onceafatgirl

Peace is better than chocolate

Archive for the tag “bodies”

No pictures please

It has been almost two years since I started walking stairs to work out because I couldn’t run because I couldn’t breathe. It’s about a year and 8 or 9 months since I started treat my new breathing problems (adult onset asthma) and learned that I have always had exercise induced asthma. And about a year and a half since I have been able to breathe while working out. All of this while in perimenopause. 

The changes in my body have been extreme. I have more than doubled the size of my butt with muscle, while simultaneously losing weight in my lower body and dropping multiple pants sizes, but also having barely any change in my upper body.

It has changed the way I walk. The way I stand. The ways I have to stretch. The kinds of clothes I want to wear. 

It has changed enough to change everything.

But my body has always been so changeable. Resilient and strong and adaptable.

I was 300 pounds at 19 years old. 130 pounds at 34. And since then I have stopped weighing myself. But in my life I have gained and lost hundreds of pounds. Sometimes when I was dieting before I got my eating under control. But after too. The changes when I had my eating boundaries were not as drastic, but what is drastic compared to 150 pounds?

The truth is for most people, especially women, 20 pounds is a lot. Even with my eating boundaries in place, firm and honored, I still have gained and lost more than 30 pounds at a time. 

And I have never felt so good, so free, as when I stopped caring about my weight. Let it fluctuate. Let it go where it wants. I don’t eat sugar because it’s poison to me. I don’t eat compulsively because I do not have a “done” button. But I love to eat. I live to eat and once I made friends with that, I let it be what it is. And what it is is lots of bacon and ice cream. 

I have a thought every once in a while that I should be taking pictures of my butt to mark my progress. Because there is so much change. And I’m proud of it. I like the way it looks. I like that I did it. I like that I knew what I wanted, and I put in the work and I get what I get. Which is as close to what I want as genetics will allow.

But then I remember that the kind of scrutiny that a picture a day welcomes turns on me quickly. It’s not too big a gap for me between the moments of “I love this milestone” and “HOW CAN I GET MORE AND QUICKER RESULTS????”

I am remembering to be present in my body. To let that hour in the morning be my time to care for it, enjoy it, push it, and admire it. And then go about my day not thinking about it.

I hope I can remember how much of my life was spent obsessing about my body, specifically how much I hated it, when I was eating compulsively. And that not having to think about my body is a luxury that comes from keeping my sugar addiction and compulsive eating under control and not letting my body dysmorphia get a good hold. Which means not taking pictures of my butt every day. Even if it is spectacular.

Am I being…sane about this????

My dad’s mom was the love of my life before my husband. She got sick when I was 33. And in the few months that she was in the hospital before she died, in my mourning, my body got small. 

I don’t mean I did anything to make it small. It was not like I was so sad I didn’t eat. I was already in my food program and had my eating under control. But that didn’t mean eating “up to” a certain amount, it meant eating an exact amount. Whether I wanted to or not. And I often did not. But I ate it. I choked every meal down for months. And still by the time she died, I was by far the very tiniest  had ever been.

The person who helped me deal with my eating boundaries was worried how small I was getting and how quickly, and made me eat another piece of fruit every day. And still I was over 5’6” and in a U.S. size small (4/6.) 

A few years later on my 35th birthday, 12 years ago this month in fact, I quit smoking and I gained weight. So much weight. Not only did my new extra fruit get taken away but my vegetable portions were cut. I was eating quantifiably less and less nutrient dense foods, and still gaining weight. 

That kicked off my body dysmorphia in a whole new and exciting way! I had crazy nightmares about getting on the scale. I started to dread weigh day 28 days before it happened each month! I started to think about all of the ways I could diet and lose this weight. And since all of the normal ways were already not working, they were some crazy thoughts. Bulimic thoughts. 

And then I realized that at that moment I had absolutely zero control over my weight. Like none. And that was the beginning of my understanding the difference between hating my sugar addiction, and my internalized fat phobia and fat hatred, and separating them for and from myself. 

And so from that time on I made a point to think of my weight as “none of my business.” I have not been on a body scale in over a decade. I even just say no at the doctor’s office. And since nobody has had to give me medication by weight, it has never been an issue. I look in the mirror, I think I’m gorgeous. No matter what size. And though my weight fluctuated, I never ever got back to that skinny girl.

