How many of us have looked in the mirror at one point or another and not liked we’ve seen? Unless you’re an alien, it’s safe to say that it’s happened to all of us.
Body dysmorphic disorder (more commonly known as body dysmorphia) is a mental health disorder in which the individual cannot stop thinking about or obsessing over their own perceived defects or flaws in their appearance. These flaws are usually minor and most often can’t be seen by others. Although this may sound scary, body dysmorphic disorder occurs in more people than most of us even realize—a lot of people (especially in the fitness industry) claim to have suffered from it at some point during their life.
I was one of those people who suffered from obsessions about my appearance—specifically my body. Looking back now, it’s kind of sad how much of a hold it had over me. I let it become my everything, I defined myself with the way I looked. That isn’t the way life should be lived at all. In order to explain how I got to this place and how I overcame it, I need to bring you back to the beginning, where it all started.
2013, 17 Years Old 
2015, 19 Years Old 
2016, 20 Years Old 
2017, 21 Years Old 
2017, 21 Years Old 
2017, 21 Years Old
If I had to pick one point in my life where my body dysmorphia really started to take form, I’d have to say it was when I was fourteen years old. It was the day my mom came up to me and told me that I needed to start watching what I ate and begin working out because I had her shape and I was going to gain weight in my legs and not look good. That’s a pretty traumatic thing for someone who’s truly still a child to hear, and also extremely detrimental to their self-esteem, and own self-worth. Now, 10 years later, it’s clear to me that my mom also suffered from body dysmorphia. I know she didn’t mean her words badly; she’s simply someone who’s always been obsessed with her appearance and body, and—despite having under 10% body fat genetically—has always been extremely nervous about gaining any sort of weight. I understand now that she word-vomited her nervousness onto me because she didn’t want me to ever gain weight and feel uncomfortable or unhappy with my own body. Her words were a reflection of the battle she was fighting internally. (Disclaimer: I was actually always active as a child, too, through dance, Jiu-Jitsu, gymnastics, and cheerleading.) Anyway, that day sent me spiraling into an unhealthy obsession about my body, specifically my legs.
When I was fifteen my diet consisted of an apple, a protein shake, and a veggie burger with no bun. This was also the age I began working out more and more regularly at home on my off time. When I was sixteen I got extremely sick from my undiagnosed Celiac disease, and I lost over 20 pounds basically overnight. I was still active at the time too, but this rapid weight loss was mainly from being so sick. Everything I ate went right through me. When I was seventeen I finally figured out why I was so sick and began eating only gluten free food. I felt a million times better, and my body more or less stayed the same. By this point, working out five to six times a week became second nature to me, something I actually enjoyed. Right before I turned eighteen, my boyfriend and I started dating, and this is the part where things start to take a turn for the worse.
My boyfriend’s job is in the fitness industry, he goes to the gym five to six days a week. When we started dating, we both thought it was one of the greatest things in the world to be able to go to the gym together, as we both had a mutual interest in working out. My boyfriend always stuck to a pretty regimented diet, mainly because he (somehow) genuinely enjoys eating chicken and rice every single day. (Not me, LOL.) Anyway, right before our first time traveling together for a fitness expo, we decided we wanted to “tighten everything up”; and thus started my first of many diets. I stopped eating my gluten and dairy free cookies, I got rid of my gluten free pasta; I swapped out every single food I enjoyed for the “healthier” option.
When I was nineteen years old, I decided I wanted to do a bikini competition. I wanted to transform my body and push myself to the limit. But of course, with what seems to pretty much be the story of my life, outside factors got in the way and stopped me while I was in the middle of that goal.
I was put on hormones—progesterone and testosterone—which I did not need. The crooked, corrupt doctor tested me while I was on birth control—which suppresses all of your hormones to begin with—and told me I had a hormone deficiency. Basically, I was put on extra sh*t I did not need, and sh*t that ultimately stopped me from competing because of the massive water retention I was holding from the hormone disruption in my body. My progress completely halted. I went to the gym every single day, stuck to a strict food regimen—I tried EVERYTHING, and I mean E V E R Y T H I N G; and to no avail.
