I stood beneath the unforgiving glare of my bathroom lights and examined my body in the full-length mirror. Frowning, I pinched a chunk of fat from beneath my belly button. I turned to the side and sucked in my stomach. I waved my right arm back and forth to gauge how much it wiggled and noticed a fresh patch of hormonal acne on my shoulder. I felt disgusting.
Some part of me knows that other people just see an average human lady when they look at me. But lately, I see something very different when I look at myself.
Body dysmorphia is a mental health condition in which a person can’t stop fixating on perceived physical defects or flaws. It’s seeing a distorted version of yourself that no one sees but you. Body dysmorphia can affect self-esteem and cause significant distress for the person experiencing it. Symptoms include:
A preoccupation with flaws in appearance that to others is unnoticeable or minor
A fixation on defects in appearance
Behaviours like frequent grooming, checking the mirror, or skin picking
Constant complaints about physical appearance; a tendency to seek reassurance from others
Perfectionism
Avoiding social situations
Body dysmorphia affects about one in 50 people and is most common in teens and young adults. Research shows that men and women experience body dysmorphia at similar rates.
There were logical reasons for my dysmorphia, I told my therapist a few days after scrutinizing myself in the mirror. I was on my period, which meant bloating, a bad complexion, and generally feeling uncomfortable in my skin. Summer was days away from officially beginning. This summer was unlike previous ones. People were crowding the streets, concerts and festivals were back from a long hiatus, and social invitations were more forthcoming. I couldn’t hide beneath clothes in the same way I could in the winter. I had changed during the years the pandemic ate up. My weight fluctuated and my body aged along with me. I felt my value diminished the more my skin lost its youthful glow. But, understanding the practical and logical reasons behind my dysmorphia didn’t alleviate it.
“It sounds like the part of you that needs to feel physically perfect is really blended right now,” my therapist said.
My therapist and I work with Internal Family Systems (IFS), a psychotherapy model that views the mind as made up of discreet subpersonalities, each with its own agenda, viewpoints, and qualities. When a subpersonality is blended it means it’s activated to the degree where you feel its emotions, hold its beliefs, or enact its behaviours.
“Let’s see if we can start by acknowledging the value of that part because it served a really important purpose,” my therapist said.
I paused and let my eyes drift from the computer screen where my therapist was speaking. For a moment, all the times I needed to feel good in my body to accomplish my aims danced in my field of vision. “Yes. I suppose it has. I certainly relied on my appearance when I was living nowhere.”
“Right,” she said. “This part helped you survive in very difficult circumstances. But that’s not your reality anymore.”
We took some time to bring that part up to speed. I went inward to tell it I was in a loving relationship, which would persist regardless of any change in my appearance. I showed it all of the skills I had developed to meet my needs that didn’t rely on what I looked like.
I frowned. The drive to feel physically attractive had lessened some but still remained in pilot mode.
“That’s okay. We’ll just keep checking in with that part until it feels like it can step back,” she said.
We made a commitment to keep working with the part of me who linked my physical appearance to survival in future sessions, but I had another plan on how to shake up some of those feelings.
Exposure therapy is a psychological treatment that was developed to help people confront their fears. Traditionally, a clinician will create a safe environment for the person experiencing fear and gradually expose them to the source of their distress. Exposure in a safe environment is meant to reduce fear and decrease avoidance. There are different forms of exposure therapy, which are varied in pace and technique based on the individual’s need.
I’ve never received supervised exposure therapy, but I’ve successfully led myself through the practice numerous times to overcome fears. I used to be terribly afraid of bugs, so I spent a summer living in a hostel built around a tree in the jungles of Panama, where the running joke was that if you missed the crowded bus that wove its way through the cloud forests, you could simply ride a large beetle to your destination. North America’s insects seemed laughable after tangling with a tarantula as large as my kneecap at 3 a.m. on my way to the bathroom.
When COVID-19 restrictions eased, a fear of getting sick kept me away from other people. (This isn’t to say the pandemic stopped or the fear wasn’t valid but my anxiety levels were interfering with my quality of life). To counter that, I headed to New York, home to over 8 million people, where it seemed as though the pandemic never happened. Bars had waitlists, restaurant patios were packed, and the subway was stuffed. Much of my fear around interacting with others had dissipated by the end of my trip.
A few days following my therapy session, I was invited to go to Hanlan’s Point Beach with my favourite couple. Hanlan’s Point on, Toronto Island, is home to the city’s only nude beach. I was on the fence about joining my friends because of how uncomfortable I was feeling about myself. A day in a bathing suit or less seemed truly horrifying. I decided to approach it the way I had handled past fears—headfirst, like when you jump straight into a cold lake instead of slowly wading into its waters to become acclimatized to the temperature.
It turned out to be a good idea. We headed over early on the Friday of Pride weekend to avoid the crowds (though there were plenty of people who seemed to share this idea). We set up by the tree line, though the sun still shone brightly overhead. Beachgoers surrounded us frolicking and laughing in all states of undressed. I saw rainbow tape in the shape of an ‘x’ covering nipples, bodies so evenly bronzed there was no hint of winter skin, and coordinated speedos. Their confidence inspired me. If someone could bend over buck naked to rifle through their bag, I could show some skin without feeling too insecure.
My friends and I reclined in the sun, sipped beers, and shared joints, with the occasional break to shake the sand out of our towels, reapply sunscreen, or take a dip in the frigid waters of Lake Ontario. As the sun started its descent toward the horizon, when my brain was swimming from the substances and well-baked from the sun, I stopped caring about what I looked like. I was happy to simply enjoy the moment and be grateful my body was capable and healthy enough to spend a day this way.
The following day, I stood naked in the mirror. A nice tan was developing and the sun had cleared my skin. I still had more work to do, but I was already feeling a lot better about myself.
Recommended Reading
The Broken Mirror: Understanding and Treating Body Dysmorphic Disorder
By: Katharine A. Phillips
Published in 1996 and revised in 2005, The Broken Mirror was the first and most definitive book about body dysmorphic disorder. It weaves real-life stories of people who struggle with body dysmorphia with information about the disorder and treatment options. It also contains a section for the family or loved ones of people with the disorder.