Junk

Updated: 2 days ago.

Follower of Jean Baptiste Greuze (French, 1725–1805), The Art Institute of Chicago

By Yasmine Nowroozi

I was six years old when I started counting my food intake. “Junk” is what I used to call it. I

would calculate the amount on my fingers. It could never exceed five. To avoid such a

scenario from taking place, I would scare myself into thinking that if it did, I would throw up.

At family gatherings, I would sneakily creep towards my mother’s good hearing ear and

whisper, “Mommy, did I have a lot of junk today?” I would await her response, hoping that

she would say that I haven’t, so that I could feast on the assorted sweets that one of my aunts

had set on the table. In the softest whisper, she would always say, “No, you haven’t.” Giddy

with excitement, I would race towards the table, ready to sink my little teeth into the very

thing I feared: junk. Little did I know, this would begin a very complicated and strenuous

relationship with both my self-image and food.

***

I was eleven years old when my body began to develop. My boobs came in fairly quickly

and, while the other girls were still wearing their La Senza training bras, I was already

sporting a B-cup, big girl bra, courtesy of The Bay. Previously branded as a terrorist because

of my ethnic background, I was now the terrorist with big bazookas. Probably not exactly the

weapons of mass destruction that President Bush had in mind, but hey, if the shoe fits! On

field trips, I had the absolute pleasure of hearing the boys seated at the back of the bus

mumble, “Look at Yasmine’s boobs the next time we hit a bump.” I started wearing baggy

shirts after that.

A year later, I started reading Teen Vogue. It is during this period that my love for fashion

took flight. Unfortunately, it was also during this time that I realized I didn’t have the desired

physique for the fashion industry. I started ripping pages out of the monthly issues and

circling the parts of the models’ bodies that I wanted to attain. I had also read somewhere that

Britney Spears used to do one hundred sit-ups a night to maintain her figure. As a fellow

Sagittarius myself, I took Ms. Spears' words as being canon. My vision board of clippings

tucked into a locked drawer in my desk, I crunched with all my might every night.

***

Flash forward to 2012. Lana Del Rey’s Born to Die album was bleeding through my

headphones while I perused my Tumblr feed. Photos of girls with thigh gaps and other pro-

ana-related content flooded my feed. It was during this dark period that I started to fear my

reflection. I refused to be in any photos so as not to be forced to confront my appearance. I

never bought any clothes. I believed that I could only allow myself to enjoy shopping once I

was skinny. I was clad in oversized knit sweaters and black leggings for nearly all of my teen

years. Style was reserved for thin girls.

***

Years have now passed, and, while I have done some inner work, I’m ashamed to admit that

that little girl haunted by her appearance still lives within me. Issues like this do not just

disappear. They remain like the memories of your childhood home. There are times when I

find myself revisiting this home. Its walls are still barren with no trace of my younger self.

The hallways leading to its various rooms still carry a heavy chill. Large, thrown bedsheets

conceal its many mirrors. I mournfully walk along its corridors and think of the innocent

years that I have lost to my insecurities. I never overstay my visit— I cannot bear a relapse.

But the key to its front door remains in my back pocket.

***

Part of growing into your higher self is accepting that things cannot be as they once were. It

is a painful, awkward, and vulnerable process. However, with every rise in the morning, you

decide to release your inhibitions and clear your mind of all its junk. As comforting as the

idea of home may seem, sometimes, you must leave, for the sake of growth and healing. You

can visit from time to time, so long as you remember that you have somewhere new to call

home.