The Decision to Celebrate

Every day I go to bed with the acute sense that I have not accomplished enough with my health that day, that I have failed myself. A judgmental, skinny news person lives in my head, she is aware of all of the contradicting diet rules I have memorized and tried to follow. And each day she replays every moment where  I followed these rules inadequately. We argue:

You had a second muffin!  
But it was whole wheat with local fruit in it! Everything was organic and I was still hungry. I also had raw milk, remember? To balance my blood sugar?
Don't you remember that milk has hormones in it? And are you entirely sure that raw milk is safe?
Well, it's supposed to be more digestible and have more enzymes and bioavailable vitamins....
Speaking of vitamins, are you sure that that vitamin you are taking couldn't be better? Your naturopath recommended that therapuetic grade vitamin. 
I can't afford those vitamins, you know that, you see our bank account.
To be honest, I have not ruled out that we don't have a better paying job because of how people see you... it's a fact that chunky people have lower paying jobs. 

This is horrible. This constant, belligerent voice that remembers every rule from every diet book could convince me that breathing wrong is the cause of my weight. It convinces me that literally every food I eat is in some way wrong. Having gone the Atkins to the Zone- the A-Z of dieting- I know every contradicting rule by heart. No sugar, sugar in moderation but no meat, grains are OK if their whole, but also they are never OK. And a Protestant sense of self-loathing and guilt causes me to feel as  thought it's me, that it is my fault, that I am the cause of what society deems unacceptable about me.

This is diffused by one thing: The belief that fat is OK, neutral if anything at all.

And as I remind myself of this (that fat research is inconclusive, generally biased, and that losing weight is impossible) I can begin to ask myself, "What did I do well today?"

Today, I will celebrate:

• that I made an endocrinologist appointment
• that I took the stairs
• that I had a cup of green tea as soon as I got into work, instead of diving into stressful work
• that I will attend a yoga class this afternoon
• that I took my vitamins and fish oil last night (even if they weren't the most expensive brands, I researched and chose with the best options I could afford). 

Can you do this? Can you celebrate what you have done well today?

How to Lose Weight in 89 Steps- from Jezebel

This is pretty friggen incredible and worth a read:

http://jezebel.com/how-to-lose-all-the-weight-you-want-in-just-89-simple-s-5993183

The Fat Man in a Wheelchair

I was injured a few years ago. And then again. Two car accidents in three years. The last one was the worst; without my husbands fast reaction time, people could have died. And two calendars later, I still wake up with an aching back, swollen feet, a stiff neck. I feel like I'm 100 years old. I can't stand up straight without effort and, sometimes, pain. I can't jump or dance or do anything high impact without potentially suffering. Even my ability to do healing things like yoga has been compromised.

And so, do you know what? I've gained weight.

I didn't mean to.

But suddenly, I am a part of that shamed community of "sedentary" individuals who aren't doing what's best for themselves. But in my case-and probably in many other cases as well-what may be best for my tomorrow is inaccessible to me today. I used to love yoga and dancing and biking. I used to live for long walks through my neighborhood. And now the longer I've been injured the worse I feel. And I've gained weight.

What do my family and friends see? The constant pain, sometimes even of walking from one room to the other? No... they see me twenty pounds heavier. That's all they can see.

So I have begun to strongly identify with the fat man in a wheelchair or the fat woman with a cane. Everyone's first assumption is that he or she is in that wheelchair because they are fat. That their knees/hips/back hurts because they are fat. Or worse yet, that maybe they just don't feel like walking, and that is why their fat. But we have no idea. We have no idea. We have no idea why they are in that chair. We have no idea.

A good friend was talking about the health of a famous author and mentioned that he always seems out of breath and uses a cane "because of his weight". But isn't it just as possible that an injury caused his cane use and his asthma is unrelated? Why do we assume that the fat man in the wheel chair is their because he was too lazy to take Zumba?

We shouldn't. We can't know. And for everything we have done as a society to understand and accommodate disabilities, we are still willing to blame the fat person for his or her own mobility issues- as if nothing else could have happened to her.

Here's a story: Once, a woman walked to the grocery store. She filled her bags with healthy foods and even some kombucha. And crossing the street to the bus stop, she was hit by a car. She didn't die. She was grateful not to have died. But she took a long time to heal, and she gained weight. After a month or so, her friends stopped asking about her back and her neck and her concussion. But for the rest of her life, people would body check her, and she would feel inferior. Her mobility would become increasingly limited. Her former self is no longer a realistic goal. She can no longer shop where she wants or eat in public without fear of judgement.

Is this fair? Isn't this the definition of discrimination?

Next time you feel inclined to judge, remember: You have no idea why the man is in the wheelchair. You have no idea why the woman uses a cane. It is not yours to judge.