But here we are 12 years later and I am approaching, or maybe even am, a U.S. 4/6 again right now. And not because my body is eating itself in mourning this time either. I am not entirely sure why but I do know that I have changed the size and shape of my butt by building muscle and that I can now breathe when I work out, which are two really important aspects of my daily routine that directly coincide with the timing of my weight loss that I did not have when I was in my 30s.

But this is what I want to point out, to you and to me. This is the absolute SANEST I have ever been around my body and weight loss. This sanity is the result of years of curating my media/social media to see a full gamut of people and bodies. This is a result of actively changing my thought patterns around my body and other people’s bodies. Literally noticing a thought, stopping it, and redirecting my brain. This is the result of taking direct actions, having explicit conversations, making deliberate choices to consider bodies the sacred vessels they are, rather than the targets of judgement and ridicule. 

I’m not immune to the ingrained thoughts. I do still get a little zing of happy at “small” “skinny” “finally.” 

But I also know I don’t have to do anything about it. Don’t have to romance thinness as an ideal. Don’t have to feel proud of something that is a side effect of a certain other goal (the butt was on purpose, the weight loss was not.) Don’t have to do more or eat less or try this or that.

I just have to love my body the way it is. And I do. 

A welcome homecoming

I have had many complaints about perimenopause in the past several years. Because it has its annoyances. Brain fog, memory issues, hot flashes – especially at night, plus irregular and more painful periods. 

But there are some things that I positively adore about my life right now and I am starting to understand that perimenopause is actually a part of that. 

I have heard a few stories over the past year or so that have had an impact on me. 

First I saw some speaker (maybe a Ted Talk?) say that when women go through menopause we call it “the change” like we are turning into monsters. But really we are just returning to the same hormones we had before puberty. In other words, I realized that would mean I am reverting back to my 9-10 year old self! That’s fantastic! That’s so fun!

Then my best friend and I were talking. And she is an award winning director of singers. And she said that there was an experience she had. A woman of a certain age has raised her kids and she and her husband are empty nesters, and now she has an itch to be on stage. And as she gets deeper into it, and she’s good at it, her husband gets more uncomfortable. “Where did this singing come from? She never sang before!” And it was not once. But repeatedly. And she and her piano playing partner would say “here we go.” So is it a coincidence that this is also the time most women are going through perimenopause? Is it a coincidence that I am feeling more creative, more confident, more excited about doing things now even though I don’t have kids? There was no nest to empty.

And then a friend who does spiritual work told me that one very particular message for me was to revert back to the time when I was free. And she said that it was told to her that it was when I was 10 or 11. Is it possible it’s a coincidence I was last “free” around early puberty and now am being told to find it again after my baby making hormones are almost done? Of course it’s possible. But would it really be that crazy?

The idea that my changing hormones might affect the way I interact with society feels like an important bit of information. For me if no one else. It feels more connected than not. 

Because truly, I am feeling content and free and unencumbered in a way I don’t remember ever feeling. And It feels like a brand new kind of freedom. I mean I feel deeply unburdened in my heart and head and soul. (In other words, it’s probably hormones and brain chemicals.) 

Also on that note, shout out to my antidepressant. That certainly changed my life for the better. Along with over a decade of building good habits and learning how to maintain my integrity.

When I got my sugar addiction and compulsive eating under control, I discovered that I hated myself. But I hated myself so deeply that I didn’t even know it was there until it stopped. And it stopped because I was able to keep a promise to myself.

So I have spent the past 18 years keeping that promise and then more and more promises to myself. And liking and loving myself more. And then in the past year the antidepressant has really allowed for me to be comfortable in my own head for the first time. And here I am, 47 years old, and I love myself. Not just “don’t hate” but LOVE! I am joyful to be alive. I am tickled to be me. I feel like I am the most beautiful, likable, hilarious and generous I have ever been.

So I guess what it comes down to for me is that in my life I do the work and keep up with the maintenance, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. And my body does what it does. And sometimes that is difficult or uncomfortable. But this change – The Change – also feels like a kind of homecoming. And I welcome it.

