The voice. It comes every day, all day.

You should go on a diet, it informs me. You should go on a diet before the wedding.

Whatever. I’m fine the way I am.

No, you’re not, it insists. This voice is a total jerk. You’ve been wanting to take off five or ten pounds for a couple of years now. And you know you want to look good for the wedding. So you pretty much have to start dieting, like, right now.

No! Stop tying this into wedding guilt. I don’t want to go on a diet! I hate you.

Don’t hate the playa, hate the game, says another voice.

Who the hell are you?

I’m that part of your brain that ties everything anyone says into rap and hip-hop references! I’m the reason why, whenever someone says the word “word,” you are required by federal law to chime in with “…to your moms, I came to drop bombs, I got more rhymes than the bible’s got psalms.”

Oh. You can stay, then. But Diet Obsession over there has got to go.

“I LIKE POPSICLES!” another voice shrieks.

********

As a kid, I was pretty blissfully ignorant about my looks. Then, when I was 14, my grandmother got me a subscription to YM magazine. Do you remember YM? As far as I can tell, its sole purpose on this earth was to provide hair tips* and quizzes about which type of boy you liked, all while absolutely destroying the last remaining shred of your self-esteem. I remember this one article in particular casually mentioned that a “normal” girl should weigh 120 pounds. I realized I didn’t know my weight, so I went into my parents’ bathroom and stepped on the scale.

The scale read 157.

You know the rest of this story cold. I have since spent half my life obsessing over my body. The long and winding road back to relative stability has involved numerous unhealthy attitudes, a close brush with an eating disorder, questionable diet choices, and more guilt than the Vatican could produce in 100 years.

I am now in the best shape I’ve ever been, both mentally and physically. My confidence is at a new peak. I exercise willingly every day. In fact, I make it a priority, because it makes me feel better. I focus on eating organic and hormone-free veggies, fruits, and proteins while limiting processed foods, but I don’t deny myself anything — if I have a hankering for macaroni and cheese, I make a goddamn box of macaroni and cheese. I don’t even weigh myself anymore, because I know a scale will send me ricocheting back into negativity. I have learned so much. I am truly living well.

But I’m still not totally happy.

The upcoming wedding “deadline” has galvanized me. I’m not satisfied with how I look right now, but I’m tired of all those years of pushing myself to trim down. At this point of my life, the very word “diet” makes me feel like stabbing someone. My discomfort with the whole “it’s for the wedding!” subtext aside, I want to look good on my wedding day. But even more importantly, I want to feel good. I want to feel good about myself not just on my wedding day, but every day. Right now I’m not sure how to do that. And I’m self-assured enough now to know that I have the capacity to love myself the way I am, but the self-doubt keeps gnawing at the back of my mind.

So I tell myself, look. Either woman up and dedicate yourself to your weight loss goal, or just quit worrying about it and find peace with yourself the way you are. But dude. If it was that easy to just be happy with myself, I would have done that at 14. Even though I’d love to, I can’t simply erase those thoughts. So instead, the matter just keeps hanging over my head, like Bruno over Eminem at the MTV Music Awards.**

And that damn voice just keeps nagging on.

Have you felt pressure, either from yourself or others, to lose weight in time for the wedding? What did you ultimately do? And most importantly, what do the voices in your head say to you?***

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* These hair tips did me absolutely no good. The only “style” I knew how to do in those days was brush my bangs over and sweep them up high, then shellac them in place with half a bottle of Rave hairspray until my hair was this frozen crest riding above my forehead. Hawt.

** Yeeeouch. That was a bad one. Sorry, guys.

*** I am assuming that you, too, have voices. Right? RIGHT???