What is the opposite of Body Dysmorphia?

I remember seeing a picture of what body dysmorphia is a long time ago. Basically, there are multiple line drawings of a person, the same person, from extremely trim to very portly. An eating disorder care provider shows the picture to a patient and asks them to point to the one that looks the most like them. For someone who has body dysmorphia, they will inevitably select a representation that is three or so sizes larger than they actually are. That is how they see themselves, even in the mirror, even when reality is something else entirely.

I have had a disordered relationship with eating and exercise, but sometimes I think I have the opposite of "dysmorphia." When I was growing up, I never "felt fat" (which isn't a real thing, but you get what I mean) before I heard that I was fat from other people. 

Taking a bath with my cousins: "You're as fat as my mom."

Sitting behind a classmate on a van for a field trip in junior high and accidentally hitting the back of his head as I moved some stuff around, then apologizing only to be told: "You're so fat."

Bagging groceries at 16 years old: "Oh, are you expecting?! I worked at a grocery store when I was pregnant with my first."

And it got to me. I remember standing in front of my parents' bathroom mirror (because it was bigger than mine,) and puffing out my stomach, looking at my reflection and saying, "I hate you. You're so gross." 

But the thing is... I didn't hate myself. I thought I was really cool, funny, and smart. It really never occurred to me until it happened (over and over) that someone might not be interested in me because of how my body looked.

And yet: "She's too much woman for me." "You have to pull it together; you're about 50 pounds overweight." "We can be friends, but I'm just not physically attracted to you."

This worked, and by "worked," I mean that it got me to lose weight multiple times in my life. But I still always always thought, "If this person would get to know me, I think I could win them over because of how I am. I'm pretty awesome!" 

(Incidentally, the same person who told me he wasn't physically attracted to me came around months later, apologized for saying that -- I'd given him a talking to about how rude it was -- and said he actually DID find me attractive... but fortunately, I was old enough to have some self-respect and wasn't interested in him.)

Furthermore, when I look in the mirror, I like what I see. I think I look great most of the time. Sometimes, I'll see a picture that makes me go, "Yeesh," which I think is a normal human experience. But I think I'm cute. I identify as "fat" (specifically "small fat" since I can buy clothes in non-"extended" sizing, but only barely and not certain brands) because I think my BMI is in the "overweight" category (though I haven't weighed in more than a decade) and clothing sizes tell me I'm big... but I don't, again, this isn't a real thing, "feel fat." 

This is probably because I'm extremely fortunate genetically. My parents both have long-lived parents and grandparents, and we just hit the lottery that way. Diabetes doesn't run on either side. Heart issues are sprinkled around, but neither of my parents has heart disease. I haven't developed arthritis yes, and I didn't do the kind of youth sports that would come back to haunt me as an adult. I have been lucky enough to mostly be able to afford the healthcare I need to stave off problems (though I *do* need a neck ultrasound and a DEXA scan, and have for 2 years... I'm just glad we still had insurance to get my thyroid and parathyroid removed before the coverage ran out!). 

So the fact that I can get up and go and do whatever I want to do, with my body being pretty darn reliable, means I don't have complaints that make doctors suggest that losing weight might help. None of my doctors since I've been an adult has suggested weight loss or dietary changes, regardless of my weight at the time of care.

All of this means that it just surprises the crap out of me when people ask if I'm pregnant (the last time this happened when I wasn't actually pregnant was about 15 years ago; now I probably look too old for that to be a possibility). Or that I'm too shocked to respond when a family member found out how much Mal weighed at birth and said, "What?! You mean I carried a heavier baby than YOU did?!" (She was 5 days postpartum, so I gave her some grace but... holy crap, it's okay to think things and not say them out loud.)

I also want to state that I think fat people ARE cute. I know that fat people are healthy and active and, in fact, a lot more active than I am (fat marathoners, I see you... from the stands and support you but that couldn't be me). I also know that a lot of people can't achieve whatever "healthy" means because of disability or access to medical care or chronic health issues. And those things can happen to anyone regardless of size.

But my point is that there is a disconnect somewhere that I am so absolutely shocked and appalled when someone looks at my body and then makes a comment that does not align with my own experience of myself, and it's jarring. 

