I climbed into the van seat next to Older Daughter’s booster seat yesterday. I’d driven to the restaurant because for once she wanted Daddy to sit next to her, but now, after lunch, I’d reverted to habit.
Older Daughter realized this as my husband backed out, my MIL in her usual seat in front,* Baby babbling to her shoes in her rear car seat. She protested, even after it was explained that Mommy drove one way, so Daddy would drive home–actually, we were just all a little sleepy from the hot day and busy morning and lunch, so we didn’t want to pull over, get out, and change seats. Not for a ten minute drive.
“But I want Daddy to sit with me,” she told me. “You take too much room up!”
The adults in the front seat laughed. At her phrasing, they said. But I, who had spent the morning in that special annual personal hell called trying on bras,** did not laugh. I removed my elbow from her booster arm rest. Did I take up too much room? Am I too big?
At that moment, the Fat and Uglies got me. I should really diet–my weekend capris are tight in the waistband, and my new bras are inches bigger. I’m expanding, that’s what this stupid idea of mine has done. I’m blowing up like a balloon, I’m getting huge. My back has a layer of fat, I can feel it when I do floor poses in yoga–and when I try to kneel back on my heels, like that skinny woman on the DVD, my thighs won’t let my fanny reach my feet.
Never mind that the new bras are a different brand from a different store with a different measuring system, plus the straps don’t slip and they do exactly what they are designed to do. Never mind that my capris are made of stretch denim that is always snug in the waist, but makes my legs look good. Never mind that I am only one size larger than when I stopped dieting, and that smaller size was so new that it wasn’t really a change. And never mind that the skinny woman on the DVD*** suggested that beginners use a bolster to help if kneeling is difficult.
And never mind that if I diet, I won’t be able to eat anything at the picnic tonight but the green beans and watermelon–only a cup of each, mind. I won’t eat anything normal or in a normal way and will go back to endless planning and calculating and dreading and judging myself by other people’s rules and other people’s standards. I will put myself at the mercy of the scale, that uncaring machine and I will ignore and forsake my family in order to coax it into showing a smaller number. I’ll have to get up at 4am again to kill myself on the exercise machines and be too tired for patience or playing with my children.
And please never mind that Older Daughter is five years old and cranky and demanding and just wants her own way–and possibly the use of her own arm rest.
Luckily, I didn’t quite never mind and fought this battle to a draw–best I could do–in less time than it took to tell. A moment later, Older Daughter laid her tired head on my upper arm. “But it’s okay,” she said. “You’re still nice and squishy.”
The Fat and Uglies thought this was a blow for their side–squishy arms, for the love of God–and at the time, I agreed with them. Now, I’m not so sure.
But I didn’t overeat at the picnic, or at least I didn’t eat myself overfull and didn’t struggle not to. And while I did have a snack after the kids were in bed, I didn’t gorge–I figured that I was still slightly upset over this afternoon and really just wanted to sleep. So I did.
This morning, the Fat and Ugly wounds are still there, but fading. I do not need to diet today to be happy. I do not need to be thin to be happy and loved. (repeat as necessary and suppress that little voice that is yelling, “Bull$#%&”).
Onward.
___________
*Unless Older Daughter asks to have her grandmother sit next to her.
**Not unrelated to the hell of trying on swimsuits, but one which cannot be ignored forever. Once underwires start escaping to poke into delicate armpits or shoot up through necklines–always, always, away from home and hours to go–and only three bras remain in colors guaranteed to show through the majority of tops in one’s wardrobe, it is time.
***Who is a soft-lit, soft-spoken, weirdly elongated figure convinced that yoga will open the secrets of the cosmos . . . a ramalama ding-dong head, to be sure, though one who knows her poses and explains them so I understand.
Tags: Body Image, eating disorders, kids
September 2, 2008 at 11:00 am |
Diet = Die+t.
I had to get out of the diet mentality. It’s a killer. I hate failing and I always failed on diets. I’m not on a diet today. I have a new way of eating. Yes, my way has firm boundaries. There are foods I don’t eat, ever. Birthday cake? No. Ice Cream? No. Pretzels? No thanks. This doesn’t make me bad. This doesn’t make these foods bad. They’re just not my food. If I was allergic to peanuts, I wouldn’t eat peanut butter. My body and mind react badly to foods with sugar and wheat flour. It’s not my fault. It just “is”.
Not everybody is like me. Some people can eat cake in moderation. I had 46 years of proof that I could not. Today, I don’t miss it at all. Go figure. It’s more fun being a healthy weight and not obsessing about food than it ever was sharing cake at a party.
My experience was that when someone asked me why I wasn’t eating something, it opened a door I love to walk though: My story of recovery from compulsive eating. I seldom hide the fact that I was over 300 pounds. I love to see people’s jaws drop.
Have fun!
September 2, 2008 at 11:53 am |
Gosh, thanks! :^D
I’m still discovering my way, and trying to detach it from everyone else’s ’shoulds.’
I hope my way includes moderation–it’s more or less been an alien concept so far, at least with food. There are many things to untangle there, but I am moving slowly forward.
I’m also practicing modification with exercise right now, which today means trying not to freak because I don’t know if I will be able to walk or do a DVD tonight and I’m pretty sure tomorrow is out unless I pull the usual ‘getting up before I go to bed’ thing, which puts the hamster of obsession right back on the wheel. hence my new weekly goal.
When I do get the balance right, the ’should’ voices are easier to ignore. Most of the time. When I don’t, the Fat and Uglies are right there to force open the doubts.
September 2, 2008 at 2:08 pm |
I don’t have ’shoulds’ around food any more. Is that true? Mostly. My food plan is clear. The shoulds, such as they are, are about slowing down and single-tasking at meals.
I do have shoulds around exercise. My gym is near work, not near home. I should go every work day. I go 3-4 days/week. Over this long weekend I did get in some nice walks each day. Ok, two nice walks and one nice mow. The mow takes about as long as the walk so I count it as exercise.
I remember a local “health club” used to have an advertisement which included a line like: Since when is walking exercise? You’ve been walking since you were one!
I figure walking is exercise at least since hunter-gathers roamed the earth.
So there :-p
September 2, 2008 at 4:31 pm |
It is far too easy for me to fall from Should into Must with exercise.
As in, if I walked three miles yesterday, I must always walk at least three miles until I can walk further. If I do walk further, I must always walk that new distance until I can walk further than that. If I add weight lifting on my walking days off, I must always lift weights on days I don’t walk, no exceptions.
I am still dealing with overuse injuries caused by running 7 miles four times a week, no exceptions, even for respiratory illnesses. I stopped running more than two years ago, but started the elliptical to ‘pick up the slack.’
I still cannot manage to skip more than one day of planned movement (as I’m calling exercise now in a futile attempt to relax about it). I will go to great and damaging lengths to follow this rule, which is why I believe I must learn to break it. But maybe not this week.