Why you really hate your thighs

Art by Joanne Beaule ( Source )

Art by Joanne Beaule (Source)

We all have insecurities. Even the most confident people have them. If they don't, I wouldn't trust them because they aren't human. 

But some of us have insecurities that consume us. We allow negative self-talk to fill our brain until it controls our life. 

When I was suffering from my eating disorder, the sickness flooded my thoughts. All I ever thought about was food and exercise and being skinny. I honestly thought the whole reason I was in this mess was because I wanted desperately to be thin. But through therapy I learned that my eating disorder was tied to trauma I hadn't dealt with. It was a distraction and a way for me to have some sort of control in my life. 

I hope that your insecurities do not manifest into serious disorders. But we shouldn't wait for a serious disorder to begin to ask, “Why?"

Why are you insecure about your ________? Why do you feel inadequate? Why do you hate your thighs so much?

You might be thinking, "Well Cara. I hate my thighs because they are huge." That's the easy answer. But let's dig deeper.

So let's assume your thighs are in fact larger-than-average. Why does that make you insecure? What are you afraid of? Here are some possibilities.

Other people won't accept me. 

I won't find someone to love me.

My S.O. will leave me for someone with smaller thighs. 

I'm an advocate for curiosity. Part of the point of yoga is to bring awareness to what's going on with your mind and body. It's easier to ignore it. It's easier to continue old patterns and keep the exterior polished; a facade that everything’s great. But like they say, you can polish a turd but it's still a turd. 

I hit the bottom before I dealt with the issues. When you’re at the bottom, you have only two options: Die or work through the real problem. I hope/wish that you don’t hit the bottom before working working to find your truth.

Those fears listed above are real. But it's likely that having smaller thighs won't diminish them. I can tell you that when I was smaller, my problems didn't end. 

The thighs are a distraction and a scapegoat; not the actual problem. 

Once we identify our fears, we must continue to dive deeper. 

Why do I need others to accept me? Because I don't accept myself. 

Why do I need to find someone to love me? Because I don't love myself. 

Why would my S.O. leave me for someone with smaller thighs? Because she's confident and loving and my insecurity has made me difficult to be around. 

This is just an example conversation you could have with yourself. But knowing that your insecurity is tied to something deeper is powerful. Instead of focusing on eating less and using the thigh master, you can attack the root cause of the issue. 

Therapists can help us work through some of this. But I find that just by knowing the root cause of my insecurities helps me tremendously, even before I talk to a professional. I see that the problem isn’t me ... you see, we aren’t inherently bad people. The problem is something outside of me that can be treated. I can begin to prescribe a better treatment than a thigh master. For me, that looks like meditation, heart-opening yoga poses for self-compassion and journaling. 

It’s scary to face our fears. It’s scary to let go of the anxieties we latch onto to distract ourselves from the root issue. But I promise you it’s worth it. And it’s also pretty exciting, because you get to discover yourself. Letting go of the facade means you have more choices. You can choose to be happy. You can choose to be loving. You can choose to be angry. You can choose to be passionate. You can choose so many things because you are free from your thighs; your thighs don’t make all of your choices.


As I healed, my thighs grew. My pants size went up 6 sizes. Yes, 6. Sometimes, when I’m shopping, I see the small sizes and I have a fleeting negative thought. I wish I still wore that size. But then my Happy stomps on the thought and puts it out like a cigarette butt. The size of my thighs is a stick. And I’m not going to let it be a snake again. 

(Explanation for the stick/snake reference here.)