Anyway, thanks for coming to my Dear Diary session. Have a great weekend!

The Struggle Continues

That sounds like an exciting sequel, but it's not. It's annoying and exhausting and I often feel like I'm over it, but then it sucks me back in, and this both disappoints me and pisses me off.

Mostly, I don't think critically much about how I look. I try to keep my hair brushed, my hands and face clean, and my clothes comfortable. Then I go about my day and it's fine.

But sometimes, especially at certain times of the month, and maybe especially especially because my body is making some midlife changes that I KNOW TO EXPECT... Sometimes, I just feel like I don't know the body I see in the mirror when I'm not expecting to see it.

The part about this that bothers me the most is that I am anti-feeling-like-crap about the way you look. I outgrew self-hate-speak years ago. I see pictures of myself from 15 years ago and think I look... insubstantial. I don't want to go back to that. Maintaining an artificially low (for me) body weight took up so much of my energy and attention that I have zero desire to go back to those days.

And yet...

My body is changing quickly and seems partially alien to me. I'm still flexible. I do the splits, I stretch, I squat, I bend. But now, when I try to touch my nose to the knees of my outstretched legs, I can't... because my belly is in the way.

I feel spry (mostly; I did a killer workout Friday and am just now getting over being sore about that on Sunday evening), and my body does what I want it to. I don't struggle with movement, and I'm strong enough to handle most tasks I set out to do on my own. In other words, I'm extremely functional, and probably more so now than I have been in years.

I'm proud of who I am, what I've learned, how I'm trying to improve, and of the life I and my people have built. It is absolutely profane that a chance encounter with my own reflection at an angle I wasn't prepared for threatens to send me spiraling.

Here's what I know: I'm not going to do anything about it. It's dangerous, mentally and physically. Usually, I just wait it out until the feeling passes. Fortunately, I guess, my life is generally too busy to get mired down in this sort of thing for very long.

Update: I'm past it now but wanted to go ahead and post this because... most of us end up in that space sometimes. 

Here's a picture of me walking last week. I have to go VERY late not to walk in complete darkness since Daylight Saving Time started again. I hate having no time to myself when I get home, but seeing sunrises like this *almost* make it worth it.

"You Look Great" as blatant fatphobia

This weekend, I attended an event where one of the people there has lost upwards of 100 pounds during the pandemic. He himself was pretty low-key about it, only talking when people remarked or asked questions. He said that basically his weight loss was due to doing mental health work and realizing that he was spending a lot of time eating to avoid wrestling with his anxiety and other issues.

Twice, I heard people say, "You look great!" Both times, I cringed. Both times, I didn't say anything because I haven't seen these people in at least a year and a half, and some of them I had never met before. When my mom recently remarked that someone who'd lost a bunch of weight "looks great," I said, "She looks smaller. She looked fine before."

I wish I'd spoken up this weekend.

Fatphobia is ugly.

Complementing a person's looks when they have lost weight is fraught. You don't know whether they lost weight on purpose (in this case, it sounded like he hadn't), or even if intentional weight loss is something to celebrate. In my case, I got a LOT of positive feedback when I dropped pounds... but the reason I was doing it was to avoid losing someone's affections. That's not something for which I should have been given a pat on the back. I lost weight to comply with someone else's ideal of feminine beauty. I should have been encouraged to explore why I felt compelled to do that instead of insisting that I be treated with respect regardless of my size.

Furthermore, complementing someone on their weight loss implies that they look better now than they did before. This is problematic on several accounts. One is that, if they are like 95% of people who intentionally lose a great deal of weight, their body will fight to put that weight back on... and it will. So when they return to a larger size, they're left with the ghosts of complements past, and they know that they're being judged as having let themselves go or some other such nonsense.

Another problem is that there are often (and there were in this case) people in the vicinity who weigh in the ballpark of that person's "before." You're basically telling them that they'd be better and more attractive if they could just get it together and drop some poundage. That's thoughtless, and it's rude.

The fact is that thinner people do not objectively look "better" than bigger people. We've learned as a culture to value thinness, but one way to help fix this is to intentionally expose ourselves to a variety of body sizes. It's difficult to do that with mainstream media, because most people on television and in magazines are still extremely small. But a great thing about TikTok and Instagram and YouTube is that you can find bodies that are differently-sized, have different levels of physical ability, and whose gender expressions vary from the pretty narrow spectrum commonly seen in content generated primarily for commercial success.

