Growing up underweight, I felt as if I was not allowed to be honest about how I felt about my body. When I looked in the mirror, I could see the palpitations of my heart beating through my thin chest and count every rib sticking out from my body. But when I stepped outside, others would only compliment my slim figure and say, “I wish I could be as skinny as you.” These words, however, did not feel like a compliment; they were just a reminder of my insecurities. I did not like the way my skinny limbs hung awkwardly or the fact that I had to punch extra holes on belts to make them fit, but more importantly, I did not like the fact that people so easily asked for my weight or questioned if I had an eating disorder in a glorifying manner as if having health problems to keep a skinny body were worth envying. I knew they would never do the same to a larger individual. I was already upset that my body resembled a skeleton more than an average body, but these remarks breached my privacy and tore my confidence to the point I only felt disgust when looking at my naked body.

Last February, after finishing my college applications, I decided to focus on myself for once instead of school. I stood at 5 feet 9 inches and 98 pounds as an 18-year-old male. I signed up for a membership at a local gym and worked with a personal trainer to gain weight and build muscle. Outside of weightlifting three times a week, my trainer and I designed a daily meal plan. Because I was already eating three regular meals every day, my trainer suggested I eat five instead. At 8 a.m. every morning, I ate breakfast: two pancakes, two sausages, two eggs and a cup of yogurt with some fruit and granola. At 11 a.m. I ate my first lunch, three slices of pizza, and at 2 p.m. I ate my second lunch, a large portion of rice with stir fried chicken and vegetables. Because I still had classes to attend, I often took my food in a container and ate while trying my best to keep up with class notes. After school, I ate my first dinner at 5 p.m. and second dinner at 9 p.m., both of which were full meals packed with protein and carbohydrates.

I felt so determined to change my body before summer vacation that I forced myself to eat every day to the point of feeling sick. It was a battle between my mind and stomach. I told myself to cram more food while my body pleaded to stop. One day, during my second week on the meal plan, I started throwing up and had to skip class to pull myself together. I told my friends I skipped class to study for another test so that they would not restrain me from continuing to eat large amounts, and I continued to push myself through the weeks. In two months, I reached 113 pounds and was extremely proud of my progress. Because I gained 15 pounds by April, I thought I would be able to gain another 15 pounds by June and finally be comfortable in my own body. All I wanted was to be able to confidently wear a T-shirt without feeling self-conscious about my lanky arms and protruding ribs.

Through the month of April, however, my weight had not increased at all, and my trainer told me I had to increase my calorie intake even more. I was already eating five large meals a day and eating these large amounts of food had not gotten any easier since the first day. I knew I already stood at my limit and told myself to just continue my current routine and hope to at least reach 120 before summer vacation. By June, I barely reached 115 and was still disgusted at the reflection of my body in the mirror. After four months of prioritizing workouts and food over school and friends, my body did not feel or look any different. Even though the numbers told me otherwise and I was lifting weights twice as heavy than before, I did not recognize much of a physical change. My pants still hung loose around my waist, and my ribs still stuck out through my shirt.

Summer vacation came, and I used my travels to Europe and Asia as an excuse to forget about my body and go back to my regular three meals a day with casual workouts here and there. By August, my weight went back down to 102. I was disheartened to see all that training and money go to waste, but at least my whole day was not devoted to eating food. During those months, I learned to understand and come to terms with my body. I cannot deny that my skinny figure is still an insecurity for me, but I can confidently say that I no longer hate it or find it disgusting. Accepting my body has allowed me to embrace any comments about it as well, and in the end, as long as I am happy and healthy, I realized that there is nothing wrong having a few bones stick out here and there.

“Off the Beat” columns are written by Daily Cal staff members until the spring semester’s regular opinion writers have been selected.

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