Bodies, bodies, bodies

If the title didn’t clue you in, here’s a trigger warning: this one’s about body image, at least in part, although I find trigger warnings have the opposite effect on me when it comes to all things weight and exercise. I steam right on ahead.

Plus, the sort of content that really does trigger me into hatefully clutching at the soft parts of myself does not come with a warning attached. Such imagery — it’s always imagery, mostly short-form video — at one time was packaged in slightly more discreet code about being “strong”. Now the mask is off again. Every day I am served new clips frankly instructing me on how to lose weight or why being hungry is good and right, actually. It’s all so boringly familiar.

Like many, any neutrality about my body ended in my teen years. Circa 15 was when warnings about weight gain started to seep through whatever protective barrier had previously kept them at bay. By 17, I had begun to exercise with new purpose. Before, I played netball, or rounders, or swam because that is just something I did, for the pleasure of it and to keep me occupied on a Tuesday evening. I walked a functional two miles every day because that was the route to and from the bus that would deliver me to various educational institutions.

But at 17, as night fell, I would slide a copy of Beyoncé’s latest concert DVD, ‘Live at Roseland’, into the disc drive of my laptop and steal upstairs to my shared bedroom, banishing my sister or mother from disturbing me.