It seems silly that we have to remind ourselves that fat people aren't failed thin people (thanks, Virgie Tovar), and that there are fat folks living great lives everywhere all of the time. When someone loses weight, it's just that: weight loss. It's not good. It's not bad. It just is. Same as when someone gains weight: not good, not bad... just reality.

If we could find our way to this understanding, life would be so much better for all of us.

And next time, I'm going to say something in that moment. I've really had enough.

Healing Relationships with Food and Body is a LONG ROAD

"Someone is getting that 'lean arm' look."

I remember it so clearly. We were sitting in a restaurant and this person commented on the appearance of my upper arms. Months before, he had made it clear that he was not pleased with my body size and shape, and this had sent me on yet another journey of food restriction and forced exercise that I didn't enjoy in order to maintain a body type that is not natural for me. I did it, and it lasted for the better part of a decade.

But even though it was so long ago, I remember the relief and pride I felt when he acknowledged my lean arms. I wasn't really proud that I'd worked so hard or accomplished a goal; I was just proud that someone, the person I was trying most to keep from despising me for being myself, saw something attractive and worthy in me.

It's been a long time since I started intentionally trying to heal my broken relationship with my body, with food, and with movement. The food stuff was the easiest. I just told myself that I was going to eat what I wanted, when I wanted, and not feel guilty. It was actually easy not to berate myself when I went to bed. Not to think, "I screwed up today, but tomorrow, I'll do better." I genuinely extricated myself from those thoughts within a few weeks. Don't miss 'em.

Joyful movement was interesting. I stopped doing that work-out I hated slowly at first, when we moved into the RV and my jumping jacks bothered D (small space, lots of noise and movement). It ended altogether when I realized that my spinal injury was genuine and not just soreness. In fact, I likely worsened it by continuing to push through my work-out (which included sit-ups and lie-down leg lifts) even as I lay in the floor crying from the pain.

When we moved into the Nuthaus near downtown and the UT campus, I realized that riding my bike actually took some pressure off of my back. It felt good. Plus, in many ways it was easier to ride my bike to places like Whole Foods and Wheatsville Coop than to try to drive in the car. After my back got better, I rode a lot. For fun. It was a cool way to see downtown and to experience the new (then) boardwalk at Ladybird Lake.

Then we moved to the apartments, which was all hills all the time. There were a couple of rides I'd take Mal on, like to the mailbox, to a trail in a neighborhood behind us, and then just around the complex a few times. It was difficult because of the hills and the baby and the fact that my bike needed some chain maintenance that I didn't know how to do. Then the bike got stolen.

I genuinely LOVE riding my bike. But I've found, where we live now, walking is a great way to see things and meet neighbors. When we first moved in, we walked to the lake almost every day, and at least every other day for months. That has been scaled back to once or twice a week now, but we still love going down there. We walk around the neighborhood to see how new houses are doing, or to admire older houses' yard decor and things like that. There is a bass-shaped mailbox (we live near the lake, remember?) a ways away from our house that Mal has a love/fear relationship with. I know when he wants to see it that we're going to get in a couple of miles.

Sometimes I walk by myself. I usually cover more ground and see more things then, but I definitely get more of a work-out when Mal comes with me. He has enough energy to power a small sun, but he HATES walking. So when he's amenable to go, I push him. He outgrew the umbrella stroller I have that holds 50 pounds (which is right where he is, but he's so tall), so we got a push/pull wagon and he loves it. It weighs 30 pounds, so even though it rolls beautifully for now, it's still a lot of weight I'm pushing up the gamboling roads leading away from the lake. If we walk TO the lake, there's a serious hill to tackle on the way back.

Although he has ridden like this a couple of times, he prefers the sun shade because, he says, "I like to look at purple."

I do love getting out and walking. I loved bike-riding, too. If we had a bunch of "extra" money, I can see getting a good bike and getting Mal a good bike and one of those "trail gators" I had when D was little so I could tow the smaller bike behind me.

