Today I was walking to the the mini fridge on my floor to get my afternoon snack when I was struck with a feeling of normalcy.
As I mentioned before I have struggled with some very disordered eating since a very early age. Food has always been about so much other than food. It is pleasure, punishment, and distraction all at the same time. In the past, when I was feeling sad or overwhelmed, I would want to eat a pan of brownies so that I could experience the pleasure of eating something delicious, while punishing myself (my body is very sensitive to large amounts of sugar and wheat), followed by a period of obsession over how many brownies I ate, as well as a ghastly stomachache. But then the stomachache would wane, and I would be left with regret over my sometimes masochism and frequent incapability to really care for myself.
It amazes me how valuable it is to learn how to dialogue with oneself. It is not that I don't binge eat anymore, though I do it much, much less; it's just that I know how to come back from it. Years (or months) ago, a night of binge eating would lead to a week or weeks of more binge eating. And the longer it went on the harder it was to come back from. But I feel now as though I have some idea of how to talk to myself about the binge: to frame it as self-care (learned from Geneen Roth), to drink a lot of water, to journal, to combat the thoughts of "you don't know how to care for yourself" with viable proof that I most clearly do know how to care for myself.
I keep wondering how I got here from there. How I got to a point where there is an element of true nourishing when it comes to food, if even just for one snack. I suppose it has to do with the work I've done to love my body just as it is. It has to do with how I clothe and wash myself. It has to do with letting my body be, with letting her want or reject whatever she needs. It has to do with all the times I let it be okay that I ate ice cream every day for a week or had two cupcakes (or four) at a party. It has to do with the freedom to have cream in my coffee and to sometimes drink that coffee in bed, in my pajamas, even though I should be doing other things. It has to do with riding my bike, with feeling connected to the world through that little 15 pound mass of metal and rubber. In yoga, I felt connected to the earth. But when I am biking I am a part of the whole round world. On my bike, as I learn to yell at drivers about to hit me and ride in a lane clearly designed for cars, I am learning how to protect myself, how to take up space in the world. It has to do with going to my dance class and seeing my body in the mirror, back fat and stomach fat and bruised, scarred legs, and thinking, "that is MINE." And then plie-ing like I am a graceful swan. Because I am. Just a fat one.
What else have I done?
Lots of crying. And talking. Lots of eating. Lots of drinking. Lots of journaling and biking and sad dancing and happy dancing and online shopping. Lots of reading. Lots of reading the same thing over and over until I get it. Lots of hugging. Lots of anger. Lots of forgiveness and grace.
And then today I got hungry so I walked to the little mini-fridge to get my yogurt and honey, mixed together in a little tupperware this morning, and I ate it, and I licked the top of the tupperware cause it was so delicious, and I wasn't thinking about anything else, just how delicious that yogurt was. Every meal or snack is not like this. But this one was. And there have been others like it. And there will be more.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
How Mr. Bates Made Me Cry or Why Downton Abbey is Awesome
I was at a small get together at a friend’s house on Sunday and overheard a conversation between two women. One woman, explaining what she did for work, said, “I deal with research on different diseases. You know, cancer, obesity... things like that.” I responded to this by saying very loudly, “OBESITY IS NOT A DISEASE,” which was, of course, followed by an awkward silence.
My grandmother died of cancer in 2004. She was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer years before. She went through Chemo, and her cancer went into remission. Then it moved down into her intestines, and it never stopped spreading. My grandmother was a lifetime member of Overeaters Anonymous, and I remember, when she was still lucid, she would joke that it took chemotherapy to get her to her goal weight (it makes me sad to think that my grandmother was struggling her entire life to attain a weight that she could only get to by dying).
As far as I know (and to be honest I could be totally wrong as I know not a thing about science) it is unknown what causes cancer. Yes, there are correlations, but it is very unclear why some people get cancer and others do not.
Fatness is similar. Some bodies are fat and some are not. It is not known why some bodies are fat and some are not because, contrary to what most people would believe to be true, not all fat people eat more and exercise less than thin people. There are so many different components of fatness: genetics, environment, stress, lifestyle.
This is the only way in which fatness is similar to cancer.
To call Obesity a disease is, if you ask me, kind of insulting to other diseases. My fatness is not the same as my grandmother’s cancer. Or a brain tumor. Or this child’s disease. And though I have more body fat, my fat is not slowly killing me (whatever the media would want you to believe). I do not feel weak. I do not feel sick. My body is able to digest food, to move, to function properly in every way. My body is not, in anyway in fact, diseased and to call it such is insulting.
