The Perfect Body
Last February at this time I finished off one of the most restrictive diets I had ever been on and lost a total of 8 pounds. Maybe it seems like a lot to some of you but for me, the suffering that I went through felt like I deserved to lose 30 pounds.
I had been through a very traumatic surgery, was laying off exercise and wanted to be sure that the “weight” didn’t catch up to me. I cut out every enjoyable food on the planet and forced myself to drink 128 ounces of water each day. I spent the entire month between my bed because I was too exhausted for real life and the toilet because I couldn’t stop peeing.
At the end of the month, I stepped on the scale. Instead of being excited, I felt dark and heavy. I knew I was going to cry, so I just sat on the floor. I could hear this little voice inside that kept screaming, “why are you doing this to me?” Instead of jumping up and trying to escape, I decided to listen. And what I heard was over three decades of me working, struggling, managing, fixing, and controlling my weight. Over and over and over again. The hamster wheel in pursuit of a better body.
Growing up in a big family, there was a lot of teasing. I was next to the youngest of five kids and I received my fair share of their anguish. My brother would constantly taunt me, “fatty fatty two by four, can’t fit through the bathroom door.” I would cry and beg him to stop. But he was a kid, and he did what kids do; they find your sore spot and they stick a knife in.
On my eighth birthday, I received an outfit from my aunt. It was labeled size 8 Husky. I asked my mom what it meant, and my brother chimed in, “It means you are fat.” I was so ashamed. I knew it was true. If someone was buying me clothes to prove it, then it must be true.
I started to notice other little girls’ bodies and of course, they weren’t quite as tall as me and none of them were nearing puberty as I was at an excruciatingly young age. None of them had debilitating asthma like I did which prevented me from running and playing like a “normal” little girl. All in all, when I looked around, I felt different. I felt ‘bigger.’ The funny think about body image is that when I look back at pictures, I was NEVER fat. I just ‘felt” fat.
In 7th grade, during a friendly game of Spin the Bottle, I was told I was, “too ugly to kiss,” and I knew it was true. Too ugly. Too fat.
In 8th grade, I met my first love. He was two years older than me and of all the girls at the church retreat dance, he chose me to dance with. And then he kissed me. And kept kissing me for months. I couldn’t believe it. He was popular and cool, and he was in high school! I must not be too bad, I thought. Then he cheated on me. And I didn’t eat a thing for two weeks. For the first time in my life, I felt ‘thin.’ I loved how flat my stomach felt. I felt ‘good.’
When not eating became too hard, I decided to pick up exercising for the first time in my life. Within months my body had transformed. And boys were noticing me everywhere I went. My high school love came back and begged my forgiveness. I gave it to him. And so, the cycle was born at age 14. Starve, exercise, get noticed. By my sophomore year in high school, I found cross country and my athletic self was born. I no longer had to worry about what I ate because I could exercise it off. But if I did worry about it, I could be even skinnier.
From age 8 to 44, I have spent hours, days, months, and years trying to achieve some version of a ‘perfect body.’ The deep sadness I felt was palpable. Was this really what so much of my life had amounted to? A perfect body? Which truth be told, was never, ever achieved. Because even on my skinniest day, I promise you I was looking in the mirror and picking at something I hated.
I realized in that moment last February, which was a million moments in the making, that I was done torturing myself. I was done spending my life not eating carbs, sugar, fasting, not eating anything pleasurable except one day out of the week, or fasting one whole day a week, or ANY OF THE DAMN THINGS. I was so fucking over it all. And it had taken basically thirty years to arrive at that point. My life had to be about something more than this.
I would like to tell you that this process has been pretty. I would like to report that I’m ‘healed’ and ‘normal’ where food/weight/body issues are concerned. But I can’t lie. This year has been BRUTAL. Put aside the fact that one month after this declaration our nation went into quarantine and everyone’s “normal’ was turned upside down. I was undoing decades of damage. What did I honestly think would happen?
What I will tell you is that I have gotten to see just how deep my thinking and patterns are, in regard to food/exercise/body image. I see that most foods have been given a “bad” and “good” label. I see that I have depended on over exercising to try to keep the fat monster at bay. I see that enjoying food is a luxury for other people. How can you enjoy food when food makes you fat? See how twisted this all was in my head?
I have given myself permission to explore without judgment. To watch how I respond and what my thoughts are. They are very, very deep. I gave myself permission to eat whatever I want and to see how I would respond. The results have been very mixed. Sometimes I can eat a bowl of ice cream and think how delicious it is. Sometimes I eat a few pieces of pizza and think how I’m going to have to starve myself for two days to “make up for it.” I acknowledge myself regularly for showing up and being brave enough to face this, even when those old tapes say I’m failing.
I’m noticing that I’m looking at other people’s bodies much differently. Where I used to envy the scary skinny women, or even the really skinny muscular women, I now get a little nauseous seeing them. When I see advertisements for ‘losing weight’ and best ‘diet’ something inside of me is revolted. I. Just. Can’t. Anymore.
The other day, feeling really moody and bloated from PMS, I had a beautiful moment. I got out of the shower. The mirror in the bedroom was facing my bathroom for some reason. I looked up. I was butt naked. I didn’t turn away. I normally would have averted eyes at ALL costs knowing how “fat” my body would look during this time of month.
Instead, I turned to the side and I admired my curves. I am growing more comfortable in my skin. I promise you, even when I weighed 110 pounds, I DID NOT FEEL COMFORTABLE and I did not admire my body. It wasn’t EVER good enough.
To admire my curves is growth of epic proportion. I used to want a flat booty and no boobs because I hated my curves so much. I have gone to very painful lengths to try to eliminate them. It makes me sad to think of the young woman who was so stunning yet never knew it. I wish I could tell her what I know now. None of us look the same. To want someone else’s body is a waste of precious time. Our bodies are ours. They are unique and different.
I vaguely remember reading someone’s journey that sounds much like what I’m describing to you right now. I remember the woman saying she had gained 50 pounds in her journey to fall in love with her body. And I thought, “fuck that.” You couldn’t pay me a million bucks to do that. But, I sort of get it today. Thankfully I haven’t gained 50 pounds, but I understand that sometimes in breaking a pattern, you have to swing the pendulum all the way out the other side in order for it to come back to the middle.
I’m finding with each day; I’m waking up to more and more of what I love and admire about my body. I’m finding with each day; I am drawn more and more to a naturally healthy way of eating. I had to start with the notion that I’m DONE. Now I’m practicing. Every single day. Saying something nice to myself or eating a food I used to label as “bad” and getting comfortable with it.
Six years ago, I made peace with a lot of me. I didn’t realize that I hadn’t made peace with ALL of me, but this is a journey not a destination. I thought then that I was afraid of being fat. I see now that I was actually afraid of loving my body. Who would I be if I loved my body and didn’t struggle? Loving my body, is just another piece of the puzzle, another leg of the journey.
I hope you find some hope in this. I have cried a few times while writing it because this shit is deep and its vulnerable and I’ve suffered a great deal of my life uncovering and getting to even the small amount of growth I have today in this area. As with the rest of my journey, it is my calling to be real. Even when it hurts. Actually, especially when it hurts!
Until Next Time,