The other thing I've genuinely loved, in terms of exercise, was Zumba classes. But I'm no longer willing to pay for a gym membership, plus... I don't know if you've heard, but this kid up there takes a LOT of time and effort. (TFW you realize your first kid was easy, but you didn't know it at the time.)

Anyway, those two things - food and movement - were fairly simple to straighten out. The body thing has been more challenging. And I mention this all because, a full five years after I made the definite decision that I was finished dieting and hating myself and trying to change my body through intrusive means that I did not enjoy, when I was putting my hair in a bun to go swimming yesterday, I noticed the bulk in my upper arms. And I flashed back to that approving statement: "Someone is getting that 'lean arm' look."

When I look back on pictures of me from about ten years ago, I am rather shocked at how unsubstantial I appear. Did I have boobs at all? Hard to tell. I was so tiny (but never felt tiny). I do not wish to go back to that body again. But, ironically, why is it so hard to see pictures of myself now? I firmly believe that the answer to that is internalized fatphobia.

When I'm just sitting around and hanging out with my family, I don't think about my body. It moves how I want it to move and when I want it to move. It is strong. I am doing housework and playing hide-and-seek and getting down in the floor and moving around all day long.

But I know my body is changing. Not just from my changing exercise habits (like my upper leg strength declined after my bike got stolen), but also from age. I recently listened to an episode of the "Food Psyche" podcast featuring Erica Leon, who is a dietician/nutritionist who works primarily with middle-aged women.

She said, "[T]here’s this period of time from, they say the perimenopause, which is the period of time prior to menopause, three to five years, I think it's even longer. Where bodies start to change, because hormone levels start to shift, just like in adolescence. Estrogen levels, and progesterone levels, they drop, they change, they shift. And so what happens during the period of time is that, periods become abnormal, they become longer, shorter, heavier. And in addition to that, people gain weight around the middle. It happens, like in puberty. I call menopause the second puberty. And, I think people aren’t really aware of that. All of a sudden, it’s like, 'Oh my God. My pants are getting tight. Why is that happening?' It's happening, people don’t hear that this is very normal and natural, and the period of time prior to menopause... [B]odies are changing. And things are happening in the body that we’re not necessarily aware of. Because, when hormone levels shift, there are some issues that occur, because estrogen is a very protective hormone. It keeps us [supple], it keeps our bones strong, it keeps our heart strong. And as our levels shift and lower, we start to have things like, more brittle bones, and really we’re in need of more calcium, and more vitamin D. Things happen with our heart. And I'll say on a personal note, I’ve never ever had a health issue, and all of a sudden, I have elevated cholesterol. And, it's because estrogen is protective, and, helps to keep the heart pumping, strong, and then when our levels are reduced, these things, all of a sudden, are concerns. So things like heart health, bone health... [P]robably the most distressing symptom of all, of menopause, is the weight gain. And it is normal, it is natural. It happens because estrogen levels drop. And, as Margo Maine talks about, it is the life preserver. Which I love, rather than a 'spare tire,' because, hey, we get a spare tire around the middle. But it is protective. When the ovaries stop producing as much estrogen, the body looks for other sources. And the idea of having estrogen is that it helps, it's cardio protective, it protects our bones... And so the body does everything to defend that. People have come to me and said, 'Oh my God, I can’t lose weight like I did when I was younger.' It's like, 'Yeah, you’re not supposed to.'"

Anyway, there's the part in my head that I know to be true: My life is constantly changing. My body is changing (and it's perfectly normal and to be expected). I'm taking care of myself the best that I can. I am happy. My family loves me.

Then there is still that nagging, "Um, that's what I look like?" when I see candid pictures of me. I think a lot of people feel that way. And it really irritates me that society did such a good job of pouring into me that I need to have an appearance that fits into an extremely narrow range in order to be "attractive" or worthy of love or self-esteem. I blame it on society because I always thought I was cool when I was a little kid. I liked me. I learned from others to hate my body and, therefore, myself.

That's the part of this journey that is still the most difficult from which to extricate myself.

So...

If you're lucky like I am and you get to go swimming this weekend, be gentle with yourself.

And while you're at it, maybe watch the words you say to other people. You might think, "You look great! Have you lost weight?" is a compliment, but it feeds into a very destructive world view that is detrimental and that really holds on to the heart and soul of a person.