I am going to let you in on a secret: everybody dies. From the minute our bodies are fully formed they are deteriorating, some faster than others. We want to think that if we can make our bodies a certain way that somehow we will have some control over our own demise, and though that is true to a certain extent, whether I or anyone else wants to extend or shorten their life is just none of your goddamn business. Maybe I will die from a heart attack in the next 10 years. Maybe I will get hit by a bus on my bicycle. Maybe I will live to be a fat 82-year-old just like my dad. Or maybe I will get an actual disease. I just don’t know. No one does.
I’ve been watching Downton Abbey with my glorious roommate. There is a character named Mr. Bates who has a pronounced limp from a war injury and walks with a cane. Mr. Bates is handsome and kind, but many of the staff look down on him for his limp. They assume he can’t do certain things even though he can. He decides he will attempt to fix it. He goes to a store where he purchases a terrible metal contraption that, if tightened a certain amount everyday, claims to correct limps. Mr. Bates wears it. Throughout the episode we see him in terrible pain. Finally he shows his leg to the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes. His leg is bloodied and raw. We then see Mrs. Hughes marching Mr. Bates out to the lake carrying his limp corrector. She hands it to him to throw into the water and as he goes to throw it, stops him, saying, “No. Say your speech.”
Mr. Bates says, “I promise I will never again try to cure myself.”
You say Obesity is a disease?
My response is: what Mr. Bates said.
My grandmother died of cancer in 2004. She was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer years before. She went through Chemo, and her cancer went into remission. Then it moved down into her intestines, and it never stopped spreading. My grandmother was a lifetime member of Overeaters Anonymous, and I remember, when she was still lucid, she would joke that it took chemotherapy to get her to her goal weight (it makes me sad to think that my grandmother was struggling her entire life to attain a weight that she could only get to by dying).
As far as I know (and to be honest I could be totally wrong as I know not a thing about science) it is unknown what causes cancer. Yes, there are correlations, but it is very unclear why some people get cancer and others do not.
Fatness is similar. Some bodies are fat and some are not. It is not known why some bodies are fat and some are not because, contrary to what most people would believe to be true, not all fat people eat more and exercise less than thin people. There are so many different components of fatness: genetics, environment, stress, lifestyle.
This is the only way in which fatness is similar to cancer.
To call Obesity a disease is, if you ask me, kind of insulting to other diseases. My fatness is not the same as my grandmother’s cancer. Or a brain tumor. Or this child’s disease. And though I have more body fat, my fat is not slowly killing me (whatever the media would want you to believe). I do not feel weak. I do not feel sick. My body is able to digest food, to move, to function properly in every way. My body is not, in anyway in fact, diseased and to call it such is insulting.
I am going to let you in on a secret: everybody dies. From the minute our bodies are fully formed they are deteriorating, some faster than others. We want to think that if we can make our bodies a certain way that somehow we will have some control over our own demise, and though that is true to a certain extent, whether I or anyone else wants to extend or shorten their life is just none of your goddamn business. Maybe I will die from a heart attack in the next 10 years. Maybe I will get hit by a bus on my bicycle. Maybe I will live to be a fat 82-year-old just like my dad. Or maybe I will get an actual disease. I just don’t know. No one does.
I’ve been watching Downton Abbey with my glorious roommate. There is a character named Mr. Bates who has a pronounced limp from a war injury and walks with a cane. Mr. Bates is handsome and kind, but many of the staff look down on him for his limp. They assume he can’t do certain things even though he can. He decides he will attempt to fix it. He goes to a store where he purchases a terrible metal contraption that, if tightened a certain amount everyday, claims to correct limps. Mr. Bates wears it. Throughout the episode we see him in terrible pain. Finally he shows his leg to the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes. His leg is bloodied and raw. We then see Mrs. Hughes marching Mr. Bates out to the lake carrying his limp corrector. She hands it to him to throw into the water and as he goes to throw it, stops him, saying, “No. Say your speech.”
Mr. Bates says, “I promise I will never again try to cure myself.”
You say Obesity is a disease?
My response is: what Mr. Bates said.