Eating a Pretzel

I made a radical step a week ago. 

I was in the mall waiting for my husband and I was hungry. 

Normally, most of our meals are shared and I don't typically snack, but I was hungry and he wasn't around. 

On a typical day, I would have held out, felt miserable, and when he arrived shouted about how hangry I was (this is a combination of hungry and angry, used by those of us with low blood sugar induced rage). 

But on this particular day, the scent of the pretzel shop, so undeniably delicious, was wafting toward me like a cloud of delight. I decided I was going to eat a damn pretzel. I was going to dip the damn pretzel in damn cheese, and I was going to sit by myself in the mall to do it. 

I recommend you do this. Just try it. See what emotions it conjures up for you. 

Because I was sitting facing away from an exit, LOTS of people were walking past. I feel the least comfortable about my figure while sitting. And because I was eating the least nutritious food I would eat in a month, I was filled with fear about the things people were saying about me in their mind. 

"No wonder she's so pudgy."

"Have a damn vegetable, before you get diabetes."

"I hope if I ever gain weight, I hope I won't be stupid enough to eat like that." 

This may be a surprise to you, but I am generally the center of my own universe. Likely, you are the center of your own, and almost everyone else is their own center. In all likelihood, every one of these passers was absorbed in key-finding, to-do-list-making, or feeling insecure themselves. I am not a blip on their radar, in all likelihood. 

It was awful the minute I realized that, because most people were- in all likelihood- NOT thinking of me, I was just being REALLY horrible to myself. That I was projecting on to strangers my own fear of eating, my own sense that I did not have the right to exist in my own space. And even if those people were shouting those things at me, could I ever be in a place so deeply rooted and certain that I would finish the pretzel, dab my mouth with a napkin, and slowly saunter on?

And the pretzel was delicious. And it didn't kill me. I had a junk food and the world didn't end. I wasn't cast into an eternal fire. I survived, self esteem in tact. 

Try it. Sit down. In public. And...eat. Slowly. And enjoy it. See what it brings up for you. 

I Will Fix This

The very first time I was challenged to love and accept my body, instead of believing I could and should change it, was in college. I was a freshman and a female chaplain who was sitting with me at lunch told me that a book she was reading recommended standing in front of a mirror and finding something to love about every part of you and thanking God for that part.

The idea of doing this was so painful that even now, eleven years later, I have been unable to do it. I change in dressing rooms facing away from the mirror. I wear my hair down as often as possible to hide my "fat back". I am constantly adjusting my waist band so that the little pinch of fat around my belly is smoothed out. Each morning I leave the house feeling mostly ok, only to find that by midday life has gotten away from me and that my glance at myself in the bathroom reveals a chubby (read: unacceptable) woman with no control over her life.

I have decided that this is not going to be how I feel forever. And I do not mean that I will continue to try to lose weight. I will fix the the fact that I immediately find myself lacking by being abundant. I will fix the fact that I do not believe I am worthy of love.

Come with me.

The Very First Conversation

It was not very long ago that I began to wonder about it.

I've been what the kids call "chubby" my whole life. I've tried dozens of diets. I believed the mantra that obesity was an epidemic, that we wouldn't live longer than our parents, that our kind was minutes away from a death of heart disease or diabetes, whichever caught up first.

But I don't believe that anymore.

I'm not sure when it first occurred to me. I've had an endocrine issue most of my adult life and have always struggled to lose weight. I am the only person I know who remained weight-stable on a 1200 calorie a day diet. The only time I had ever managed to begin to reshape my body was during a bout of extreme diet and exercise- 2-3 hours a day of working out on around 1000 calories. I'd never wanted to go back there, it was so miserable. Between bouts of juicing and veganism and low-GI, it started with a despairing whisper, "This never works."

After months of thinking and rethinking what would occur to me after that, I sat my husband down for what I believed would have been a very serious discussion. I was going to stop dieting. Maybe forever.

"It just occurred to me that all this work I do and all this negative self talk may be hurting me and stressing me out and causing more problems. It isn't fixing anything. And I wonder if anyone has discussed whether there is a difference in health between fat women with high self esteem and low self esteem. And I wonder if people have explored the correlation between the emotional stress of being fat and health outcomes...."

I listed my reasons and concerns and he listened, until I blurted out, "So I think I am just going to try to like me like this." I motioned to the body I believed to be completely unacceptable, in every way.

Apple-shaped when I wished it were pear. Chesty when I was embarrassed by chest and my back hurt. Skinny legged, which looked funny in jeans. In between plus sizes and regular sizes. Short, but in a stumpy way.

"Well, I like you like this," he said.

I have decided to figure this whole thing out- how to love my body. I thought I'd share it with you.