Take care of yourself.

Chins for the Win

How many chins do you have?
How much time do you spend
Thinking
About chins?
Or folds?
Angles?
Bulges?
Or how your ankles look in flats?
And whether they're cankles?
Do you avoid photos?
Do you gaze wistfully at old shots?
Do you wish you hadn't been so critical?
Taken it for granted?
How much more were you worth
When your waist was two inches smaller?
Or ten? Or twenty-five?
Were you more valuable then?
Will you be more valuable for attaining a
Smaller frame
In the future?
Is this the measure of a person:
Inversely proportional to their mass?
It seems silly, put like that,
Doesn't it?
It's not silly.
It's harmful.
Shameful.
Depressing.
Dangerous.
If you disassociate
Your chins
Your moon face
Your belly
Your thighs.
If you see chunks of yourself
As not yourself
But defects attached to your body
You will never
Stop objectifying bodies.
Not just your own.
And everyone loses.
So do the hard work
Not the work-outs, necessarily;
The dismantling.
Of fat-phobia.
Of an ideal rooted in white supremacy
And patriarchy.
Of a self-loathing
That keeps you focused
On yourself.
Free yourself
So you can seek justice for all bodies.
We're all worth more than this.

Some Things Never Change

As we've mentioned ad infinitum in the past, I have a history of weight fluctuations, AKA yo-yo dieting, though the peaks and valleys have been so spaced out, it didn't feel so much like a yo-yo as a sloth climbing several mountains.

To review, here are some pictures from various times in my adult life, in chronological order:

1992, about my "normal" size.

After that, my first ex-husband indicated that I was fat and he'd never liked it but didn't say anything because he thought I wouldn't marry him (sadly, he was mistaken; my self-esteem wouldn't have let me walk away).

1993/1994

June 2001, a few months before D was born.

November 2002, just before my second ex-husband told me I was too fat.

November 2004, after I'd lost some weight and put some more weight back on.

October 2005, after I'd lost a lot more weight.

Basically, it's been about 15 years since the last time I seriously tried to lose weight. It "worked" and I kept the weight off for about 7ish years? But once I got bored with constantly working out (more and more as my metabolism slowed) and "being careful" with what I ate (read: bordering disordered eating behavior), weight started creeping back on. 

Here's what I look like now.

Well, in December 2019

Okay, that was fun. So what?

So, there are a lot of things people assume about health and weight that are garbage. I wanted first to demonstrate that I understand the concept of "calories in/calories out," working out, etc. blah blah blah. And I wanted to tell you several things that have been true whether I weighed 148 pounds (at 5'7") or... a lot more than that. I have basically not had scales for the past 15 years, and so except for when I've been pregnant, I've been blissfully unaware.

Anyway, no matter what I have weighed:

1) I drink copious amounts of diet soda. My mom made me a Diet Coke cake for my 16th birthday, so we can safely assume my passion goes back at least 31 years. #consistency

2) My blood pressure is low. I'm 47 years old, and a big person, and when I was discharged from the E/R a couple of weeks ago, my blood pressure was 106/68. It's usually around 112/70ish.

3) I love sweets. You can eat a lot of candy corn on a 1500-calorie-per-day diet, and it's fat free! (This is not health advice; I feel a little nauseated thinking about it, actually.)

4) I hate running.

5) I can walk from sun-up until sun-down. Very enjoyable. A 12-mile Disney day? Bring it on!

6) I eat a mostly vegetarian diet.

7) My body does what I want it to do.

8) I despise clothes-shopping.

9) I am worth the same amount. I wasn't worth more when I had less mass nor am I worth less with more mass. This is a ridiculous calculus that serves no one.

10) My actual "health" level has remained the same. When I was at my smallest, I was no "healthier" in terms of eating or exercise than I am at my largest. I can say this because I know what food goes into my gullet. When I was depriving myself of calories and fat, I made up for it by making those few calories things I'd LOVE, which wasn't always nutrient-rich, minimally-processed food. I eat more now, and that gives me room to eat nutritious food I love as well as things like pizza and ice cream. It isn't either/or. In that battle, I'm going to pick what I prefer to have every time... even if I look totes skinny doing it. You cannot tell what my personal habits are just by looking at how thick my upper arms might be. To think that you can is fatphobic.

