Body Battles
I have such a pleasant relationship with my body now. Larger than it’s been in a long time, I now am pretty friendly with my curves and slopes and rolls.
And yet, I’m packing for my vacation and stressing a little around what to wear that I will be comfortable in AND look good in, which includes “not too big” in the back of my mind. The thought has always lived there, though less and less intrusive these days.
The war has been long, and I’m grateful the battles come less frequently now. And the critical voice doesn’t have near as much power as it used to. I’m telling a part of my story today. Why? Other than it feels like it’s time to tell it, it is the headlining theme of my life that I don’t talk about.
Fighting my body size has been a constant; has shaped me (literally!). I figure it’s relatable, and since I’ve decided to end the war, it’s more pleasurable to live in. And, I see the war raging on, in culture, on the socials, in real life with other people. I want to show the other side, the success story of stopping the war at a larger size, which is hardly heard or seen.
I’ve never known a flat stomach or a lean frame; even at my smallest size, around the time I was 30. I was aware that I lived in a larger body than most when I was maybe 7 or 8. I was changing into my swimsuit at school. I went to a Montessori school from K-2nd grade and “gym” was swimming - we lived in Houston! It was the first time I was aware that I looked different. Don’t remember if someone said something, or I caught a look from someone, or what. That was my first awareness of being different.
I look back at family photo albums and see my sweet juicy thighs touching at 2 (maybe they’ve never seen the light in between!), my cute pot-belly in my blue starred one-piece suit, and wonder when the world thought I was fat. I look a little lean in photos around age 4, and that may be due to my legs getting long. I grew big, fast.
I was the tallest kid (at least girl) by the end of Kindergarten. My Dad always said I was ‘big-boned’; maybe that’s true too. I have a large frame, like my football player father.
I notice in childhood photos that I wasn’t fat, but still I knew I was bigger than most kids my age, and whatever overt and covert messages were getting in, I knew that it was something to be ashamed of. The fact that I’m looking at my sweet childhood photos analyzing if I look chubby or not is horrifying, but I want this to be a reality check - we do this!
There was definitely more change in my shape, face and habits around 9 and 10. There was the divorce, and with mom’s manic-ness and my sister’s depression, and my dad’s checked-out-ness, schedule and food was scarce or a free-for-all. I was in 3rd grade the first time a kid called me fat (to be clear; it was meant as an insult).
I also started puberty at this age; yes, my period came at 10!
I was aware of mom dieting when I was 5 or 6. I was probably subject to her restrictions and binges since she was responsible for feeding me. I remember the Grapenuts and skim milk and wheat toast and grapefruit for breakfast on the “Scarsdale Diet” when I was young.
I was taller than my mom and sister by the time I got to 7th grade and had a very adult looking body. I willingly and begrudgingly went on the Dolly Parton diet with mom the summer in between 7th and 8th grade. It was basically fruits and vegetables (which I hated) and some kind of cabbage soup - for 7 days. Sure I lost weight! It was miserable and gained it back the next week.
I went on Weight Watchers with my mom the summer after 8th grade and lost enough weight that I felt “good about myself”. My natural growth and development had something to do with that too, though. Everyone thought it was a good thing. There were compliments and rewards for losing weight.
My body would still fluctuate in my teenage years, but I was told it was sexy, that I had “birthing hips”. Why in the world this was a common comment to hear as a teenage girl, is beyond me 🙄
So much of my life has been about tracking what I look like and pushing and changing my body and feeling bad about it, or proud of it - all based on what our culture says is the way we “should” look. My body has been pretty darn capable and strong most of my life, and I regret that so much of my time on this earth has been focusing on its shape, rather than what's inside.
I became less guarded around food in college, and then did some dieting before I got married, then went back to gain after. It was when my now ex became a vegetarian that I didn’t know what to do…like, in the kitchen. I already had such a contentious relationship with food and my body; it seemed like I was only at peace when he and I were eating the same things. If he had a burger and fries, I could too. Like it was justified.
Now we needed to eat differently, because I felt awful after eating pasta 4 nights in a row. I didn’t know what else to make, and let’s face it, I was a young married woman living in the south, who grew up in a conservative family and religious faith that basically taught me it was my job to provide food for both of us.
I was then at my heaviest… largest… words are stupid. I went on Weight Watchers again; I was 28. He and I figured out how to eat separately, and I lost 100 lbs over about 18 months, mostly eating processed foods and living with being hungry a lot. One of the horrific things about dieting is that we learn to ignore our bodies’ needs. Hunger cues are shoved away as I reached for another glass of water. That saying…”nothing tastes better than being thin feels”… is nonsense, and I hate it!
I looked “good” though. Wow! The compliments I got. In fact, that’s all I ever talked about with people, for years. People were “so proud” of me.
