Your body is a life raft. Can you love every sturdy inch?
This winter my 84-year-old mother and I were sifting through a box of mementos. We came across a small, yellowed booklet titled “Baby’s Health Record.” It was the book my mother dutifully took to each pediatrician appointment with me in my first year.
At my six month appointment, the doctor has helpfully written “1/2 pound overweight. Start meats.”
Only 180 days into this world, and I am already too much. It won’t be my last experience with a doctor giving me suspect advice concerning my body.
Flipping through the booklet, it makes sense that I can’t remember a time when my body wasn’t a thing I obsessed over. Most of my life has been spent thinking horrible thoughts about it. Those thoughts went hand in hand with their best pal, diets. (So many diets.) Low carbs. Weight Watchers. Intermittent Fasting. Counting calories. Counting macros.
In those fleeting moments in time when I was satisfied with my body, my thoughts revolved around how I could flaunt it and who might want it. Somehow I knew this time would be short and I needed to maximize the experiences I could have in this (as perfect as it would get for me) body. I once wore a handkerchief as a top to a concert in 1999. A year later and pregnant with my first child, I’d be lucky if that handkerchief would cover one breast.
Now I am forty-five, sitting on crinkly paper and chatting with another doctor. As part of my husband’s employee health program, we are to visit the company clinic for a yearly health exam. It’s the usual — height, weight, blood pressure, cholesterol. Score well in these categories, you are awarded a $500 cash bonus. Miss the mark and your reward decreases incrementally.
My first sign that all is not well occurs as the nurse measures my waist. “Maybe suck it in a little?” she asks. She can see $100 of my bonus flying away. The doctor is about my age, female, friendly and engaging. She asks me about my general health — am I sick often? Allergies? Aches or pains? Do I eat a varied diet — whole grains, fruits and vegetables? Do I move my body? I answer no and yes appropriately — I am almost never sick, not even a sniffle. My body does what I ask of it without complaint. I eat things like farro salads and kale smoothies. I exercise in some form 4–6 days per week.
The doctor is thrilled. Most of her patients are truck drivers, construction workers, or office types who sit at desks all day. She rarely gets someone as healthy as me! I live for gold stars, and so I sit up a little straighter, smug in my wellbeing.
When she gets to my weight and measurements, I can see the disappointment move across her face like a curtain falling. I am no longer her model patient. I’m obese, and something must be done. A few minutes prior, I was on my way to a ripe old age with my exercise routine, whole grains and low cholesterol. Now I’m a ticking time bomb. In her disappointment, she’s also confused. What to tell this patient who appeared to be the picture of health?
“Whatever you’re currently eating? Just eat half.” She’s relieved, and a little impressed with herself. See you next year — just make sure less of you comes back!
Earlier in the year, I attended a workshop on Intuitive Eating. For the first time in my life, I’d found hope that I could be healthy in my body and mind. I put away the scale and almost instantly, most of the negative self-talk went away. Funny, when you don’t start your day being assaulted by a gadget that’s never been on your side, you feel better about your body.
I’d spent so many hours of my life fixated on what I was eating, and now I had permission to eat what my body told me it wanted. Sometimes it wanted Cheetos or ice cream. Mostly it wanted things that made me feel good and were good for me. In the place of obsessing over food, I could think about bigger things than how many grams of protein I’d eaten at breakfast.
I was happy to be free of the cycle. I felt good, mentally and physically. At least I did, until I sat my apparently too ample behind on the crinkly paper in the doctor’s office. Months of important work I’d done to heal myself from diet culture, gone. Once again, my body — the shame of it — was all I could think about.
I wish I could say that after some time had passed I could see the ridiculousness of what had occurred during that appointment was just that — ignorance on her part. I wish I could say that I shook it off and took comfort in my healthy body. I did not.
I spiraled into self doubt and the nasty voices in my head returned. I was obsessed about what I was eating and how much I was eating. I alternated between naked bitch sessions in front of the mirror and willing myself not to look as I scurried into the shower. I was a clickbaiter’s dream. Yes! This article telling me the 5 things I must do to eliminate belly fat is THE ONE I’ve been waiting for!
It’s been over a year since that appointment. This winter the company announced that they were doing away with the program. I’ve never been more relieved to lose $500. Repairing the damage it did isn’t as easy.
Two things have helped me feel hopeful once again. The first came as I was reflecting on the anniversary of the pandemic. We have been lucky, my family. I have never been more grateful for my physical health than I have been in this last year. One of the most effective ways I have maintained the best mental health I could have hoped for during this time at home was through movement. I’ve exercised more in this past year because I needed it for my brain to feel better. And I’ve explored more kinds of movement than ever before because I had the time to do so.
My body doesn’t look much different for it, and it’s frustratingly difficult to be okay with that. And yet, my body has been my life raft. It has carried me through this year and so many others filled with ups and downs, no matter where the needle on the scale rested.
If I were aboard a sinking ship and a life raft safely carried me to shore, I wouldn’t disparage the raft for its physical appearance. Sure, you saved my life, but could you maybe shave a few inches off your sides? Choose a more flattering silhouette? No. I’d love every square inch of that raft.
The second reason for hope is that I’m sharing in this very public space. I’ve carried so much shame around this topic. I will talk about virtually anything with anybody, and yet when it comes to my body I’m terrified — even among trusted friends and my loving husband. I can’t be the only one. So join me in this ample life raft of openness and vulnerability. Together maybe we can find a gentler, healthier shore. I think I have a handkerchief around here that we can use as a sail.
