If you follow me on Instagram, you probably know by now that I am obsessed with pizza. To my friends reading this, I know you’re rolling your eyes because you already know my love for pizza. Okay, you’re probably thinking, “WE GET IT. You love pizza.” But it’s something much bigger than that. I don’t advocate it just because of how good it tastes or how yummy it smells. I advocate it because of my relationship with food.
Ever since I was a little girl, every Friday was pizza night. My mom, my dad, and I would get in our pj’s, eat pizza, and watch scary movies. This became a tradition and I loved every minute of it. This is a tradition I’ll take throughout the rest of my life, I’ll promise you that.
But that’s not why, going deeper than that, I was once in a place where I hated pizza (*enter gasps*). Actually, I was once in a place where I hated food. Growing up, I was the friend who could eat like a man, literally. I ate 42 wings at Quaker Steak and Lube when they had there wing nights. I HAD NO SHAME (and still don’t). But one day, the summer before my sophomore year in college, I wanted to show everyone that I could stick with a diet (that usually never lasted more than a day). I started to eat super healthy and exercise more. I even got a gym membership, like who was I?
My relationship with food started to tremble as I continued my “diet.” I would wipe the salt off of my vegetables under the table when I went out to eat. When my mom and I cooked together, I wouldn’t let her spatula (with the littlest oil on it) touch my food. I developed a hatred for food. Even worse, I developed anorexia. In two months, I lost over 50 pounds. I went into a dark hole and I couldn’t get out. My spine ached and bruises were all over my body. In all honesty, I didn’t know I had an eating disorder until I was sat down with my friends telling me there was something wrong. My relationship with my mom was in shambles and my friends didn’t even recognize me. I stared into the mirror asking myself what is wrong with me, why did I do this to myself: the worst part of it was I still didn’t think what I looked like was good enough.
It took months with the help of my family, friends, and bad ass therapist that I see today (shout out to her to be pretty much the one to be able to put me in my place), I’m fully recovered from my eating disorder. Yes, I have my days and yes, I can say that I’m my happy self who loves food again.
But you’re wondering what this post has to do with pizza? Why I advocate for pizza? Nowadays, actually right this minute while you’re reading this post, a million girls (or boys) are looking in the mirror/at the gym/sitting in their room/out to eat with their friends/etc, body shaming themselves because of the society we live in today. The position I was in two years ago, girls and boys are going through it right now. We are being told what to eat, how to eat, and when to eat. I’m so sick of it and that’s why I need to express why I love pizza.
Every day on the internet, we are being told pizza is horrible for you (WRONG) and big juicy burgers are going to make you FAT. Guess what? No food is “bad” for you. Food is fuel and we eat to help and nourish our bodies. Yes, salads are better for you than pizza, but the pizza isn’t bad and neither is tacos.
When it comes down to it, I’m writing this post in hopes of encouraging young girls and women to stop feeling guilty for eating a piece of pizza or missing the gym one day. Read this and read it again: you are good enough. One of the biggest things I tell myself every day is the only person that’s ever going to be there for you throughout your entire life is yourself. Treat yourself right.
******DISCLAIMER: No, I didn’t write this post for attention or for people to feel bad for me. No, this wasn’t an ad. & Yes, I enjoyed about five pieces of that pizza.