Every Inch Of Me
I remember thinking that I would never be fat and I was relieved I would never know what that felt like. I remember thinking how uncomfortable it must be, being fat. I remember thinking how I would never let myself get to that point, where I felt like there was too much weight on me - where I could feel it every time I moved.
Ironically, at the same time, I thought I wasn't thin enough. I thought I was fat - just not that kind of fat.
I thought I would never be fat because my mom raised me on a healthy diet and with a healthy lifestyle. We ate really, really well. As the years passed, my mom would learn more about nutrition, and that would influence our meals and our activities. I was never a child who liked exercise or team sports but I wouldn't say I wasn't an active child either. Through the warm months I was always in the neighborhood parks goofing around, or biking in endless circles around the nearby schools. Running, biking, swimming, exploring - those were my summers. The winters were sledding, skating, building snowmen, making snow angels, chasing my brother around with snowballs.
I was a skinny kid - all arms and legs. I ate a lot, but I was always thin and lanky. I've blogged before about how our family doctor expressed concern over my weight when I was very young, and within earshot. My age and weight didn't match up on their doctor scale. I was always heavier than I looked, even from birth. Every time someone picked me up they'd be surprised. Every time a doctor or nurse weighed me, they'd make me step off, jiggle the scale a little, then weigh me again. Every time a peer wanted to pick me up during play, they'd end up groaning.
I have big, heavy, dense bones. I've always been that way. It makes me strong - if I liked competition, I'd be a hell of an athlete. In fact, after years of training in fencing, it got to the point where I could either continue on to the Olympics, or quit. I'd duel professionals and they'd tell me I had what it took to be an Olympian. I took every opponent off guard by the length of my reach, and my solid stance. I could rarely be moved back or pushed around.
People would try to push me around in soccer - I was 7. They'd be shocked when I stayed standing and they fell over. I was small, skinny, and had big innocent blue eyes.
The boys in kick-boxing would say "don't worry, I'll take it easy on you", and then I'd watch their eyes widen behind their gloves when I came at them.
As you can see, I participated in sports and activities. I exercised. I never enjoyed it - I liked the game, and I liked the friends, but I hated the competition. I tried, because everyone says you need to be involved in team sports when you're growing up, and the importance of exercise always weighed on my mind.
I look back at photos of myself and gape at how skinny I was! It's hard to believe I was once in that body. The saddest part is that I don't remember that body, because at the time I didn't appreciate it. What shocks me most about those photos is that I can remember judging my body and considering myself overweight even then, when I looked like I wasn't eating enough. I'd have friends who'd joke, "can I get you a cheeseburger? Or five?"
I started gaining weight, like actual fat, around age 20 because the dose of my antidepressants was really high, and still is. Most antidepressants cause weight gain, and the combination of the high daily dosage and the lack of physical movement was a bad one for me. I ate more sweets and salty snacks because I was depressed, and they were the only things that triggered my endorphins. I'm lucky I didn't turn to alcohol or drugs or sex.
Even when I was young and skinny, every year I'd gain stretchmarks. I wasn't a pound overweight, but just the natural stretching of my skin as I hit growth-spurts caused these white and purple lines to appear. Again, I thought it was an indication that I was fat. It wasn't until recently that my doctor told me I'm prone to them genetically, so no matter what size I am, they'll appear.
Now my stomach and hips are covered with what look like purple scars from a tiger fight. Like some great cat raked its claws across me. Or like purple flames rising up, gradually taking over my upper body.
Weirdly, they're the one thing I don't really mind. I think they're cool - like natural tattoos. But every new one reminds me that I'm still growing, still gaining.
Body issues effect me every single day, every single second of my life. I'll try to give you a taste of what it's like. Honestly, so much of it even goes unnoticed by me - but I've been trying to take note of it in recent weeks so that I can write about it.
I wake up, and I'm aware of how my belly fat is situated in the bed. I'm aware of my thighs, the excess of them pooled under the sheets. I'm aware of how it feels like there's a pillow under my chin. I sit up, and look at my thighs draped over the side of the bed. I think about how I don't want anyone to see me right now, because I'm embarrassed by how I look.
When I look in the mirror, I check out every inch of me in an excruciatingly judgmental way. I viciously pull back my upper arm skin to imagine what my arms would look like five pounds lighter. I suck in my stomach, then shake my head in disgust because it barely changed anything. I work on my posture. I pinch the fat on my hips. I jiggle my thighs. I look at my body in profile, and sigh at how wide I am from front to back. I'm annoyed by how my bra fits, by how my shirt sits, by how my pants squeeze. I pinch, pull, prod, and poke. My boobs are too big, my butt sticks out too much.