Friday, October 14, 2011
This is an Angry Post
I have been or felt fat my entire life. I developed a binge eating disorder when I was 10 (that is at least the first time I remember looking forward to everyone being gone from the house so I could eat whatever I wanted) and by the time I was 16 I was a size 20 and weighed 250 pounds. I thought I was a big, fat piece of sh*t. I am being candid here. I fantasized about what it would be like to be thin. About the person I would be, the things I would do, the people who would be inextricably drawn to me. Whenever anything in my life would go wrong it was clearly my body’s fault. Clearly.
Three years ago, I started Weight Watchers. I lost 60 lbs. and all of the sudden I was available to the world. Every one told me how great I looked. I could shop in normal stores. I tried running. I did Yoga 6 days a week. Did I mention everybody kept telling me how good I looked? Cause they did. Over and over again. My weight loss was even a rather common topic of conversation. I am not saying this judgmentally towards those with whom I had the conversations but factually. I and everyone else talked about it. A lot.
But here’s the thing I want everyone to know. Even when I was thin I wanted to be thinner. It wasn’t enough. Even when I was thin I would binge eat. Even when I was thin I was worried no one would ever be attracted to me. Even when I was thin boys didn’t ask me on dates. I went to Yoga, and yes, I did/still do love doing Yoga, but I would freak out when I would miss a class because I was worried I had somehow lost that all the important muscle mass that would keep me from getting fat again. I was obsessed with not getting fat again. OBSESSED. I read Health at Every Size for the first time when I was at my thinnest and the book made me terrified that my set point weight was above my current weight. Anxiety-attack terrified. Couldn’t-sleep-at-night terrified.
And then I hurt myself. I fell up an escalator and dislocated my shoulder, an injury I still deal with today. I couldn’t do Yoga, at least not how I wanted anymore. So then I started gaining weight. It was slow. But over the course of the past two years I have gained back every pound I lost. This is while trying different dietary eliminations to keep the weight off, and trying Weight Watchers again. And then I read Health at Every Size for the second time, once again a 250 pound woman wearing a size 20, and I actually got it.
This is what I got:
My weight has no bearing on my health, IF (and only if) my habits are healthy. If I am eating the foods my body wants in the amounts she wants them, if I am moving consistently, if I am dancing and riding my bike and experiencing love and joy and good things then my weight has no bearing on my health.
Being thin will not get me the things I want. And this is contrary to everything you will probably ever hear from the media. To be honest I have more of the things I want now that I am fat again because I don’t have to wait for my body to look a certain way to have them.
Being thin will NOT HEAL DISORDERED EATING. Not every fat person has an eating disorder, but I know a fair number who do. Restricting your caloric intake and upping your exercise, even if it results in temporary weight loss, will never heal an eating disorder. Ever. My binge eating was worse than it had ever been when I was thinnest because I was so obsessed with the amount of calories I was eating as they pertained to how I looked.
Loving my body has brought me an incredible amount of joy. I love my body. I love what she can do. I love what she looks like. I LOVE how wide my hips are, and how strong my legs are. And apart from what she looks like I love that she houses me so well. I love that she reflects the largeness and delicacy of my spirit and of my heart. I am proud of her.
My weight has no bearing on my health, IF (and only if) my habits are healthy. If I am eating the foods my body wants in the amounts she wants them, if I am moving consistently, if I am dancing and riding my bike and experiencing love and joy and good things then my weight has no bearing on my health.
Being thin will not get me the things I want. And this is contrary to everything you will probably ever hear from the media. To be honest I have more of the things I want now that I am fat again because I don’t have to wait for my body to look a certain way to have them.
Being thin will NOT HEAL DISORDERED EATING. Not every fat person has an eating disorder, but I know a fair number who do. Restricting your caloric intake and upping your exercise, even if it results in temporary weight loss, will never heal an eating disorder. Ever. My binge eating was worse than it had ever been when I was thinnest because I was so obsessed with the amount of calories I was eating as they pertained to how I looked.
Loving my body has brought me an incredible amount of joy. I love my body. I love what she can do. I love what she looks like. I LOVE how wide my hips are, and how strong my legs are. And apart from what she looks like I love that she houses me so well. I love that she reflects the largeness and delicacy of my spirit and of my heart. I am proud of her.
Why do we all want to lose weight so badly? We want to be enough. We want to be loved or admired or beautiful or healthy or whatever other words our diet obsessed culture tells us we can be if we are just thin enough. But what if we could be all those things right now? Wouldn’t that be worth transferring all the effort we have been putting into wishing our bodies were different into enjoying our bodies for what they are?
I think it would be.
It was for me.
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