Content note for mental health issues, references to disordered eating.
I’ve always been interested in body modification. I had my first ear piercings at the age of 5, my seconds at the age of 10, my nose pierced at 14, and my septum pierced last November. Growing up surrounded by a family who championed bodily autonomy meant that I never put much more thought than ‘I think it looks cool’ into altering my appearance. However, I got my first handful of tattoos recently, and what I thought would be no more than a fun collection of animals turned into a deep reflection on my unstable relationship with my appearance. These cutesy cartoonish animals, tattooed on my skin simply because I love them, became part of a lengthy process of reclaiming my body, battered from lifelong medicalisation and mental illness.
To put it bluntly, my body and I have been through a lot together. Upon learning to walk, my nan mentioned that I looked pigeon-toed, leading to endless doctors appointments to figure out what was wrong. This was only the beginning. For years, we had no answers; I saw GPs, orthopaedics, podiatrists, the list goes on. It wasn’t until x-rays were taken that we had an answer: a bone deformity affectionately named Miserable Malalignment Syndrome. A condition which has caused chronic pain and, in vindictive bursts, the odd subluxation. I was advised to keep up with physiotherapy exercises in the hopes that I would eventually grow out of it. Most people do, we were told. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in that majority, and my only option was to get rid of it through a gruelling surgery with a 6-month recovery time… per leg. So, unless I’m ever in a position to take a year out of my life to relearn to walk, I’ll be stuck with it for quite some time.
More recently, I’ve been in greater control of my health issues, and there have been plenty to keep me busy. I’ve had three invasive surgeries in the space of about a year for the same recurrent problem, been referred to a rheumatologist with the suspicion of hEDS, and have been diagnosed with several mental health conditions. Now that I’m the one making the appointments, not my parents, the relationship I have with my body has changed drastically. Painfully aware of how often it betrays me, I cannot help but sometimes feel an overwhelming sense of disappointment.
My mental health issues have also taken a toll on my relationship with my body, and extend far beyond my anorexia diagnosis. Before I started treatment, the connection I had with my body would swing violently between completely detached and uncomfortably close. During my bipolar episodes, I tend to feel distant from my body, but the incessant trembling that comes along with anxiety attacks has the opposite effect. Now that I’m more stable, I focus on healing this relationship in the best way I know how.
Although my tattoos and piercings have a lot to do with me regaining control, there is also the necessity of relinquishing control to my tattoo artist or piercer, which is equally freeing. There is something oddly comforting about trusting another person to help me adorn my body how I see fit. Unlike some of the experiences I’ve had with medical professionals, I have always been listened to and respected by my tattoo artist or piercer, and left the studio feeling happier than when I’d entered.
The alterations I have made have helped me on the days I have felt the very worst about myself. Through adding jewellery and pictures to my body, I’ve become closer to it than ever. A body that has been in and out of hospital, operated on, and seen as somewhat of a medical oddity for all my life is becoming something I’m proud of. At long last, the body that I have suffered with, starved, and mistreated is finally getting the love it deserves.
It’s definitely not a one-size-fits-all remedy to cultivate a better relationship with your body, but it’s one of the big things that has helped me, and I’m deeply grateful to have found something that makes me feel so much better about myself. All in all, I’m getting better at calling my body my home.