I had pushed myself to get to WW’s “goal weight” for my height. The “lightest” I had been as an adult, smallest since before I started paying attention to clothing sizes. I wore sizes 12 /14 regularly in high school and got down to a size 10 (for a few months) by the end of my WW era when I was 30. It was not sustainable. Another reason why I know the charts and recommended weights/calories are for the birds!
Then, he became vegan. He pressured me about eating meat. I tried to do the vegetarian thing. Guess what? I started gaining weight again.
I started learning how to cook/bake from scratch, cutting out all animal products. Figuring out how to make “healthy” and delicious food so that he wouldn’t miss out on holiday food/gatherings. I was comfortably a size 14/16 for many years.
By the way, the couple of times I snuck a little steak from my grandmother’s leftover box, I realized I couldn’t do it. I gave it a good go for a couple of years. I’d spent years eating things I hated and not eating things I loved, so I knew I could do it. But not eating meat? That was hard. I read the books. I watched the documentaries. I tried all the protein combos and substitutes. My body craved meat in a way that told me I should listen to it, for once.
I started to “eat my feelings” more right before we separated, years later. I would eat so I didn't have to talk. I was awakening parts of me that life’s traumas had shut down when I was little. So, tracking food was the last thing I could think of when I was transitioning out of a long marriage, starting my own business, and starting life on my own, making my own choices, discovering who I really was.
Once I found myself settled, I did what I always did, looked at my food habits and my body once again. After all, I was going to start dating again (good grief!).
I went on a few fasts, all under the guise of being healthy, though I really wanted the smaller body, cuter clothes, and wanted to feel confident and sexy. And, yet again, my free time was devoted to planning, preparing, cooking…obsessing. I was aware that I couldn’t fully lose myself in it now that I was creating a more fulfilled life with more interests. I was trying mindful eating, which was a little helpful in releasing all the control, but still occupied so much of my mind around meal times.
I was almost 44 when I ignored my rumbling tummy, remembering I had to fit into a special dress in a few months. At the same moment (like… rumble, ping) my phone pinged with a text from a friend asking if I’d heard of this blogger who was writing on mental starvation.
That’s when I started studying the anti-diet movement and noting all of the harms it has done to me (physically, mentally and emotionally) over the years.
That was it; I was done. And, I got mad. It was a very similar feeling and reaction I had when I started questioning my restrictive church upbringing. The two (church and diet) are not that dissimilar; in fact, there are a ton of similarities in devaluing my humanness, both telling me I should be something different, something better. Both hold pillars of deprivation and reward.
So, I got that fancy dress let out and let myself eat what I wanted.
Yes, for any of you worrying about what that would mean, yes, sometimes I ate “too much”. I would describe that too much = uncomfortable. I did that when I was dieting too. Basically, dieting is a cycle of binging and restricting - when you do it the way I was taught. The NEW thing was that I didn’t shame myself for eating “too much”; that felt really good.
Yes, I started to gain weight. Not quickly or excessively from my viewpoint. I was comfortable and satisfied. I read Intuitive Eating and was trying to bring my pendulum swinging relationship with food to more balance and awareness. It felt good.
Then, mom’s Alzheimer's diagnosis and 2020 hit and I was lucky if I had just one breakdown a week. I ate what I could, when I could and yes, sometimes I would escape into food, because I learned early on that eating is one of the few things I can control. Maybe more of an impact on my body besides food, was the stress of those next 18 months.
The early days of shut down put me in a frozen panic. The emotional stress and therefore exhaustion was taxing on my body, and there were too many days when my nervous system was in fear overdrive.
In nervous system terminology I was in a state of Functional Freeze (getting the minimum done to stay the course; pay bills, maintain relationships) while under extreme stress. Picture lying on the couch and feeling like you’re running a stressful obstacle-course marathon in your head. Exhausting. These were the days I was also doing some of my deepest healing; seeking transformation. It was a lot.
In this year plus, there were days I could hardly move, and days I couldn’t stop moving. Days when I would have intense stressful conversations with my father and had to lie down after. Days when I’d go check on mom that turned into undressing her, cleaning her, doing laundry, cleaning her place and then I was down for the count for a couple of days. My body worked hard in these days. I packed up my apartment of 5 blissful years and moved into a house. I actually made it to the seaside 10 times in those 20 months (probably what saved me!) and walked by the shore, where I breathed easily and cried.
And, one day, late in the fall of 2021 - after mom was safe in a facility, I had my final conversation with Dad, emptied mom’s apartment, the studio was finished, gig season was over, and I collapsed in a new way. I was depressed. There was no one to care for, argue with; my biggest triggers were virtually and literally gone. I loved them, and of course that’s what makes it all so painful.
I was doing the healing repair work, I was coaching, I was being coached, I was singing, I was in relationship, I was… a new kind of exhausted. I was grieving.
