Not Being Barbie

My thighs.  I hate them.  Well, I used to hate them.  We're working on our relationship.  Although I'm not so pleased by their size, recently I've been trying to say nice things about them - they help me walk, stand, and even sit.  Yes, they don't belong in a Victoria Secret catalog and are even bigger than most girls I work with.  But still, what would I do without my strong thighs?  How would I get from one place to another?  How would I exercise, drive, dance?  I love my thighs because without them I would have to give up everything I love.

When I was a teenager I read this poem in English class - it hit home then, and it hits home now.  The way we look has come such an obsession in our society, that in some cases, we would do anything to reach perfection - even if that means up giving our lives.  Maybe we're not all literally giving up our lives, but for me, I'm letting my weight consume me, define me, be me.

Barbie Girl

Marge Piercy

This girlchild was born as usual

and presented dolls that did pee-pee

and miniature GE stoves and irons

and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.

Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:

You have a great big nose and fat legs.

She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.

In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.

Although I have never cut off my legs - I've gone on crazy diets, I've starved myself, and when it didn't work - I binged.  That's not healthy.  It's not okay to go to these extreme lengths all because I'm upset about being the "fat girl."

What do you think?  Do you identify at all with this poem?

Uncomfortable, Comfort Zone

On Monday I weighed in at 154.8.  I cannot express how excited I was to see a 4 after that 15.  I haven't seen that number since I was a senior in high school (and even then it was short-lived, I was on Atkins and as many of us know - that's a disaster!).

154.8.  Just .2 pounds under my wedding weight.  That number 154 is my new best friend - at least, I thought.  So apparently because I've lost the 10 pounds that I am really good at losing I've decided to stop all efforts to lose weight and be healthy.  What is wrong with me?!!

Every single time I've reached 155 (or less!) I lose my mind.  Eating well and exercising are the first to go.  Then I start adding bad foods back to my diet.  Why do I do this?  Am I afraid of being skinny?  Am I sick of dieting?

This is what I'm thinking - I'm the fat girl.  I'm always the fat girl - just a little bit chubbier than all my friends, I wear the biggest size pants, I have the biggest chest, and I am the only one that can't share clothes.  Obviously that's not where I want to be.  Obviously I want to borrow my friend's dress for the wedding I'm going to this weekend.  Obviously I want to go shopping without hiding the number on the pants.  But somehow I can't convince my brain, my heart - something inside me, that being skinny will be good.

I am just so attached to this 'fat girl' persona.  I don't know who I will be without being the fat girl.  What will my place in my groups of friends be?  What if I fail when I try to get a new job?  How can I still be funny without being the funny fat girl.  Everything about me, since I was in 3rd grade, has revolved around the fact that I'm fat.  How can I survive without that?  That's like dying my hair blonde or going gothic.  Right?

I need to throw out my fear.  Somehow I need to move on, be proud, and strong because afterall, being in this "fat girl" comfort zone, is not all that comfortable.

Are any of you afraid to leave your chubbier self behind?  What do you do to remind yourself living a healthy lifestyle is okay?  HELP - before my scale crawls all the way back up to where I started!

Who Am I Without Food?

I'm really good at losing 8 pounds - I mean really good. I've done it dozens of times - a couple times this year alone.

Here's what happens:
Day 1 I weigh in at 163 pounds. One week later, 159 pounds.

I keep going with daily exercise routines, counting calories and 8 hours of sleep. But then, insert my biggest roadblock. I'm not talking about a plateau, if only it could be a plateau. My roadblock to losing weight is losing weight. Every time I hit or come near 155 pounds I lose my mind. Seeing a 155 on the scale is my cue to scoop in the calories. I eat, eat, and eat some more until finally, a week later I am back at 163 pounds. The cycle starts again.

I used to think I didn't have the willpower to continue dieting and exercising for longer than it took to lose eight pounds. Now I'm realizing I'm thinking like an addict. I've been 163 pounds for as long as I can remember. When I was a freshman in high school I weighed myself (for weight loss) for the first time - I weighed in at 163 pounds.

I've never been skinny. I don't know how to be skinny. I have never weighed myself to see a 140 on the scale. I don't know what it's like. Can I do it? Will I still be funny? Will my husband think I'm attractive? Will people talk about me? Will I look the same? The closer I get to my goal weight, the more scared I get of it. What if I can't be a skinny girl?

Rewind 90-plus days ago. This same conversation went down with my husband. We were in our poorly lit living room (imagine this for affect, trust me), both of us had tear stains on our cheeks, with more tears coming. My husband had already admitted he was addicted to pills. Plans for rehab were already set. The tears were for another confession -- my husband told me he wouldn't be the same person without drugs. He told me prescription drugs had fueled him for the last 4 1/2 years. During the short times he was off them I would apparently complain about him being rude and not loving me. He said he didn't know how to live or work without drugs. He didn't know how to be sweet, sensitive, and loving without them. He even cited a Dr. Phil episode he saw - a recovering addict and his spouse were divorced because the spouse couldn't handle the "new person."

As you can imagine this conversation was terrifying. I sat there listening, wondering if I had made the biggest mistake by getting married just months before. I tried to hold back tears and assure him everything would be fine. (Later I took my insecurities about who my clean husband would be to my mom and in-laws.)

Here's the good news. My life is so much better now. My husband is more perceptive, sweet and loving than ever! He actually remembers to do things like take out the trash. He notices when I'm not feeling well. He doesn't call into work anymore. He's stronger, he's more active, he really cares.

I think part of addiction is thinking you can't live without that specific thing. I can't live without these 20 pounds, my husband thought he couldn't live without drugs. I saw my husband change for the better. Now I will change for the better.