After my goal of competing in bikini was smashed to pieces, I still continued to diet. I stopped taking the hormones because a much better doctor told me I didn’t need them and shouldn’t of even been on them in the first place. By this point I was miserable, felt the lowest I’d felt in a long time, and felt completely helpless. I felt like no matter what I did, it would never be good enough. No diet worked for me. No amount of lifting weights worked for me. I couldn’t help but wonder why the diets that multiple highly acclaimed, well talked about diet coaches put me on didn’t do a single thing for me. I didn’t understand why other women could lift and their bodies would suddenly transform, while mine looked worse from lifting weights. I was busting my ass, and for what? To feel terrible about myself? What the hell? What kind of life is that?
It wasn’t until after my twentieth birthday that I finally said screw it and decided to eat what I wanted to again. I gave up lifting because I’d come to hate it and stuck to cardio and martial arts instead. I started eating cookies and pasta again, because why not, right? And then something crazy—I mean really crazy—happened.
I looked better than I ever did before.
If I said that was the end of my body dysmorphia I’d be lying. I didn’t really overcome it until I was 22, but after my 20th birthday I stopped dieting and listening to magazines, coaches, or anyone else for that matter, and started working out the way I wanted to, eating what I wanted, and doing what I knew worked for me. I started pursuing professional wrestling when I was 21. I looked the best I had in years, but inside, I was still struggling.
What no one will ever tell you is that your body—male or female—will keep developing until your early twenties. No one will tell you that muscle maturity begins to start kicking in in your early twenties, finally shedding that “baby fat” we all cling to in small ways or bigger ways. If you’re like me, your hips may keep spreading until you’re 22. I remember looking in the mirror when I was eighteen and hitting my hip bone, saying, “what is this thing sticking out the side of my leg? I want it to go away.” My boyfriend looked at me and said, “that’s a bone. It can’t go away.” It didn’t make any sense to me at that time, naturally, because no one else in the media, online, or around me had bones sticking out of their legs, their legs were straight. Well, those bones are now holding up 40 inch hips (measuring around my butt). No one explained to me what a skeletal frame actually was or how it worked. I didn’t understand any of it because no one had ever taken the time to tell me when I was a young girl. I went by the magazines and Instagram, and by their standards, I was “fat.”
What I also didn’t know was that my mom and I have nowhere close to the same shape—in fact, no one in my family has the exact same shape as me. I have a blend of both of my parents, but recessive genes must’ve kicked in somewhere and given me this. What worked for my mom or anyone else would never have worked for me.
After I discovered that a high-carb diet worked wonders for me, I began to research more about my background and body type. I’m Italian, and from what I learned, my body shape and foods I respond to fall in line with Italian women. Learning this really helped me embrace my body, too—suddenly, it made sense why the diets I was put on had never worked.
Slowly, after my 22nd birthday and car accident, I began to appreciate my body more and more, little by little. Losing everything you have going for you can really put things into perspective. Each day I became less obsessed with analyzing myself in the mirror, trying to figure out if I was bloated anywhere. That validation I got from being “skinny” no longer seemed like the most important thing in the world. Not being able to workout due to multiple injuries makes you realize how much more there is to life.
My biggest advice to anyone struggling with any sort of body dysmoprhia is to take the time to research your background and body type first and foremost. This helped me so much because it helped make sense of everything. You also have to be patient with yourself. Simply stating “I love myself” isn’t enough; so many people say that and truly don’t believe it. It takes self-growth, age, maturity, and time. Growing confidence in yourself and your life can help you get rid of that validation from your body. Be open to trying different types of diets and exercise regimens, but make sure you listen to your body. After all, you know best.
I no longer care or obsess about the way I look. I don’t freak out if I miss a day at the gym like I used to. I also have to say that I found a lot of inspiration and self-acceptance from Kim Kardashian West. Seeing how proud she is of her curves, how she embraces her body, really helped me love and see mine the same way. My body measurements are: 30” rib cage, 26.5” waist, and 40” hips (again, measuring around my butt); and I wouldn’t trade those measurements for anything in the world. Not a damn thing.