11) I have asthma. I had asthma when I was running 5 miles a day (and, yeah, HATING every minute of it). Against all odds, I have asthma with a house full of cats, to which I am allergic. It's ponderous.

12) I eat carbs. Lots and lots of carbs. When I was at my skinniest, just after college, and DURING an actual eating/exercise disorder, I ate Little Caesar's Crazy Bread at least three days a week. I still love those things, though they're not quite the dietary staple they used to be.

13) I love cooking good, beautiful food. Let's end with that, and a few pictures of our home dinners. 

Roasted cauliflower risotto with a side salad.

Goat cheese veggie burger with arugula and cranberry sauce, side of roasted green beans.

Salad with broiled brie and roasted cauliflower.

Veggie "chicken" broccoli homemade hot pocket and feta salad.

Peanut stir fry.

I knew it was just a matter of time...

More on my trip with Mal soon, because there were some doozies I want to remember, but I have to denote this most special of occasions.

Ever since the last time I got pregnant at what the medical community at large  (but never, ever my awesome team of midwives at Birthwise) would call "an advanced maternal age," I've known it was coming.

And it finally happened last night:

"Is that your grandbaby?"

I expected it to be more cutting than it was. Frankly, it was anti-climactic.

Part of this might be because the lady who asked me this both called Mal a girl repeatedly, after he corrected her, and then requested a ride to a bar down the street. From McDonald's. At 8:45 on a Sunday. Bless her.

But I think that most of it was because of the work I've been doing on accepting and loving my body (and all bodies). While what I've wrestled with most has been internalized fatphobia, I feel like really examining and deconstructing biases I've been taught my whole life has helped with everything, this included.

To be "offended" by being mistaken for my child's grandparent, I think I'd have to have more stock in pride of visibly defying my age, or shame in maturing. I have neither.

Actually, a few hours before that, I'd been telling James about an article I read on the thin privilege of "small fats," or what Roxane Gay calls, "Lane Bryant fat." I told him that in addition to the "privilege" I experience of not having to worry whether I'll fit into a restaurant seat, or have to buy two airline tickets, or be told by a doctor when I go in with pain in my breast and I should lose weight and I'll feel better, I also seem to have reached a milestone that many women meet with mourning, but I find exhilarating:

Largely because of my age, I'm "invisible."

When I was young, I was on the receiving end of much overt disgust (*shudder* "You're so fat!") and impertinent assumptions (the first time I was asked if I was pregnant, I was 16) very often. There's a trauma that comes with stigma in which someone isn't victimized only by overt actions; they are hurt over and over just by the anxiety they live with in anticipating the next unwanted negative interaction.

What I'm describing as my personal experience pales in comparison to the things that other minorities and "super fats" endure every day, but it was still a big part of my younger life.

It isn't anymore.

And the reason I believe it is not is that I have reached an age where it isn't seen as my civic duty to be attractive to the male eye anymore. And so I'm "invisible," but, to me, in the best possible way. I am not on the receiving end of objective scrutiny and catcalls. I know men are being kind when they hold a door open, because they don't have ulterior motives. Some women hate that; I think it's an incredibly comfortable place to have landed.

So, being mistaken for a grandma when I'm not wasn't a blow. I wasn't taken for being any "older" than I am; my sister, who is younger than I am, is a grandmother.

Actually, there's an important lesson there: You cannot tell how two people are related by looking at them. I should never make assumptions.

There we have it: The first, and likely not the last, time I was presumed to be the grandma. Very often, when I go to bed at night, I certainly feel as tired as a grandma after a grandkid has visited all day! So it's kind of accurate.

Ol' Granny and Mal, Jr.

"...like a fat kid loves cake"

The other day, Mal wanted to go to Altitude Trampoline Park. It's almost an hour from where we live, and it's a bear to drive down, but we'd had kind of a weird morning, so I thought it'd be a fun thing to do. As much as Mal likes Jump Street, which is considerably closer, they have only one area where kids under 4 are allowed to jump. It has 3 long trampolines, a bouncy slide, and a bouncy obstacle course. It's fun, but at Altitude, he can go everywhere. It's also considerably more expensive, except when they have open toddler jump, and we can't seem to get a straight word from them on when they're going to start doing that again.

