Distorted

Eva pulled her hoodie tighter around herself as she stepped onto the treadmill, even though she was already warm. There's a dull ache sitting behind her eyes that pulses every time she looks down. She typed the same numbers from the past three days at the same speed and with the same incline. No adjustments to compensate for her sickness, or that she hasn't taken a day off from the gym for the past nine days in a row. Adjustments meant weakness. The treadmill started, slow at first, then faster, until it settled into the rhythm she knew by heart. Her body followed automatically, legs moving, arms swinging, breath already a little too shallow. Then, a sharp, sudden cough tore through her chest. She staggered on the machine for a few seconds but regained her balance. A young woman next to her with a tight ponytail and a steady pace turned her head toward Eva. Eyes filled with annoyance, disgust, maybe. The message is clear without a word. Eva's face burned hotter than before. Another cough clawed its way up, but she choked it down. She turned her attention to the screen. She didn't burn enough calories. It was not even close.

"Don't be a bitch," she whispered.

Eva straightened immediately, forcing her stride to keep up with the pace. Minutes passed by as the calories kept climbing. Eva's chest burned as her lungs felt too small. Another cough broke through, uncontrollable this time, forcing her to grab the side rail as her body jerked forward. For a second, she considered stopping, but as her finger hovered near the stop button, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. She shook her head in defiance and kept running.

Twenty minutes later, Eva leaned on the wall of the shower stall, coughing incessantly, trying not to fully collapse. Thankfully, she did not. After a very long, hot shower, she felt a little better and drove to the grocery store. It was prep meal day, and she had to go buy a dress for her cousins' wedding. She shuddered at the thought. Why did she have to suffer because other people decided to ruin their lives? Why spend all this money when you can just go with the person you love and get married somewhere beautiful? But family is family, so she has to buy a dress now. She had delayed it enough. She grabbed her phone to look at the list she had made earlier, ignoring the missed calls and text notifications. She definitely did not have time for her boyfriend or her mother.

Shy of thirty-three, Eva is the kind of woman people describe as "put together" before they realize how tightly everything is held. She has a soft face, kind yet somehow distant. Her features are delicate, symmetrical in a way that makes people pause for a second longer than usual. She has clear skin, wide eyes, and a mouth that seems to smile more than it does. She dresses simply but intentionally, in neutral colors and with clean lines.

Eva rested her head on the wheel as soon as she pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. She was drained. She carried the two grocery bags and put them directly in the fridge, which was half full with fat-free Greek yogurt, pre-cut veggies, protein shakes, and sliced turkey. She needed a nap. She went to lie on the couch when her phone buzzed. It was her boyfriend again.

"Wanna go out to dinner?"

She sighed. She told him she was busy today. She did not know why; everything he did lately annoyed her. She put the phone down and did not respond. She closed her eyes and fell asleep, waking up an hour later to her mother's repeated phone calls. She was late. A minute later, she stood in front of her open closet, in her underwear, arms crossed tightly over her stomach, scanning the rows, as if the right answer might suddenly reveal itself if she stared long enough. The green shirt was too tight. The white blouse was too sheer. The navy shirt might work. She stepped closer to the mirror, and her eyes went straight to her stomach. She angled her body, adjusted, angled again, pulled back her shoulders, chin up, stomach in, and... shit, it is not enough.

She threw the shirt onto the bed as if it betrayed her, then pulled on a black dress. She stepped into it, zipped it quickly with practiced ease, and turned to the mirror.

"No... no.. no... this was fine before!!" She yelled as if someone was listening.

Her throat tightened as she turned sideways and sucked in her stomach. This does not make any sense! She grabbed her phone, opened the camera, turned, and took a picture. She looked at her phone screen, then at the mirror, then back at the phone. They didn't match. They haven't matched in a long time.

"Which one is right?" she whispered.

She took the dress off in frustration and quickly put on leggings and a hoodie. She grabbed her keys and hesitated at the main door knob for a second, then opened the door and walked out with this terrible nagging feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach for a while now.

An hour later, Eva was standing in a too-small, too-warm fitting room, holding different sizes of the same dress. "Just try it on," She told herself.

The first dress did not zip halfway down her back. The fabric pulled at her skin as if it were the problem. The second zipped but clung too tightly. Why is my stomach so big? So many jiggly parts. Eva was disgusted. She made the mistake of looking at her reflection, which stared right back. Then, she heard it. Her mother's voice.

