Growing up as a teenager in the early 2000s meant being surrounded by a relentless and toxic diet culture. Magazine covers displayed headlines that shamed women for their bodies, no matter how slim they actually were. I vividly remember one particular cover of Jessica Simpson wearing high-waisted jeans and a black top. She was a size 4, yet labeled "obese" by the tabloids.
The ideal body type at the time was impossibly thin. Low-waisted jeans dominated fashion trends, and they were designed to show off a flat stomach that few teenagers—let alone adults—could realistically achieve. This imagery and messaging did a number on my self-image.
I think the first diet I ever went on was when I was 12. I begged my mom to buy me SlimFast shakes, and I essentially stopped eating. I sucked my stomach in every waking second, making it impossible to get a deep breath into my body. Looking back now, I can see how harmful that behavior was, but at the time, it felt necessary. I didn’t realize how much the media I consumed was warping my perception of my body and self-worth. I wasn’t just skipping meals; I was absorbing a steady diet of self-criticism and unattainable standards.
The Lasting Impact
The effects of those formative years lingered long after my teenage days were over. Diet culture wasn’t just about the food I consumed; it became a lens through which I viewed myself. I spent years criticizing my body, never feeling good enough, and striving for an image of "perfection" that was entirely fabricated by an industry profiting from my insecurities.
Wishing for Self-Kindness
When I look back on my teen years, I wish I had been kinder to myself. I wish I had seen my body as more than a project to "fix." I think about the energy I wasted worrying about my appearance instead of enjoying the freedom and potential of my teen years. The truth is, I was growing up in a system designed to make me feel inadequate, and I internalized those messages.
Moving Forward
As an adult, I’ve worked hard to unlearn the damaging lessons diet culture taught me. I’ve learned to focus on health and strength rather than size. I’ve learned to appreciate my body for what it does, not just how it looks. Most importantly, I’ve learned to show myself compassion—something my 13-year-old self desperately needed.
For anyone who grew up during that era, know that you’re not alone in feeling the lasting effects of those toxic messages. Healing takes time, but it’s possible. We’re all worthy of love, acceptance, and kindness—especially from ourselves.
xoxo,
Alejandra