cringing, I thought to myself, “Thanks, steroids, a lot of good you did me.” I wish that I had noticed the mirror urging me to look back up again, this time at my face. I wish that when I finally did look up, I would notice the rosy tint returning to my cheeks as the medication helped return me to a better state of health. I wish that I had realized that my body, having endured weight loss due to the Ulcerative Colitis, desperately needed those precious pounds. But all my twelve-year-old self could do was stare at my newfound weight gain, my seemingly puffed-up state.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most imperfect of them all? “You, you!” It sneered again, “Must I repeat myself?” Bitterly, I retorted, “Joke’s on you, because no one will ever know, not if I simply avoid wearing shorts or skirts.” Subconsciously, my hands rubbed at the stretch marks behind my knees, as if that would one day rub them all away. But no amount of rubbing, no amount of covering up, would ever erase the scars on my flesh or heal the wounds on my heart. I wish that I had ignored the mirror screaming at me to take another look at those stretch marks. I wish that I had instead taken in my silhouette in its entirety and smiled at the healthy weight I had achieved: more robust than the days of my Ulcerative Colitis relapse and more fit than the days of my steroid-driven hunger pangs. But all my thirteen-year-old self could do was resolve to cover up the stretch marks, all the while calorie counting, obsessed with avoiding what the steroids had done in the past.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most flawed of them all? “You, you!” The mirror screamed at me to peruse my body one more time, to scrutinize and nitpick every inch. Then, I did what I always wished I could do: I stopped listening to the devil in the mirror. Comments from all ends of the spectrum, from “Wow, you’re so lucky, at least with your IBD it’s easy to lose weight like that!” and “Oh sweetie, looks like you’ve gotten bigger…Have you exercised lately?”, can get frustrating. It’s no wonder that IBD patients generally have a lower body image satisfaction, not only due to this but also due to the nature of the disease itself. However, I can only change what I can. I can’t change my body type any more than I can change the color of my eyes. I can’t dictate how my illness is going to affect my body, but I can dictate how it affects my mind and my self confidence.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the happiest of them all? “Me!” I replied, before it could speak. “That’s right, me.”
Love always,
Amy
Check out the first installments of my Open Letter Series here:
Dear Patients: A Letter from a Fellow IBD’er
Dear Roommate: A Letter from an IBD Patient
Dear Classmates: A Letter from an IBD Patient
