I always had some issues around body image and body dysmorphia

Hear, O children of the heart, the words of Matthew Koma, who confessed with courage: “I always had some issues around body image and body dysmorphia, but didn’t have the strength to face it or talk about it openly. I became so mentally and physically exhausted, and it didn’t get any better in the context of shooting photos and music videos, doing promo, etc.” These are not idle words, but a testimony of struggle in a world that worships appearances, where the weight of image can crush even the strongest spirit. In them lies a lesson of both suffering and awakening, for they reveal the hidden cost of silence and the healing power of truth.

The issues of body image and the shadow of body dysmorphia are not battles of the flesh alone but wars of the mind. They twist perception, making the mirror an enemy and the self a stranger. Koma’s words show how this inner conflict becomes heavier when bound to a world of lights and cameras, where every angle is judged, every picture immortalized. To live in such a world is to feel always observed, always measured, always less than enough. And yet the greater burden is not the gaze of others, but the silence within, the lack of strength to speak, to face the fear aloud.

History tells us that this struggle is not new. The great painter Michelangelo, though he carved David with divine perfection, was tormented by his own form, ashamed of his appearance, retreating into solitude. The world adored his art, but he wrestled within. So too did Princess Diana, beloved by millions, yet confess that she suffered greatly from eating disorders and the crushing weight of public scrutiny. These figures remind us that fame does not shield the heart; in truth, it often deepens the shadows. Like Koma, they lived in worlds where image was magnified, yet they carried wounds unseen by most.

The exhaustion Koma describes—mental and physical exhaustion—is the natural fruit of silence and pretense. To fight an unseen battle while smiling for the cameras, to endure suffering while pretending to flourish, drains the soul more deeply than any visible labor. When he speaks of photo shoots, music videos, and promotion, he describes not only work, but a stage upon which he must perform strength he does not feel. This dissonance between the outer image and the inner truth is what leads to despair, unless one dares to speak.

Yet, O listeners, the act of speaking itself becomes a form of victory. For when Koma confesses his struggle, he transforms his weakness into strength. To face the wound openly is to rob it of its power. To admit exhaustion is the first step toward rest and healing. What once was silence and shame becomes testimony and courage. His quote thus originates not only in pain, but in the breaking of chains—the realization that to remain silent is to remain enslaved, but to speak is to walk toward freedom.

The lesson is this: never mistake silence for strength. True strength is not hiding wounds but facing them, not pretending to be unbroken but daring to show where you are cracked. The world may praise the perfect image, but perfection is a lie; truth is the soil in which healing grows. The heroes of the soul are not those who never falter, but those who stumble, confess, and rise again with honesty in their steps.

Practical is this counsel: if you struggle, speak. To a friend, to a loved one, to a healer—let the words out, for silence deepens the wound. Care for your body not as an ornament for others’ eyes, but as the vessel of your life. Reject the tyranny of appearances, and instead cultivate gratitude for strength, health, and the spirit within. Offer kindness to yourself as you would to another, for self-compassion is the first medicine for the weary heart.

Thus, remember the words of Matthew Koma: “I didn’t have the strength to face it or talk about it openly… I became so mentally and physically exhausted.” Let his confession be a torch in the night, showing that silence imprisons, but honesty liberates. And let each who hears learn to live not in fear of the mirror, nor in slavery to appearances, but in the dignity of truth, the discipline of love, and the freedom of being wholly, humanly themselves.