Chapter 1: A New Perspective on Aging

As I approach my 40s, I feel a surge of excitement for what lies ahead. It seems like positive changes are already unfolding. Yet, I find myself mourning my 20s and 30s, which makes me enthusiastic about the opportunity to embrace a fresh start and shed the burdens I don’t wish to carry into this new chapter of adulthood.

I’ve accomplished many things and genuinely like who I am. I am wholeheartedly dedicated to making a difference in the world. However, I have always struggled with body image.

It’s a rather disheartening statement, isn’t it? A writer capable of articulating my thoughts eloquently, yet I find it challenging to express how I truly feel about my body without sugarcoating it. I sometimes consider softening my words to shield myself from judgment, but if I can’t be transparent about my feelings, perhaps I shouldn’t share this narrative at all.

It’s crucial that we stop perpetuating half-truths regarding our body image and the messages we receive about our appearance. Despite grappling with body dysmorphia, I generally maintain good emotional health. Yes, I’ve sought therapy—after all, I’m from LA, where it seems everyone has been!

I carry my share of emotional baggage, yet my mental resilience is largely intact. While my body image is a work in progress, I have a solid sense of self-worth.

I’m aware that harboring negativity towards my body isn’t ideal. I understand that, despite feeling positive about myself and the world around me, my body hatred diminishes my overall mental well-being, and I’m actively addressing this issue.

Let me clarify, before anyone rushes in with well-meaning advice: I feel empowered sharing this truth without diluting it. It’s easy to critique someone for admitting body hatred, but ignoring the issue doesn’t lead to resolution. Pretending to feel better about one’s body than one actually does only results in inauthenticity.

So, let’s get real, shall we? I distinctly remember a day when I woke up at nine years old feeling “fat.” One day, I felt perfectly fine—perhaps not stick-thin, but normal. The next day, however, I felt damaged based on how I was treated. “No regular soda for you. No desserts. You want dessert again? Don’t be such a pig. We need to shed those pounds.”

Spoiler alert: “We” didn’t lose that weight, and eventually, I found myself at a size 20 after some significant life challenges.

In the interest of brevity, I began working on my body in my teenage years. By the time I graduated high school, I had achieved a size 8/10 through healthy eating and exercise. I participated in a production of A Chorus Line, where I had to wear a leotard.

One of the seniors who attended the performance told me, “Bonnie, all the other cast members looked like little girls, and you looked like a woman.” That comment empowered me, yet I still felt uncomfortable in the gold leotard during the finale. I was the largest girl in the cast—not truly heavy, but certainly so by comparison.

Despite still facing some bullying and micro-aggressions, my life improved significantly. Most people treated me better than they ever had; everything seemed to shift from a D to a B. However, I recognized there was only one path to achieve an A, and it was fraught with issues.

The pressure to lose more weight intensified. I genuinely wanted to shed another 15 pounds, and while that desire wasn’t inherently wrong, it became problematic when it was influenced by the Body Mass Index (BMI), which many still regard seriously. According to the BMI, I was on the verge of being overweight, so I felt compelled to lose weight to be deemed healthy and attractive—not just by society, but by my family and supposed future partner.

The narrative surrounding the need to lose another 15 pounds was both damaging and troubling.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t lose those 15 pounds, and the pressure evolved into an ongoing cycle of gaining and losing 30 pounds over the years, until I finally reached that elusive “almost socially acceptable” weight just in time to perform in A Chorus Line again!

I was five pounds lighter this time, at my lowest weight of 149 pounds. While I felt better than ever, the same narrative persisted: “Great job losing weight; you’re going to look amazing in 15 pounds.”

Reflecting on that photo, I see a version of myself that was cute, and from my current perspective, I think my body looked quite good.

This photo captures me at around 13 years old. It feels like an eternity ago, mostly because my body has not resembled that image since then—everything took a downward turn after that moment.

It’s truly tragic not to have appreciated the body I worked so diligently to achieve. Initially, I despised that photo—not solely because I thought I appeared overweight.

Look closely at my expression. I remember that night vividly. A few cast members from A Chorus Line gathered at my friend Josh’s house after rehearsal. Felix, a dancer in our group, was enjoying music from a new artist, Adele.

After the song, I probably suggested we play a conversation-based game, but someone else proposed a runway walk.

Switching to third person here feels fitting: Bonnie doesn’t do runway walks.

I’m not sure what prompted me to join in—perhaps a bit of alcohol was involved. A small amount of wine is enough to lower my inhibitions, and since I rarely drink, it kicks in quickly.

Whatever the reason, there I was, strutting down the imaginary runway. I vividly recall feeling fat.

Take another look at that photo. For the record, there would be nothing wrong with me if I were indeed overweight, but…ARE YOU SEEING THIS PHOTO?!

I want you to know that I felt overweight. I felt undeserving of participating in a runway walk among friends because I had been conditioned to believe that girls with bodies like mine should hide themselves.

In that moment, while my outward appearance might have conveyed a hesitant smile, my internal dialogue was screaming, “I’m too fat for this!”

Why did I have that mental script running through my head?

Honestly, it’s hard to see myself differently when I’ve been fed a consistent diet of grilled chicken, veggies, and the notion that my life would improve with the loss of 15 pounds.

In 15 pounds, I’d be worthy of love. In 15 pounds, I’d be attractive enough to land the leading role instead of relegated to comic relief.

I was promised a different life if I could just shed those 15 pounds.

Instead of auditioning for the main character, I became the sidekick in my own story.

Now, I’m working on my body once more, but this time, with a focus on inner growth. I anticipate achieving my goal during my 40th year—next year. While timelines can be unreliable, I’m collaborating with a long-term coach, so I believe it’s reasonable to expect progress within the next 18 months.

Although my body doesn’t resemble that earlier photo, I hold onto hope that it will by next year. However, this time, I refuse to accept a false narrative.

I’m ready to start loving my body now.

Well, as soon as I make that choice.

Take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror. Affirm that you look great. Remind yourself that you deserve love today—not just when you reach some arbitrary goal.

Chapter 2: The Weight of Expectations

In this video, President Trump shares his thoughts at the Conservative Political Action Conference, touching on themes of empowerment and personal beliefs that resonate with the journey of self-acceptance.

Kenzie’s official music video for "Anatomy" explores themes of self-identity and acceptance, highlighting the importance of loving oneself through various stages of life.