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.

Rebel Eaters, Episode 2 Journaling Prompt

This week's writing prompt was basically: What rules would you like to impose on the people in your life regarding food and your body?

I have this pin on my purse. I bought it about two years ago from Fat Girl Flow, but I don't see it on her merch site anymore.

Since I bought it, I haven't heard anyone talking negatively about food in my presence. That's fairly amazing.

I am extraordinarily fortunate in that I live in a house with people who eat unapologetically and live in bodies without shame. I don't have to set boundaries about diet and exercise talk, because no one around here goes in for that kind of thing.

That has not always been the case.

 It took years to divest from the mentality of "good" and "bad" foods, or from feeling like I had to earn the right to eat by making sure I'd gone through the paces of a rigorous -- and boring as all get-out -- exercise regimen.

One of the reason I'm likely so devoid of the chatter of Diet Culture is that I don't work in an office anymore. I remember food and portions and workouts being prevalent topics of conversation when I was in the corporate world.

When I worked at a newspaper just out of college, I remember a lady counting the calories in each potato chip as a male co-worker ate a bag of them in at lunch. I was ear-deep in disordered eating and exercise at the time, but even I wouldn't have done that to another person.

When I was pregnant, prenatal vitamins made me ill, and I was trying to be extremely vigilant about making sure I got all of the nutrients I needed to provide for a baby. I was sitting in the break room with a packet of baby carrots when my supervisor came in to get a bag of peanuts out of the vending machine, looked at me on the way, and asked, "Do you know how many carbs are in a carrot?"

I don't miss that, and I wouldn't put up with it. I wish I'd just said, "I do not care about that on any level, thanks. I'm trying to enjoy my snack."

It's actually difficult for me not to lecture in the other direction these days. When someone seems apologetic about what they're eating, I try to encourage them with, "Your body knows what it wants. It's fine!" I could actually talk about it for three hours, but that's no better than the Diet Culture evangelists, so I shut my trap.

Rebel Eaters, Episode 1 Journaling Prompt

Virgie Tovar has a new podcast, Rebel Eaters Club. She has a journaling prompt at the end of each episode, and I thought the first one was interesting.

This week, she asked to think about a food that we associate with our family of origin, with growing up, and our relationship with that food over time.

Almost immediately, I thought of freshly-baked bread.

My dad likes to bake bread. I do, too. But I REALLY like to eat bread! I always have.

We didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up, and bread was a cheap staple we always had on hand. Sandwiches, cinnamon toast, filler for other meals. I've always enjoyed eating bread.

That's what struck me: With all of my disordered eating and exercising to "earn" food, I never stopped eating bread. This might be because, back in the '90s, carbs weren't the "enemy." Fat and calories were. So while I'd NEVER eat a fat- or calorie-dense bread like a bagel (the subject of the first podcast, and a favorite chewy way to start the day for me now) or a croissant (ditto the "fave" part), I could always do toast (with fat-free butter substitute and sugar-free fruit spread, naturally) or a warm roll.

In fact, when I was in my least healthy phase of dieting, I had Little Caesar's Crazy Bread at least two or three days a week for lunch. That meant I had to skip breakfast, but it was worth it. Man, I love that stuff; no other pizza place has anything comparable and I don't know why. 

Further, I cannot remember ever feeling guilty for eating bread. I've always been able to enjoy it without any negativity. I do remember being shocked when I learned that Texas Roadhouse's yeast rolls have more than 200 calories each, but... I don't think about that anymore and they're amazing.

An interesting note about this that I made, and that may or may not be related, was this:

First, I am fortunate in that neither of my parents was the food or body police. Neither of them ever told me that I needed to eat or to look different. My food intake was controlled only inasmuch as my mom thought we could "wait until dinner" rather than snack 45 minutes early, and if we had a rare bag of Oreos in the house, we could only have a couple at a time. I feel like this was more a resource thing than a restriction thing.

However, my mom was often, if not on a diet, "being careful." One year, I purchased from the Christmas bazaar at our school, a light-sensitive pig that you'd put in the fridge or cabinet, and it would oink when the door was open. I didn't see this as being rude, and it was in no way mean-spirited. I saw it as a funny way to help my mom remember her priorities.

But my dad... I think my dad gave me permission to LOVE food. He cooked, baked, and grilled a lot (my mom cooked almost every night, and the unfortunate reality is that all of those common meals of spaghetti, meatloaf, and hot dogs just blend into one generic memory). He loved trying new things. He really REALLY experienced food. He ate slowly. He paid attention to flavors. Food wasn't the enemy. It was a comfort. An indulgence. An adventure.

I have a vivid memory of being upper-elementary aged and kind of recognizing somewhat our financial situation. We were on a road trip and had stopped at the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo. Someone was attempting their challenge to eat a 72-ounce steak and all of the fixings in under an hour in order to get it for free. I was crying, because I'd seen that the cheapest menu item (this was in the early 1980s) was an $8 hamburger. It was *so* expensive!

My dad came over and hugged me and said, "It's okay. We're on vacation! We can't eat like this at home, but we have a budget for vacation, and that is fine! Order whatever you want."

Many years later, my mom told me that the cycle was that they'd have a thousand dollars or so in credit card debt that they'd pay off right as we went on another vacation, and it would start over again. 

But for my dad, those experiences (which were, still, fairly modest things like visiting Laura Ingalls Wilder's or Mark Twain's homes, or the St. Louis arch, or the Huntsville Space Center) were worth the price. They were a necessary getaway, and food was a welcomed part of it.

That might also be why, no matter what stage of eating disorder I was in, I have never "watched it" on vacation. Vacations have always been guilt- and stress-free times to enjoy whatever food I could find. 

And to this day, I'm one of those people who will happily fill up on fresh bread at a restaurant and bring my entree home. I try to find good bakeries wherever we go. I love bread, and it's a lifelong relationship.