You have a pretty face...you just have to take care of the rest.

She stepped closer to the mirror, her reflection looming larger, somehow more distorted. She turned slightly, then sharply back again, like she might catch it changing in real time. And all of a sudden, she is not in the fitting room anymore.

She is eight, standing behind her mom, glowing and composed, as she puts on makeup. "You are so pretty," Eva said.

Her mother's smile widened, pleased but not surprised.

"Am I?"

Eva nodded quickly. Her mother set the eyeliner down and reached for a small brush.

"You know, you have my eyes. That's a good thing. They are your best feature."

Eva's face lit up with a smile. She moved closer to the mirror to look at her face next to her mother.

"But you need to be careful as you get older," her mother added.

Eva's smile disappeared, and confusion took its place.

"Girls who are naturally pretty sometimes think they don't have to try...they get comfortable."

Eva was suddenly very aware of how her shoulders were slightly hunched. Her mother put the small down and gently pressed them back. "Posture," she murmured. Eva straightened. Her mother turned back to the mirror, picked up the brush, and moved on, calm and unbothered, while Eva continued to stare at herself like she might already be disappearing.

She is twelve, walking into her kitchen after school, where her mom was cooking. She could feel the judgment before the words came out.

"Eva, what are you wearing? You're at a very important age," she said with a calm voice. "This is when girls either keep their beauty… or lose it."

Eva's stomach tightened. "Lose it? Mom, it's just jeans and a t-shirt! What is the big deal?"

"And this ugly hat covering your hair. You look like a boy. One day it is a hat, another day it's a boy's shirt." Her eyes briefly scanned down Eva's body, then back up. "Until one day, you look at the mirror, and all your beauty is gone. You have to pay attention because most girls don't. They think they will always look the same."

Eva shook her head. She reached for the cookies on the counter, but her mother pulled them quickly.

"You don't need sugar. That will make you fat. Stay small. Trust me." Her mother's voice sounded almost gentle and kind, but landed heavily.

"Small?" Eva repeated.

"Yes, small. That's how you stay pretty."

She is sixteen, standing in the locker room. To her left, a group of girls was changing, half-dressed, completely unbothered. One of them pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a flat stomach, narrow hips, everything smooth and easy. Another girl stood in just a sports bra and shorts, casually checking herself in the mirror. Like it’s normal to look and not hate what you see.

“Ugh, I feel so gross today,” one of the girls said behind her. "I ate so much yesterday."

"Literally, same. I need to stop." Another girl responded before they both laughed.

Eva's chest tightened as she stole a glance at their reflection in the mirror. These girls didn't look gross. They looked perfect. They didn't need to stop anything.

If they think they're gross...

The thought didn't finish.

The memories came one after another, uninvited and unexpected. With every memory, the words echoed in her mind, growing louder and louder:

"Stand up straight,"

"It makes you look heavier,"

"One day people look at you ...and the next they don't,"

"Stay small,"

"Are you really eating that?"

"I thought you were going to the gym?"

Eva froze. She stared at herself in the mirror, really stared this time and something flickered. Her reflection looked back at her, tense, controlled, and practiced. Her phone buzzed again.

Mom: "Send me pictures before you buy the dress!"

Eva's stomach dropped. She looked at herself again in the mirror, and for the first time she saw her body the way she had been taught to see it. Every instruction, adjustment, and every thought that did not feel like hers. Her stomach was pulled in, shoulders were pulled back, and jaw was tight. Her heart was beating at the same speed her panic was rising. Suddenly, the fitting room started spinning all around as she stumbled back and fell slightly on the bench with all the clothes. Eva's eyes filled with tears as she continued to stare at herself in the mirror. It was not her body she was looking at. It was the pattern, the voice, and the origin.

Gradually, panic gave way to shame, which then shifted to grief. Grief for all the hours, the days, the years, the meals calculated, and the moments missed. The realization settled in slowly. It was not her body that was wrong. It was how she saw herself. Her eyes squeezed shut as more tears slipped free. I missed so much.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw her red eyes reflected on her unguarded face and for the first time she didn't try to fix it. She stared at herself in the mirror as if she were seeing herself for the first time. With a quiet resolve, she grabbed her phone and opened her contacts. She scrolled until she found one she added a few months ago and never used. Dr. Flores, a therapist her coworker recommended. Without giving it much thought, Eva dialed the number.