It wasn’t until spring of 2022 that I could feel the thaw come from within and started noticing my body again. And, one day, I realized I was a new size and shape. I mean, I was buying new clothes to keep up along the way, but it was gradual and I was barely conscious of the change. I was gaining weight differently than I ever had; in different places. Approaching 50, my body was taking on a new experience and shape.
Did you know there is evidence that stress and trauma changes the DNA and causes some to hold on to more weight and increases carbohydrate cravings? Hear me when I say, not “ooh I’m craving pizza” (b/c I’ve denied myself) or “I’m craving chocolate” (b/c my period is coming) - and those two are very real, justifiable, allowable and should be unshamable…
I mean: the morning I came home to my (just moved into) house being broken into and living with the shock of what was gone, the violation, amidst an already trying and exhausting year, I couldn’t eat. Like, Keith was trying to feed me for hours, and I couldn’t. I tried a few bites, and I cried when I had to chew and swallow, so I stopped. I couldn’t think about food until the police were gone, until my clothes were back in the dresser, until I had assessed, until the muddy thief-y footprints were cleaned up off the floor, til I changed all the passwords I could think of (computer was stolen). And then I looked at all the groceries he lovingly brought me and cried again. I know it would be good to eat these things, but I needed bread. I needed to be grounded. That’s the value of carbs in crisis. And, for so many years I denied myself that simple gift for fear of gaining weight.
That’s why I don’t mind the larger body I’m in now; because I love myself enough to give my body what it needs. Even if it’s my mind that needs something and I can’t get to it, I’ll give it food as a substitute until I can find a way to get what I need. Life is hard, and if there are days I can only get comfort through food, so be it. I refuse to be ashamed of those choices keeping me safe and sane. I will never apologize for eating anything ever again. And you know what? I’m confident and feel sexy in it. Turns out, that has nothing to do with the way it looks!
Maybe hear this with new ears… part of me wants to lose weight, desires to be in a smaller body. But, it’s the part of me that wants to fit in; the part of me that knows it’s harder living in this world in a larger body. I know what it’s like to be ignored, passed over, called names, to face prejudice for living in a larger body, because I’ve lived parts of my life in a passable smaller body. I know the difference.
I know from my research (and lived experience) that the most unhealthy part of life in a larger body is the stigma we face from other people, not the actual “over-weightedness”. I know the BMI index is a load of crap and that I don’t have to be weighed at my doctor’s office (you can pass!), and I know that even crappy health insurance is easier to get when you are under a particular weight.
Eating less and exercising more is not the answer to living in a smaller body. That may work for particular bodies, but not all. In fact, that very quest for bodies that aren’t meant to be smaller is what causes so much harm and actually, causes even larger bodies. It’s called weight cycling and it’s kind of bad for our actual health! Smallness or thinness is not a marker of “good health” by the way.
The world is biased, based on arbitrary beauty standards that have been in place for more than a hundred years, driven by, you guessed it…the Patriarchy! White men - powerful and often in high control religions - creating standards to keep women the “gentler sex” and weak and powerless. What about the medical community driving for smaller thinner as a way to be healthy. There’s too much history and farce for me to talk about here (in fact there are several books on it). If you want to learn more about all of the myths, lies and harms of this culture that aren't common knowledge, I’ve shared a list of great resources at the end.
Part of my weight gain these last few years has been a protest. And, when the mad justified parts of me are tired and I think “I really should try again,” I come close to panic attacks. Some part of me is not ready to try, and I don’t know that I should keep asking it. Life time habits are hard to break; even abusive ones.
I know so many of us (especially women) have body stories, identities, struggles with body image, battles with food. Noticing the language we use could be a cue to the harm it's caused us.
Here in the middle of “beach-body” summer, I thought I’d tell my story and hope and pray enough of us stop playing the game, fighting the war, using the language, and ask for real education and compassion for every human’s experience.
I may be shouting into the void.
Worrying about my body (since I was about 8) has defined so much of my lived experience, has shaped who I am in many ways, yet is the least interesting and cool thing about me! And, that’s frustrating. This world, and our country, are a shit-show at the moment; and if I see one more ad for weight-loss (or neck cream!), I’m gonna scream.
I’ll go warm up my voice since I know one will pop up within 3 minutes of being on social media.
Oh, and, if you know me and one day you notice that I have lost weight (who knows what could happen), please don’t compliment me, or comment on it. That would be helpful and appreciated. That would be one drop in a culture change movement against fatphobia!
Book Recommendations…the more you know:
Health at Every Size by Linda Bacon
Anti-Diet by Christy Harrison
Intuitive Eating by Evelyn Tribole and Elyse Resch
The F*ck-It Diet by Caroline Dooner
More Than A Body by Lexie and Lindsay Kite
Fearing the Black Body by Sabrina Strings (The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia)
The Body is Not an Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor
When Food is Love by Geneen Roth
Burnout by Emily and Amelia Nagoski (not specific on this topic, but it comes up!)