The truth hurts, and also sets you free.
Kate Harding has a (typically) brilliant post up about The Fantasy of Being Thin. If you haven’t read it, go right now. I’ll wait.
Okay, finished? Was that not some serious nailhead-hitting?
I’ve been reading it and re-reading it and reading the comments, then coming back five minutes later to check for more comments, and I keep nodding my head, and thinking, “Yes, yes, yes!”
We are so not alone, y’all.
For me, thinness promised acceptability. It meant I’d no longer have to be the self-deprecating chubby girl because I would instead be the bona fide hottie. I would run effortlessly. My cellulite would disappear. My hair would inexplicably and immediately reach the middle of my back, have lovely golden highlights, and I would wear it in a ponytail on Saturday mornings while brunching on croissants and freshly-squeezed orange juice. I would have a closet filled with saucy skirts and sleeveless tops to show off my golden, toned limbs. I would go camping and swimming and I’m pretty sure I’d suddenly receive a master’s degree in some challenging field of study. I would be bubbly, effervescent, charming in all situations. I’d be so pretty.
I achieved a relatively-thin size 4 and held onto it long enough to discover a few things about what I’m really like when thin.
As a size 4, when I woke up on Saturday mornings for my same ol’ breakfast of toast, egg, and milk, my hair was still short, still brown, and still generally appeared as though a goat had been sucking on it all night. My cellulite was worse (all…deflated. I still feel deeply betrayed by that). My skin was the same shade of pale. I had the same job, the same hobbies, the same education. I remained nervous around people I didn’t know well, was completely not bubbly, and was charming only in a dorky kind of way. And as for pretty? Well…I looked the same. I was narrower in some places, bony in others, but the basic parts didn’t change.
The Reality of Being Thin also meant I’d become wicked insecure. Any body confidence I had previously had vanished right along with the pounds; I became more ashamed of my body because the more I focused on my flaws, the more of them I saw. I gave up the few hobbies I did have because there wasn’t time for anything but exercise and meal-planning; my only hobby was running — not even outside where the sun could shine on me, but indoors, on the treadmill, where I could track every mile with precision.
The Thin Me? She was a concentrated version of all my worst traits. More anxious, more isolated, so-much-more depressed. My periods stopped, I was consumed with thoughts of food, and I gave up reading anything except fitness magazines and cookbooks. It was the loneliest time of my life, even worse than sophomore year of college when I slept 16 hours a day and went for days without speaking to another living soul.
In this way, I’m lucky. I’ve been thin, so The Fantasy of Being Thin…well, I’m fortunate to know first-hand that thin doesn’t change me. And while that hope of becoming someone perfect is really, really hard to let go of, it’s easier when you know that artificially becoming thin doesn’t guarantee anything other than…well..hunger and self-loathing.
I remain convinced that it is a million times harder to live in this world and not diet than it ever is to count calories, Points, or pounds.
Giving up dieting, accepting your body, letting go of excuses…it’s really, really, really hard.
But that’s not a reason not to do it, right?
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Honestly, and I think I might be alone here, I really do think there are some things about thin me that I prefer to fat me. And maybe it’s about accepting my body for what it is now, it’s about giving up on the myth of thinness, but when I was thinner, I was more confident. I felt good about myself, I felt at ease in my skin. I wasn’t constantly thinking about my thighs or my next meal, I wasn’t embarrassed about trying on clothes or eating a piece of cake. I took care of myself better then, and maybe that’s part of it - I ate better, I walked a lot, I was always out doing stuff. I like myself better as that person - the one who once wore a size 5 and then moved up to a 10/12 and either way thought she was hot shit. I want that back - that feeling of trusting myself and liking to look in the mirror and being able to wear cute dresses and feeling good about being in my body. I don’t know if that’s how you feel once you accept being fat, but I don’t think I could ever feel that way now - I can’t think of myself as being stuck at a size 20, I can’t see myself in the body I have now. Even when I look in the mirror, I am surprised by what I see, because this body obviously can’t belong to me, I am thinner and more vibrant than this!
I hate to sound like I am trying to say that accepting your weight is wrong, but I guess I am saying it is wrong for me, for me right now, because my body now ISN’T mine, it’s one I’ve stuffed my real body into and I need to peel back the layers and get my real body back out.
superblondgirl - why lament about much better you took care of yourself when you were thinner, i.e. eating better, walking and doing stuff outdoors, and instead, do those things now? Maybe you don’t feel as good about yourself because you’re not taking care of yourself! Not only the thin deserve good health - everyone does, regardless of size. Poor nutrition (such as too much processed food) and being sedentary may contribute more towards feeling crummy than does being heavier. I’m a size 20 too, but am kick-ass strong and love how toned my curves are as a result of moving my body in ways that are fun for me. Why do you try taking better care of yourself now and see how that goes?
