Confessions of a Waxing Wimp

Baggy clothes, body dysmorphia, & being a freak

I will begin & end this week’s newsletter with a song. You’ll understand why! 🧡

I journal after my yoga practice and write my newsletters to you. I often imagine you're in the room with me, and I'm talking directly to you as I scribble away in half-coherent script. We could connect each week in your inbox on Wednesday!

My pronouns are she/her, & I used to feel like a circus freak just for having hair on my legs in seventh grade. Waxing had been a forbidden fruit, and every glance from the boys was a spotlight glaring at my imperfections. This one time I was leading a group presentation with 5 other kids in Geography class. There were 2 boys in the front row who giggled & joked the whole time & didn’t peel their eyes from my hairy legs under the school skirt, which by the way was at least 2 inches below the knee! I finished my speech & cried in the bathroom.

I’d walk around in a constant fog of embarrassment & prayed for invisibility. For the earth to consume me whole. I loathed my body.

The cruel trick of body dysmorphia. You try to measure up to a ghost. Even when you’re thinner than a bobby pin, you’re convinced you’re the size of a full moon. You see every roll on your tummy as a pool tube, every scar a canyon-like crater.

Praise from others rolled off me like water off a duck’s back. I didn’t believe a damn word. It’s not that they were lying; it’s that my mirror reflected a grotesque caricature rather than reality.

Food became my enemy.

My stomach roared but I would not feed it.

I know—I can’t even keep a regular fast today, but in school I’d go days skipping meals. I was so wrapped up in twisted self-loathing that nourishment seemed like a luxury for the undeserving.

There was a time when I thought my worth was tied to my ability to control what I consumed. I believed that if I could just shrink myself enough, if I could become small and invisible, then maybe I’d finally be enough.

It’s a form of suffering that isn’t unique to me; many people grapple with similar struggles, often in silence, feeling as though their worth is measured in the scale’s numbers or the void of their empty stomachs. Yet, as I’ve come to understand through both struggle and insight, wisdom offers a different perspective.

Ancient teachings and modern psychology agree that self-compassion and nourishment are not acts of indulgence but essential aspects of a balanced life.

Buddhist teachings, for example, emphasize that true contentment comes not from self-denial but from caring for oneself. The Dalai Lama often speaks about the importance of self-compassion and kindness.

Treating ourselves with care is not a luxury but a fundamental necessity.

Rumi, too, reminds us of the importance of nurturing our souls as we would a garden. He writes, “Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.” In the context of self-acceptance, this means allowing ourselves to say hello to our needs and desires without guilt or shame. It’s about recognizing that caring for our bodies and minds is an act of love, not weakness.

They say you should treat yourself like you would your best friend or sister. Damn, if I ever spoke to a friend the way I spoke to myself, I’d be slapped with a restraining order. I was my own worst enemy, a self-destructive artist painting over every bit of kindness with a brush dipped in disdain.

Do you know what I mean?

Just As I Am

At some point something shifted

Maybe it was the exhaustion of hating myself or the realization that life’s too short to waste on self-loathing. Slowly, I began to see my body not as a crime scene but as living proof of having survived my worst days. The struggle wasn’t merely physical; it was a journey of the soul, one that involved stumbling over insecurities and fighting the urge to slip back into old habits. Eating too much. Eating too little. Drinking too much. Drinking too little. Over-compensating. Under compensating—you get it.

I’m learning to love my body, one honest glance at a time. My body looks different every single day. It’s not about reaching a final destination where everything feels perfect. No, true acceptance and self-love are more like daily rituals. Sometimes you’re in flow, other times you struggle.

Imagine holding hand with your inner child and gently guiding her to see her reflection differently. Tell her that her body is not a prison. When we deny ourselves basic needs, we’re not punishing our bodies—we’re denying ourselves the full experience of living. It’s like refusing to water a garden and then wondering why it doesn’t bloom.

Nourishment, in all its forms, is essential for our growth and vitality. It’s allowing ourselves to be imperfect, to stumble, and still believe in our worth.

Women wrote these books to help women like us

• The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown

• Body Positive Power: How to Stop Dieting, Make Peace with Your Body and Live by Megan Jayne Crabbe

• Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life With the Heart of a Buddha by Tara Brach

• The Body Is Not an Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor

• Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself by Kristin Neff

What’s one thing you’ve been holding back from sharing with yourself or others because you’re afraid of being judged or misunderstood?

You can reply in the comments or write to me personally via email. This is a safe space.

seriously who cannot love this pixie face!?!

Hmm, this was a wordy-little vulnerable number. I want you to know that at this moment I’m in a healthy relationship with myself. The definition of health keeps changing for me, but I am able to recognize & course-correct behavior. I love to move & feed my body. I love to pamper my body with rich luxurious oils & butters. I feel sexy. I have learnt to dress according to my body type. To find clothes that fit ME and not the other way around. I am sending you good vibes. I hope you have a delicious guilt-free meal today.

I love you!
See you next Wednesday 🧡

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