ROSIE - Body Dismorphia

Body dismorphia
Ha ha. I chuckle to myself as I write this as it’s one I’ve been saving for a long, long time. I know this will tickle a LOT of you; if it doesn’t then ya-boo-sucks to you – you’re obviously WAY too comfortable in your own body for my liking.

My husband gets the brunt of my “body dismorphia”; it used to be a standing joke in our family but is now getting overstretched and, to be frank he gets really, REALLY annoyed with it now.

What is body dismorphia? Well, as defined by the lovely Wikipedia, it is a “disorder in which the affected person is excessively concerned about by a perceived defect in his or her physical features (body)”.

Sounds scary, right? Well, yes, it can be and can really affect someone’s life. I am not dumbing it down at all, all I would like to do is bring it to light and take it to my level of body dismorphia, which I would imagine is similar to a lot of other people’s vision of their body.

So, whilst we’re waiting in traffic (there’s a lot of it in Henley), a popular conversation sounds like this.

Me (looking at some girl walking in the street) – “Am I about the same size as that girl, darling?”

Richard (husband, glancing for a micro second) – “no, you’re far smaller”.

Me – “but you didn’t even look!”.

Richard (taking a longer glance) – “No, really, she’s bigger than you”.

Me – “are you sure, look at her bottom” (then squidging my thighs on the seat and trying to compare). “Make sure you take a proper look”.

Richard – “Rosie. That girl is a size 16. There’s nothing wrong with her being a size 16, but you are not a size 16. You are a size 10. Your bottom is approximately 10 -15 inches smaller than hers. You could almost get both legs into one of her jean legs. You are NOT the same size as her”.

This is the point where I realise he’s getting really really angry and so I stop the conversation. It’s not that I need telling I’m beautiful and gorgeous every day, it’s not even that I need reassurance, it’s just that I genuinely cannot perceive the size of my body (more namely my arse) and so am trying to put it into context of someone else.

This has gone on for some years; of course I don’t have a REAL disorder, in that it doesn’t occupy my mind for any longer than the 20 seconds we have the conversation for, but I think it shows a deeper issue of my body.

So, these days? I try and grow up. It doesn’t matter if my bottom is a size 10 or a size 11. I try and be realistic that I can’t actually put on one stone in the space of 12 hours if I have a bit too much to eat. I try and remind myself that if I wear size 10 jeans, I really AM a size 10, not a size 16. And, above all, I remind myself that my husband would not lie to me if I WERE a size 16 by telling me I was a size 10.

I just thought I’d let you into my little crazy head. I hope some of you CAN relate to this, as if you don’t then this piece won’t actually tickle you at all, you’ll just think I’m crazy….

NB. There really IS nothing wrong with being a size sixteen, it was just something to relate to! Hope I haven’t offended anyone!