Learning to respect a body I don't recognise...

I don't recognise myself anymore...

I hate the body that I'm living in. And I hate that I hate it. My mind feels like a hurricane of self-hatred, and the harsh truth I have to face is that I've gained weight and I don't look like I used to.

The weight gain came as a byproduct of my mental health medication. It's funny how something that gave me peace and mental stability simultaneously fractured my self-image. Medication quieted the storm inside my mind, but it changed the landscape of my skin. My thoughts are clearer, but my reflection is heavier. It's a strange paradox: being grateful for survival, but also mourning the version of you that you recognised. Sometimes I feel ashamed for grieving it, because this body is the way it is because I survived. But the gratitude and grief are both valid, and both deserve space.

Looking in the mirror is a painful and excruciating experience for me these days. I feel like a foreigner in my own body, like I'm living in someone else's skin. I don't just see the weight when I look at myself. I see a stranger - a lost, confused, grieving girl who can't figure out how to love this new version of herself. Weight gain isn't just physical - it's the grief of clothes that no longer fit, of photos that feel uncomfortable to look at, of a body that no longer matches how you feel inside. It's tough to explain how disorienting it is to feel so detached from your own reflection, like your mind and body are no longer speaking the same language... It hurts.

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But what I'm slowly realising is, that self-love isn't a feeling that magically blossoms from thin air. Self-love is built in the small, quiet actions that you take every day. It's in nourishing your body with food and water even when you feel you don't deserve care. It's in letting yourself rest when life gets chaotic. It's in gently moving your body instead of punishing it. Self-love is powered by these seemingly miniscule actions. But those actions, they carry magnitudes of love.

Another thing I'm realising is, that our bodies are extraordinary. My body carried me through mental health episodes, sleepless nights, medications, trauma, and moments I wasn't sure I'd survive. It breathes for me when I forget to. It keeps my heart beating when I feel numb. It fights off infections, heals cuts, and keeps me alive without asking for permission.

I've spent so much of my time and energy hating my body, but I have never stopped to admire how magical it is. Even through all the hatred I threw at myself, my body never stopped loving me.

So yes, I still feel like an outsider in my own skin. I still don't love what I see in the mirror. But I'm slowly learning to respect my body. It has been there for me through all the highs and lows. It allows me to dance, sing, and even cry. It's the one constant I will always have in life - the least I can do is respect it.

My message for today is that loving your body doesn't start in the mirror. It starts with small, quiet acts of self-kindness. We can't hate ourselves into loving ourselves - but we can choose compassion, one day at a time.

Lots of love,

Sach x