Anyway, none of this is really about that. It's about something I noticed during the hour we were there.

There were more kids there than I was expecting, but I guess it's possible a lot of them were homeschoolers, or that some schools start later than AISD. I was amused by this one pair of middle-school-aged girls who just hopped around to places to sit and gab most of the time. Like: jump jump jump, sit on the stand for 10 minutes; jump, jump, walk, sit in the corner against the wall for 15 minutes; repeat variations on that theme. I know how much it costs per hour for kids to jump there. I'd just drop them off at the mall. But they were having a good time, regardless.

Mal had seem someone with popcorn and wanted some, so we went to buy a box. Making our way to the snack area, I saw those girls sitting out in the lounge. The smaller of the girls had an Icee. The larger one had a straw, and every now and then would take a drink, but it was obviously the smaller girl's, and she never handed it over.

Something in my head said, "That big girl doesn't think she's allowed to have a slushie in public." Then I decided I was projecting, and went on.

When Mal was ready to go, we packed everything up and I was throwing our trash away when I saw the girls again. This time, the smaller girl had a cup of Dippin' Dots ice cream. The bigger girl was, again, not eating anything.

Now, it's entirely possible that one girl just had money where the other girl didn't. Maybe the second girl's parents just thought they'd spent enough on the admission and that she could drink out of the water fountain. I realize that.

But it made me remember of a friend of mine who said it used to make her cry when she'd see a fat kid eating a hot dog. She said she wanted to yell at the parents not to let their kid eat that way. I didn't realize at the time how fatphobic and wrong-headed that "concern" (judgment) was.

This girl, the one who had an Icee and ice cream, can eat whatever she wants in public and no one will ever say a word to her. But the eyebrows fly when a bigger girl might want to enjoy the same foods. And this food policing is a breeding ground for private binging.

The double-standard -- like, the Gilmore Girls eat two large pizzas between them and it's adorable, but if a real life fat person ate half a pizza, throngs would chime in "that's why you are the way you are!" even though EVERYBODY has times they overeat, or eat non-nutritive foods, and not everybody's bodies look the same.

That double standard is troubling enough lobbed at adults. But, man, it's particularly infuriating and damaging when a kid feels like they can't have a treat because they've been taught they don't "deserve" it; that there is something wrong with them and it's their life's work to fix it so people will treat them with at least some respect for being a "good far person" and trying, even if they aren't ever able to make their bodies into lithe forms pleasing to the fickle eyes of our culture.

This made me ponder the phrase I used in the title. Something like "I love you like a fat kid loves cake." How dumb is it? I mean, most people love cake. Why wouldn't you love cake? (Or at least icing.) And my guess is that, for a fat kid, eating cake can be particularly fraught: This tastes good. It's so bad for me. I want to eat it. I shouldn't eat it because it'll make me fatter.

I hope those girls had a great day. I hope I just read a lot of my own feelings into that situation, and maybe that bigger girl had just come from IHOP and couldn't have eaten another bite, anyway. And I look forward to the day that I don't have to worry about a little girl's self-image at the hands of a cruel diet culture.

Happy Birthday to Me!

All right, fine. If you're keeping track, it's still more than two months until my birthday.

But James already got my present for me, even though I still have to wait a few weeks for it.

Something hit me the other day: I cannot remember the last time I went to bed feeling cruddy and thinking, "Well, I ate like a garbage person today. I'll do better tomorrow."

If you've never done this, then I don't know how to explain the feelings of shame, failure fatigue, and physical illness that accompany that little bit of self-demoralizing.

There have been many times in my life when I've tried, with varying levels of success, to appreciate my body in its natural form (i.e. when not being manipulated by food restriction and exercise for the sole purpose of body-taming), with varying success.

I remember when I was training for the LVMPD entry test, I was able to run 5 miles and felt like a total bad ass. When I was weighed as part of the physical, I was surprised to see 195. That was up significantly from my lowest weight, due to a years-long eating disorder, when I spent some time at about 148 pounds.

Incidentally, the GNC scale still told me I was 7 pounds overweight here, so while I felt pretty okay about how I looked, the numbers taunted me.

