Mirror, mirror: Growing up with body dysmorphia

I’ve spent most of my life in a complicated truce with the woman staring back at me in the mirror. As I inch further into my late 40s, I realise this truce is less about perfection and more about negotiation. And the one long-time companion in this uneasy alliance is body dysmorphia.

It’s been a stubborn, sometimes cruel, always opinionated friend. But like all complicated friends, it has taught me lessons I wouldn’t trade about resilience, empathy, and the occasional ridiculousness of self-obsession.

Not your average vanity project

Body dysmorphia isn’t about wanting a different haircut or a few extra inches. It’s a persistent, picky little voice convinced I have flaws everyone else either ignores or can’t see. Learning to recognise it is the first step. This prevents it from dictating my mood on a Monday morning.

The teenage years

Ah, adolescence. A time when everyone else seemed to be discovering themselves, while I was busy hiding my “elephant ankles” and “rabbit teeth” from a particularly imaginative crowd of bullies. I cried, I slouched, I tried to disappear. And somewhere in the awfulness, I started to develop a quiet, stubborn strength. A gift, disguised as pain, that would eventually carry me through adulthood.

The quieter voice

I assumed the teenage version of me would vanish with age. Spoiler: she didn’t. She got quieter, sneakier, lurking in the back of my mind during stressful meetings, mirrors, and social occasions. Therapy, mindfulness, and a few patient humans willing to call me out on my nonsense have taught me to cope with it without letting it run the show.

Forties: perspective, not perfection

The trick in your 40s is realising growth is a messy, lifelong process. Body dysmorphia hasn’t gone anywhere, but neither have I. I’ve learned to accept that stressful moments may trigger self-doubt, but they don’t define me. And honestly, the more I accept it, the less it bothers me, which feels like a minor miracle.

The unexpected perk

Living with body dysmorphia has taught me a curious thing: empathy. For myself, yes, but also for the rest of us muddling through invisible battles. Seeing that shared struggle makes life feel less lonely and a little more human.

Vulnerability is my superpower

Sharing my story hasn’t made me weaker, it’s made me human. And it turns out, that human-ness is magnetic. I’ve found courage in connecting with others facing the same struggles.

A note for anyone reading this

If you carry a similar burden, know this: you are not your perceived flaws. Each day is a chance to practise self-compassion, to inch closer to acceptance, and to remember your worth. Progress is imperfect, and beautifully human.

So, tell me, have you wrestled with the mirror too? Let’s swap stories, and remind each other that none of us is alone in this.