Health & Wellbeing
I have to admit, that for most of my life, my well-being had more to do with how thin I was and not how good I felt. And I can’t remember a time my self-image wasn’t defined by a number on the scale or a tag in a dress. It’s so sad and so wrong on so many levels.
My earliest memory of feeling self-conscious about my body was around the age of 12. I remember trying to avoid walking across a room in front of certain family members because they’d watch me and laugh. I was all legs and very short-waisted. They’d make jokes saying my belts were like necklaces and called me “high pockets” because my pants pockets were “so high off the ground”! It hurt so much but I would laugh instead of cry to mask the sting of their words. This kind of teasing went on and on for years and the nervous laughing quickly became my self-defense.
By the time I was a senior in high school, I was 5’ 6” tall and weighed 118 pounds at most. As summer approached my senior year, my Mom told me that I couldn’t get a new bathing suit for a planned graduation trip unless I weighed 115 lbs. After weeks of strict dieting, skipping lunch, and coming to view major hunger pains as a sign of success, I lost the 3 pounds and got the suit. When I look at old pictures of that trip, my heart breaks for that young girl and the harm that came from that experience.
As the years passed, other people I loved would point out my weight gain or loss all the time. I can remember after having my first baby being told to step on the scale because I looked like I was gaining weight and probably weighed 131 pounds instead of 125 pounds. Like that was a crime! And there were times I would be asked if I really should be eating whatever it was that I was about to put in my mouth. Even at a restaurant with others at the table. And sometimes I’d hear quiet “un-uhs” as I was about to take a bite of dessert.
Oh. And how about the time when I was in my early 30’s and someone else I loved, stopped and stared at me for a second and said, “You are the only person I know whose nose gains weight too!” It was so mean but I know it was not intended to be so. But not surprisingly I’ve been self-conscious of my nose ever since even though it’s just fine.
Needless to say, over the years my relationship with food has been nothing short of unhealthy. In my early 20’s, my eating devolved into a routine of binging, then dieting, followed by starving as I saw the weight drop off, then binging again because I was so hungry. It worked for many years, keeping a lid on weight gain most of the time. But what it didn’t do, was soothe the pain and self-image problems that festered and haunted me every day.
More recently, after losing my Dad in late 2019 after years of caring for him, living through months of isolation through the pandemic like so many, followed by depression and a continuing battle with anxiety, I have come to realize just how much my weight and shape have controlled my life. Honestly, I’m so sick of it and sad. Sick about missing so much joy and sad that I have never felt truly worthy.
Well, I’m 73 now and so done with it. Going forward I plan to blog about getting healthy in mind, body and soul including all the successes and stumbles along the way. Please join me through this process of self-acceptance and developing a healthy relationship with food. Your interest and support are welcome. And for this Mom and Mimi, there’s no more time to waste.
