untamed #3 - on the subject of bodies

{these are a series of posts i started writing mid-pandemic while reading “untamed” by glennon doyle and learning that she used to lock herself in a closet every morning before her kids got up to write and write and write and then she’d just post them without looking back}

I never learned how to properly feed and care for mine with love. You can’t teach what you don’t know, and I don’t think the women in my life knew how to, either. Plus, my body was foreign to them. To all of us. I was pudgy, soft, growing curves at 6-years-old, born into a family of bones and angles and slim waists. They loved me (of course!) but my body was openly spoken about as if it was an enemy. A problem that needed to be solved.

I needed to look less like me and more like them. And they looked like everyone else on tv, in magazines, on billboards. I looked... like the characters who were used as punchlines, or the “before” of makeovers and weight loss ads. The messages about what was to be attained were everywhere. That doesn’t mean it was attainable for me, but I tried really hard for 20 years or so.

I’ve starved. I’ve binged. I’ve purged. I’ve done some really gross, shameful shit to achieve those things out of desperation, too. I’m no different than drug addicts who steal from the purses of loved ones to get their next fix. I’ve had disordered thoughts so loud that I burned bridge after bridge just to try and get alone to quiet the sound. I’m an addict; not to food, but to self-destruction. All I have ever wanted to do is set myself on fire.

I thought healing would be linear, even though everyone says it’s not. I’ve always seen my story as “girl loses herself at 19, picks up the pieces, builds a life for herself, and lives life happily ever after.” Except, it’s been more like “girl ruined her entire life at 19 and had to start over, went to lots of therapy and had many well-adjusted years before being blind sighted by past traumas and pain like an unexpected sequel in a horror franchise.” I thought I had everything figured out and then it all just started falling apart.

But I’m feeding myself now. Regularly. For the first time in 31 years. It’s the only thing I haven’t tried. I still don’t feel quite “right” in my body; I’m eating out of boredom and sadness and letting myself be ruled by compulsory behavior. So I decided to try something radical and count calories - not to try and eat as little as possible, as I always had in the past - but to keep myself on track eating *enough* calories every day. I feel like I lame little baby forcing myself to stop what I’m doing and eat breakfast, or making myself sit down to plug in my calories for the day when I’m about to tell myself I’ve eaten “soooo much today” and should push back lunch. Shockingly, more often than not, I discover I am actually *under* in calories for that time of day and get to immediately eat a guilt-free snack. Even MORE shockingly to me, has been the discovery that what everyone said was true all along: if you feed your body throughout the day like you’re supposed to, you don’t walk around feeling like a sleepy shell all day who can’t stop herself from gorging on snack foods at night.

I’m sleeping better. I feel better. I’m not thrilled with my weight and I’d be lying if I said my fingers weren’t crossed behind my back that eventually this will all result in a little weight loss, but it’s been months and months of this and despite the fact my clothes aren’t fitting any differently (I don’t own a scale, for obvious reasons), I’m still determined to keep at it. I feel it in my bones that no matter what size my clothes are, treating my body properly and with love is what matters. The same way when I started dancing around my living room every afternoon for 30 minutes, it felt so good that I vowed even if it didn’t help me lose a pound that I’d never stop doing it. Welp, I think all I did was *gain* pounds, but I still won’t give it up as an exercise routine because it makes me feel great and happy and it is the first movement I’ve found that I can do without being motivated by self-hatred.

I thought I loved myself already but I’m learning I’ve been faking it a bit. I’m proud of the progress I’ve made but I’m excited to discover I’ve got miles to go. I feel so much more prepared for the journey than I was in the past. I feel like I’m on the same team with my body this time. She’s always been the enemy and I’m ready to make peace. I owe her the waving of my white flag.