When I get out of the shower, I'm facing a mirror - and I think how I'm glad I didn't put my contacts in yet, because I can't make out my reflection in detail. All I can make out is my shape and I'm already unhappy with that. If the mirror is fully fogged up, that's even better.
Putting on makeup gives me some relief. I can make my eyebrows and eyes look the way I want them to. There's these amazing moments where I can look in my handheld mirror and say, "that looks pretty". I can go outside with some confidence, because even if the rest of me is unattractive, at least my face looks nice.
As I'm sitting here now, typing this, I'm aware of how my stomach feels squished between my thighs and breasts. I'm in my sleep shirt, and everything is hanging freely. I'm keenly aware of how my breasts are almost touching my abdomen. I'm aware of how the skin on my belly feels stretched. I'm aware of how my elbows sink into the flesh on my thighs. I'm aware of the extra stuff under my chin and around my neck. I'm aware of how my upper arm flesh shivers a little when I type.
When I'm walking outside, and I'm aware that others can see me, I try to pay attention to every step. I focus on my posture. I try to say encouraging things to myself. Maybe I'll listen to inspiring music. Maybe I'll wear something that makes me feel cool. I'm aware of how my fat jiggles. A super tight sports bra is a life-saver. Nice-fitting leggings help me feel confident.
At the grocery store, I'm insecure about the items in my basket. I don't buy much as I only buy for me, and I don't eat a lot. I feel good about myself when the things on my list were mostly fruit, vegetables, and other healthy foods. If there's something the tiniest bit unhealthy, like tortilla chips or yogurt or cereal, I feel like everyone's eyes are look at the items then looking my body up and down. They watch as I load my items in front of the cashier.
If I gave into a craving, I feel exposed when I put a bag of chips on the counter. I hide them at the bottom of my shopping bag once they're rung through. I hope my roommates don't see them. I hide them in my bedroom. I'm aware of the noise I make as I open the bag and start crunching them.
I'm painfully aware of every morsel that passes my lips. When I eat with others, I feel like they're counting my bites. In the past, I've had people give me obviously smaller portions than everybody else, so whenever someone else serves me my food I wonder if they're thinking about it.
If I eat out - which is extremely rare - I wonder if the waiter is judging my food choices, or my portion size. Which is silly because they just want to make money.
That's the thing - I know all this is bullshit! I know it's illogical! I know people care more about themselves than the people around them. I know people have said I'm beautiful. I know people have ogled me. I know most people don't give me a second thought. I know their opinions shouldn't matter.
I know all this.
It's exhausting to have one thing consume you every fucking day. It's exhausting to battle the thoughts in your own head. It's exhausting wondering, doubting, worrying, hating, crying. It's exhausting being trapped inside a body you don't like. It's exhausting feeling uncomfortable.
Don't say, "why don't you just lose weight?" If you can't understand how that's unhelpful, then you've completely missed the point and I don't have time for you.
I will purposely miss meals because I feel like if I take one more bite I'll balloon in size. It's irrational, I know. Eventually I do eat, because hunger wins - and then I feel ashamed.
Some days I say "fuck it" and I eat that bag of chips or that bowl of ice cream or drink that soda. Some days I say "fuck it" and lay in bed all day watching Netflix. There's an ugly voice in my head that tries to tear me down when I do this, but I fight it off until the next day. Then it changes to, "you're fat, you've ruined yourself, what have you done? How could you eat that? You know better! Now you need to ban such-and-such a food from the house. Never eat it again. Never buy this or this again. You're going to start exercising tomorrow, and you're going to keep exercising every day until you're skinny again."
It never happens, of course. Hate is not a good motivator for one's self health - at least not for me. It just makes me crawl into bed, in the fetal position, aware of how far my belly sticks out, and hide my head under a pillow, wishing the world away.
It's a terrible thing, to be accepting of everyone else except yourself. To find big women attractive, but hate what you see in the mirror. To celebrate curves, but not your own. To enjoy hugging someone with girth, while trying to wish yours away.
I could go on about the toxicity in society that causes both men and women to hate their bodies. I could discuss advertising and fat-shaming and passive-aggressive advice. But this post doesn't really have a point or a message - I just want to get these thoughts out. And maybe someone who reads it will understand and realize they're not alone.
There's so much more in my head that needs to come out in relation to this subject, so prepare yourself. It'll come.
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