Obsessed is not in love

Over the past 2 years, I have not been trying to lose weight, but I have. I don’t weigh my body anymore, because of my body dysmorphia. But I am in size Small linen and workout pants and I believe I am a US size 6 right now. Which I was in my early 30s and is right around the smallest I have ever been since I was 12 years old. But also, I have not actually tried on a pair of size 6 hard pants, so I don’t really know.

And I don’t want to know right now. 

Managing my body is simple, if not easy. I sleep 8 hours a night, I drink water and keep my eating boundaries and workout and now I even go to the doctor and do my health maintenance. 

But managing my *thoughts* about my body is regularly a shitshow. 

I named this blog Onceafatgirl because once a fat girl, always a fat girl. Because the society and the culture made its mark on me because I was fat. And it’s a scar. 

I know it’s societal. I know that all women and even plenty of men are subjected to this same scrutiny and many  unrealistic expectations. But those of us who are or have been fat, know that it is not just about our looks. It’s a condemnation of our characters. And has a whiff of the Predestination of our Puritanical roots.

And even though I have spent many years now actively trying to dismantle my internalized fat phobia, my knee-jerk first thought of being physically smaller is a little shot of dopamine. A little happiness. As a treat.

So I am not going to go try on clothes. I am not going to stand in front of the mirror looking for minute changes. At least not right now. Not while I am obsessive. Because what comes after that is…insane….It’s wondering how many fewer calories I can eat (even though I don’t count calories.) How much more exercise I can do. It’s researching online how to burn more fat, and thinking about actually doing some of the weird or stupid stuff I see recommended. It’s just general craziness. 

And it makes me like myself less, not more. 

So I am just trying my best not to think about my body. Because being obsessed with it isn’t love. Love is accepting something or someone exactly as they are.

But I will close by saying that one of the best ways I keep my body dysmorphia at bay is to do those things I mentioned at the beginning. Sleep and water and exercise and general self nurturing. As long as I do my daily routine of self care, I don’t need to hyper focus on my body anyway.

Bodies gonna body

There is a brag that I have heard older women make my whole life, on TV and in movies and in real life. That they can still wear their clothes from 30 years ago or they can still fit into their wedding dress or some other claim of victory that their bodies have not changed significantly in their lifetimes.

And this is not my story. Not even a little. And not even since I got my eating under control. Actually I hear it more since quitting sugar because so many woman who do what I do with food used to yo-yo diet and then, once they gave up sugar and stopped eating compulsively, they, too, have been in the same clothes for decades. But not me.

Just in the past 18 years I have been a US size 4 and a US size 14. All weighing all of my food. When my beloved grandma was dying, I was eating bacon at every meal and giant fruits twice a day and was losing weight like crazy. Sometimes more than 5 pounds a month. When I quit smoking, my quantities of food were cut and I quit eating bacon and ate less fat and more raw vegetables and still gained weight. Over 30 pounds in 3 months. Literally eating quantifiably less, both calorically and by weight.

This was actually an important lesson for me. Because we are told and taught and treated like we have more control over our bodies than we do. At least aesthetically. And health wise too I imagine. And having specific measurable actions failed to give specific measurable results. At least not the ones I wanted.

Look. I do the things that one is supposed to do to stay healthy. I exercise regularly. I eat nutritious foods in amounts that keep me fueled mind and body. I drink water and meditate and sleep 8 hours a night. I am not saying that a person’s lifestyle doesn’t directly impact a person’s quality of life. I believe it does.

But bodies gonna body! Hormones and genetics and even brain chemistry and any of the myriad experiences that living in a meat suit offer, are all components of what I LOOK like. Of what you see when you see this body. And I am telling you that I have so much less control than I ever thought I did.

Of course I do have some very specific examples of how I do have some control. And that is fun and fascinating. I have absolutely changed the size and shape of my butt in the past year and a half through muscle building exercises. And I LOVE it. 

But when it comes to fat, to the distribution of fat, to my weight, to my size, I don’t have the kind of control I have been told I should have. The kind of control that says I can diet and exercise my way into a certain size or shape. I cannot. I have tried. It is *why* I got my eating under control in the first place. And even quitting sugar and weighing all of my food, I did not have that kind of command over my body.

But in getting my eating under control I got a clear enough head to see that I could only do my best. I could only keep my promises to myself, and let my body do its thing. And it’s doing a great job, frankly!