I think we all have that fantasy of being thin. oh the friends/boys we’d meet, the self confidence we’d have, etc… but the truth is, we are the same exact person, just a tad bit more neurotic and stressed because all we think about is food and exercising. i agree with you, it’s so much harder to stop dieting. to make the conscious effort to love yourself NOW, not 10 lbs lighter.
Oh, GWC, I so know what you mean. It hit me between the eyes one day that the “size 4 in me that was dying to get out,” harhar, was in fact an effortless size 4. I never imagined “size 4 me” (which never did emerge, though I did get down to an 8 for about 5 seconds 20 years ago) having to be constantly tired and hungry and cranky and obsessed about how much and how hard she was working out and having to be scared to frigging death of any social situation that might involve food or alcohol that could put the weight back on her in 2 seconds. And still not satisfied, for all that gutbusting effort. Nonono, I imagined that when I got down to that magic size, I’d acquire a magic metabolism to go along with my new confidence and bouncy hair and bubbly personality (oh stop, my ribs, you’re killing me), and at most 5 pounds would creep on when I’d had a few margaritas, which I could sweat off in a couple of extra gym sessions. Reminds me of that Wizard of Oz parody they had on SCTV all those years ago, when Glinda said to Dorothy, “Have you learned your lesson, that fantasies suck?”
superblondgirl, I think BirdyLuv may be on to something. You don’t really think your size-20 self deserves taking care of because you don’t value yourself at this size like you did when you were smaller (and I really do get that–really). And yeah, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t a few things that were easier (*easier*, not *better* as I’m finally starting to see) about being thinner: shopping was easier, and…well…that’s it. Because yes, I would have felt less uncomfortable eating in public *if I ever did it.* Which I didn’t. Because I couldn’t eat like a normal person. Oh, and I also liked seeing my abs–that was fun. Seeing all my ribs? Less attractive.
If you’re not to a place where you’re ready to love your self as you are right now, that’s okay; god knows I’m not there every day either. But maybe it’s still worth taking care of yourself regardless of your body size? Doing all those things you did when you were thinner that made you feel good? Because whether or not it changes the size of your body, it’s worth doing because you are a real, live, breathing, feeling person and deserve it.
Meowser, yes, that’s it exactly. I thought I’d get the magic metabolism! I didn’t expect to just be a hungrier, exhausted smaller person who got dizzy when she stood up and couldn’t have a glass of wine without seeing a four-pound gain on the scale the next morning.
Superblondgirl must be my twin bc her thoughts are exactly like mine. Every word she said are the same words I was saying to myself while I was reading your post. Especially that last sentence. But recently,(very recently) I have started running, not to lose weight, but just to prove to myself that I CAN do something with this body other than stuff it full of crap. I don’t like the woman I have become - outside or inside- and I hope that running will get me in touch with the active girl I used to be. I miss her.
It has to come from within. It could easily be called “the fantasy of physical perfection.” Because even if you do get to size 4, if you don’t love and accept yourself now, then you’ll only find something else to attach the fantasy to.
I think that you could be right about the whole “size 20 not deserving to be cared for”, but I have started doing just that. Honestly, I’m eating right (dieting?) and exercising to lose weight, but there’s also the benefit of feeling better about myself and my body knowing that I’m taking care of myself. I still wish my ass was a lot smaller, though, and I’m still doing it to get thinner, because I don’t feel like I’m “meant” to be this size. But I could just be deluding myself, too, I guess.
superblondgirl, I’m glad that you’re feeling better by taking care of yourself through healthy food choices and exercise. That’s great! The problem I see with tying it to weight loss, though, is that you’re setting up a system in which you either fail or succeed. If your behaviors cause you to lose weight, you succeed; if they don’t, you fail.
That kind of sucks, no? Whereas, if you can try to do those things because of how they make you feel? Well, then you always succeed–just by feeling better, you’re automatically reaping the rewards.
I understand not feeling like you’re meant to be a certain size. When I was rebounding from my dieting, I moved into a size of clothing that felt really…wrong. My body felt unfamiliar to me at that weight. But at that point, I just had to trust that my body is going to find its right size. If you’re “meant” to be smaller, than your body will naturally move in that direction with healthy behaviors and the addressing of any disordered eating patterns.
I know it’s really hard and you’ve gotta do whatever works for you, but dieting is an act of self-harm. Do you deserve that?
the truth hurts but it also sets you free, I thought I was being origonal but at least great minds think alike, I didnt say that tho.