However, a few years later, I was nearly 50 pounds heavier and significantly more healthy. And I didn't feel much self-consciousness about how I looked.

Still, what I didn't realize was that Diet Culture was pervasive in my thought processes and self-esteem.

I had so many "rules" about how I ate, even while giving myself permission, kind of, to eat as I pleased. I still saw foods as "naughty" indulgences or "healthy" choices. If I did too much of the former, I felt really bad.

Even after James and I got married and I was looking in the rear-view mirror of those miserable forced workouts (even while loving riding my bike challenging places, walking all over, dancing, etc.), I would still often look back on my day with a sense of backward-facing dread, and feel ill at the thought of the "bad" food I'd put in my body.

Or I'd remember that I'd forgotten I'd had a snack and then still eaten as much as dinner as I would have if I'd not eaten a snack. And I'd be frustrated with myself.

So, that's a long way of saying: I don't do that anymore. At some point in this work I'm doing to listen to my body, to move as I please, and to eat as I will without any of this becoming an energy-draining focus from my very full life, I've managed to throw off the go-to guilt that has gone hand-in-hand with food choices for as long as I can remember.

I no longer linger over glances at myself in mirrors or storefront windows as I walk past. I don't feel self-conscious about what other people looking at me might think. I buy and wear clothes that I enjoy, that allow me to move, and that I don't have to think about, regardless of the "rules" of what might or might not be "flattering."

There is, however, one area in which I still struggle: Pictures.

I LOVE pictures. I often hand my camera to James (and cringe, because, frankly, for as brilliant as that man is, he cannot take a dang photograph... and now that I think about it, it might have to do with how overstimulated he gets in loud/busy situations in that he cannot filter out superfluous information, and that's exactly what his pictures look like) or someone else and ask them to get a picture of me doing whatever we're doing, because I tend to be the recorder of memories.

However, my tendency still is to be hyper-critical of snaps of me, because... I guess I'm seeing myself from someone else's angle, and I'm not used to it, so it reveals things about me I don't see in the mirror, even though my son has fully mirrored closet doors, and we're in his floor about 10 hours a day, so I've likely glanced at myself at almost every possible angle in the past year and a half.

I'll give you an example from a couple of years ago. My friend Jana, of Jana Gross Photography, had brought her girls to our apartment to swim. She snapped this candid shot of Mal and me.

This picture is pure joy. But at first blush, my reaction to it was, "Holy crap, that arm! Those bulges! Ugh!" I had to look away from myself because I couldn't take it (it was a couple of months after this that I did my last-ditch effort to drop a few pounds, and after calorie-restricting for two months, decided I'd rather try to be happy than thinner). In the past, I'd delete pictures of myself that I did not like but knew, absolutely, that some day I would adore this picture and the moment in time that it captures with such buoyant energy.

(Incidentally, this kind of "documentary photography" is Jana's milieu, so if you need pictures that are absolutely YOU and not the same poses that are trending with every other photographer on earth, you should absolutely book her.)

And now we get to James's birthday present for me! He purchased admission to Virgie Tovar's Babecamp, It's a four-week online course to learn how to have a peaceful relationship with your body, first by examining how we got to where we are now, and then by working on tools for self-love.

If this sounds horribly self-indulgent to you, especially given that there is so much real trouble on earth, then let me assure you that dissatisfaction with my body has been an incredibly time-. energy-, money-, and talent-consuming function of my life for as long as I can remember. Ridding myself of its last vestiges frees me up to be fully present for the people and causes that mean most to me.

As an ancient example: When D was smaller, we had an absolute bedtime of 7:00 PM (which is funny; Mal just finally conked out at 11 tonight). D could read or play in bed, but had to stay there. There were countless times D would call down the hall with a random question, clearly just wanting to chat, desiring company. And I'd yell back to "go to sleep!" Because I "needed" to work out. Not because I enjoyed it. Not because the exercise brought me peace and life. Because I did not want to be as fat as I'd been in the past.

Time and time again, I chose attempting to alter the natural size of my body over building a relationship with my older child.

I'm not ever going to do that again.

Babecamp will end about a month before we go on our family vacation. I look forward to taking, and being in, a ton of pictures. Without obsessing over myself in any of them.

And many more.