Living the loose life

I had a super exciting Friday night this week. A family friend was in town running sound for a touring band and I got to see him and their amazing show. And I got to meet an internet friend for the first time! And it was all magical!

One of my favorite sayings is “how you do anything is how you do everything.” And in getting my eating under control I ended up changing basically everything about my life. 

I never wanted to do anything in preparation for anything when I was growing up as a sugar addict and compulsive eater. And as a really talented and intelligent addict, that was an easy lifestyle to execute but a difficult one to bear. It meant never preparing for anything and then having to constantly worry and overthink and perform spectacularly in the moment. I always wanted to “fly by the seat of my pants” but I don’t think I understood the toll it was taking on my peace and joy. All because preparation felt like work and work felt hard.

In order to get my eating under control, I had to start planning and preparing in advance to have what I needed to eat. I was told that I should be the most important person in my own life and that if I cared about getting sober from sugar and not eating compulsively, I was going to have to make sure that my food was taken care of. And that *I* very specifically needed to do it. 

I must weigh my portions myself. It’s part of my spiritual relationship with food and my ability to be totally honest and responsible for everything that goes into my mouth. I need to read ingredients. I need to ask how things are cooked at restaurants. I need to refuse to eat things that are not on my approved menu. Even if it’s something made just for me. Even with love. 

So now, I find that my life is so much the opposite. I plan and prepare all the things so I can relax in the moment.

Friday before I left I made sure everything was taken care of: My home, my husband, my food for the weekend, my dinner for the night, my tickets, my Ubers, my friends’ needs, my schedule, ALL THE THINGS! And that made me feel great about myself. That made me feel calm about my night. That made me feel like now all I had to do was go with the flow. And then I just got to be in the moment. I didn’t have to worry or overthink. I got to enjoy the moment and the music, my new friend and my old one.

Growing up my eating was addictive and out of control and it forced me to use ridiculous amounts of energy to try to keep myself together and show up for the most basic life tasks. I had to keep myself so tight and reined in, because of how loose my eating was. Now I keep my food tight so I can live my life loose instead. 

Apparently, you don’t know what you’re missing

When I first got my eating under control, I lived in a bit of a fog for about a year and a half. I wore pajamas everywhere. I left my house in the middle of the night to drink diet soda and read manga in those pajamas in the bar down the street so I didn’t eat compulsively. I don’t remember a lot of that time. 

But then I got clear headed. And I realized that for the first time since I was 5 years old, I was very conventionally attractive. That was both the good news and the bad news.

When I say I was conventionally attractive, I mean I was hot. I mean that the kinds of things that happened to beautiful women in movies happened to me. 

Once, my mom was visiting me in New York City. We were getting into a cab, and as it was pulling away, a guy jumped in front of it so he could get my number. I remember my mom looking at me kind of funny and asking me if that kind of thing happened to me a lot. And me saying…well, kind of.

But when I think about that me, that 30 something girl who felt 16 again only actually excited to be here, I can see I really was like a 16 year old girl. I had to learn how to navigate the world differently. I had to get a crash course in having social currency.

I was completely unprepared for the differences in the way I was treated. Good, bad and heartbreaking. Completely insecure about my new place in the world. When you are fat, even though it’s a terrible one, the world has a place picked out for you. Completely unsure of who I wanted to be now that it felt like I could be anyone. And I tried on a bunch of new clothes and personalities. 

But the thing is, that 15+ years later, at 46, what I am is authentically me. Or the most authentically me I have ever been. I feel so much more confident, beautiful, sexy, sure, secure, and comfortable. That was 15+ years of making amends, changing behaviors and setting boundaries, loving myself and learning to love others as they were. And yet, nobody has rushed into traffic to get my phone number in many years. Which seems a shame really. I mean, I’m married, so I would refuse anyway, but I’m way more appealing now than I was teetering on my hot girl fawn legs.

I’m not saying I’m not a beautiful woman. I am. I know it. I enjoy it. But beauty without youth is not as in demand. And frankly, that’s a relief. But also, a pity. You clearly don’t know what you’re missing.

It was always sink or swim anyway

I had a fun little bout of body dysmorphia this week after our nephew’s wedding. 

I had posted pictures of myself on social media hoping people would tell me I was pretty. And then people told me I was pretty! 

