A situationship broke my heart – then the body dysmorphia started

I’d spent years feeling emotionally tossed around by athletic men like him (Picture: Andrea Martinez)

‘I think you want this more than I do.’

It was late spring 2024 and I had been in a situationship with a man for six months. On this particular evening, we had taken a walk to my favourite park; then his words hit me like a brick wall.

Unlike me, this man was a classic gym bro. He had pursued me for months, only to flip and do a 180, ending things with me in a way that felt abrupt and dismissive.

I’d spent years feeling emotionally tossed around by athletic men like him. Now, being rejected by this latest gym bro tugged at a gnawing insecurity I’d always suppressed: Maybe I was too soft. Not masculine or strong enough.

As I left the park that evening, I resolved to no longer be the insecure boy dating muscular guys. I would become the muscular guy myself.

At first, it was like a free ticket out of my own emotional jail. But when my body dysmorphia – which had once burgeoned in my teens – came back in full force, I felt trapped once again.

I know now that you can’t weightlift your way out of your unprocessed pain. It can feel like a solution, but it can quickly turn into an even bigger problem.

Back in 2021, I’d moved to Rome – which I soon found to be the Eternal City of romantic disappointments.

My image and style had long been intellectual – I was doing a PhD and was frequently pigeonholed as the scholarly type (Picture: Andrea Martinez)

I got dumped shortly after my birthday party by a man who suddenly realised I wasn’t masculine enough for him. Another time, the guy I’d been seeing revealed he’d had a boyfriend all along, but wanted to keep me for my ‘conversation’.

My image and style had long been intellectual – I was doing a PhD and was frequently pigeonholed as the scholarly type – and these experiences made me feel like a second option; a ‘hummus bowl’, as I called it. Someone’s snack they could dip in and out of at their convenience, but never as a full meal.

I’d spent years feeling emotionally tossed around by athletic men

And then there was the aforementioned gym bro. A few days before that evening in the park, he’d ditched a dinner date with me for defrosted chicken at home. 

When he then went on to end things with me in such a humiliating way, my fate was sealed.

It tapped into years of being subjected to all-boys’ boarding school homophobia, where I’d internalised the narrative that I was different and where I had felt I needed to hide my identity just to survive – to avoid being accused of being too sensitive, too emotional; to put it bluntly, too gay.

So I resolved to change my life completely.

It all stopped feeling motivating and started feeling like an obligation, explains Andrea (Picture: Andrea Martinez)

I immediately signed up for personal training classes at a gym. Within a fortnight, I was training four to six hours a week, tracking my protein, and delving into fitness research online.

It’s no understatement to say the gym saved me in a particularly challenging time. I had hit rock-bottom in my self-esteem – but with every dumbbell lifted and each new personal record met, it seemed to crank up a notch.

By autumn 2024, the muscular transformation was obvious, and this change tapped exactly into what I wanted: Visibility, both online and in person, and a sense of empowerment.

The Instagram likes flooded in and I started riding high off a feeling of newfound control – over my image, my body, how people saw me. Some of my ex-situationships re-approached me, and I can’t deny I guiltily enjoyed the (very short-term) ego boost of turning them down.

But the body dysmorphia trap was already waiting for me.

Instagram fitness models that had, at first, been sources of inspiration and motivation became a source of comparison. I felt my progress was never enough; that I could always – and should always – be better.

In what seemed like an algorithmic hell, my For You page was inundated with content about restrictive workouts and diets. It all stopped feeling motivating and started feeling like an obligation.

My beloved local pizzeria, where I used to hang out all the time, now triggered fear rather than pleasure. I worried that if I ate certain dishes, like pizza, I’d be undoing progress; and the anxiety was such that it was easier to cut out certain foods entirely.

Over time, I learned to identify the root of my specific anxieties, says Andrea (Picture: Andrea Martinez)

By winter, I had reached breaking point. Ironically, I’d lost the sense of control I’d worked so hard to accomplish.

I felt very isolated, worrying that people would judge me for being vain if I opened up to them.

It took finally admitting to myself and my family that I was developing a disordered relationship with food and my body in order to seek the therapeutic help I needed. 

Over time, I learned to sit with my anxiety and to restore a sense of balance in my daily routine, and to identify the root of my specific anxieties.

I went back to searching for genuine connections again. I hung out at gay bars where I forced myself to meet people – without any preconceptions of where things could go, romantically – and eventually found a new community of friends, many of whom were also struggling with body issues of their own. 

It’s the elephant in the room of many gay spaces, as we’re subjected both to external discrimination – judgments on our mannerisms and behaviours – and internal pressures. 

Conversations centre continuously on physique, sexual positions and appearance; without realising it, we can be each other’s worst enemies.

Over time, I learned to identify the root of my specific anxieties, says Andrea (Picture: Andrea Martinez)

Experiencing life in the gay community in this way showed me that the toxicity is real, but behind it all, there is genuine friendship and solidarity.

A few days ago, I went back to the same pizzeria I used to frequent years ago, before I embarked on my fitness journey.

I remembered the gnawing feeling of insecurity and powerlessness I used to have in the years before I did the work to process everything. I wished I could have told my former self that my body, my appearance, was never the problem.

I may not yet have found stability in my dating life. But when I was sharing a pizza with my old group of friends in one of my favourite places, it finally dawned upon me: I am no longer at war with myself.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected]. 

Share your views in the comments below.

Comments Add as preferred source