And then I started to wonder if I was really pretty. And then my face started to look like just a bunch of shapes. And I started asking my best friend if I was really pretty or if it was just a face. Is it my hair that makes me pretty? Do I not look like myself in makeup? Am I only pretty with makeup? Am I only pretty without it?

And I wasn’t asking her to reassure me. I really didn’t know. I really wanted to know.

And she said, honey, this is just another side of your dysmorphia. 

Oh. Right. That.

So I changed the channel for myself. Am I pretty? I don’t know or care. It’s not my business today. 

It’s not my business today.

This has been happening too as I both get a smaller body while building muscles and changing my shape. When I focus on my body changes, I start to focus on my body. And I stop being able to see my body. Suddenly it is a bunch of shapes. Am I changing or is it all in my head? And what does it mean? About me?

(Spoiler alert: It doesn’t mean anything about me. It’s the result of the exercises I do consistently.)

I’m 46. I’m happily and lovingly married. I have my sugar addiction under control. But some of these issues, food and eating and body too, are only ever dormant. Never really dead.

I have learned to ride the waves. It still sucks. Sometimes I fall off. But it’s only ever been sink or swim anyway. It’s just that now I know how to swim.

Retroactive love

Someone posted on social media the other day that they used to think they had a high pain tolerance, but then they realized they are just excellent at disassociating from their body.

That is how I got through a lot of the physical pain of being fat. And for me personally there was a lot of physical pain that came with my fatness. Foot pain. Back pain. Period pain.

Well right now, perimenopause is kicking my ass. I am not disassociated from my body anymore and my periods are as bad as they were when I was eating sugar compulsively. I have been in pain for the last few days. And none of the pain medication I have taken has worked well or for any prolonged amount of time. And I am reminded of what a gift it is to live the majority of my time in an easy body. 

I am grateful to be in communication with my body. I am grateful for a relationship with my body based on gratitude and grace. But more than that, I am thankful that I don’t have to live with pain every day. Because for as much as I take care of my body with nourishing food and water and gentle loving exercise, much of that is still luck. 

I used to think of and treat my body like my own enemy. It was fat and I blamed it for being fat. It was always hungry and that was shameful, so I blamed it for the uncontrollable need to eat. It was an easy target, so I blamed it for being the easiest joke in the room. It was the problem. It was the root of all my problems.

I gave up sugar to lose weight so I could get rid of the ugly body I hated and get a new, better body I didn’t think I deserved, so other people would stop being able to target me.

But giving up sugar let me get to know this body. The old body. The same one that I hated and pushed away so it would just work like a machine, even while in pain. I wanted to shame it into perfection, and instead I learned to like it and love it and be grateful for all of the ways it took care of me while I was hating it. To love it for being me. To love it retroactively, all of my iterations and presentations.

Gross sack of meat grace

When I was fat, I used to relate to my body as if it were not really me. Like it was the loaner car the dealer gave me while my real one was in the shop. In my mind I was my mind. I was my thoughts and feelings and words. I loved being my words! But I hated my body and I didn’t like to think about it. I tried to both disassociate, and dissociate myself from it.

But when I got my eating under control, I could not do that anymore. I could not get numb enough without my drug foods to not experience my body. It was right there. And it was yelling at me that it was me and I was it. So I had to change the way I dealt with it, thought about it, talked about it, talked *to* it, treated it.

When I was in my early thirties, I danced with a modern company in Brooklyn. And one day one of my fellow dancers, also 30ish at the time sighed and lamented “remember when you were 16 and your body was perfect and the world was yours?” And I laughed because no. At 16 I was worried about who was climbing the stairs behind me and how big they thought my ass was. (And not in a good way, like now.)

But one advantage I think I got from having my story be my story, is that I know how to deal with a changing body with grace. And I have the lived experience of getting better, not worse, with age. I am not talking about my weight. Since I put boundaries around my eating, I have been chubby and I have been skinny, but I have still consistently been getting fitter, stronger, and more physically attractive (at least to myself!)

I feel (I probably really am) stronger at 46 than even at 30, dancing on stage and throwing around and catching the smaller girls. I think I get better with age because I am constantly learning to be more myself. To settle further down into my most authentic self, and settle ever more comfortably into this fascinating machine/gross sack of meat.

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