For the entirety of my remembered life, I’ve struggled with my weight. The eating environment in which I grew up did nothing to help my health. With two working parents (one who was not only holding down a full-time job, but finishing grad school an hour away), my meals came from boxes. Or McDonalds. I was a picky child, and so my list of foods consumed consisted of turkey sandwiches (mayo only), chicken fingers, pizza, and macaroni and cheese.
That’s all well and good, when you’re eight and running around playing soccer and softball and fleeing from crazed satyr ghosts in the Chowchilla slough. But when you move to Oregon and break your arm and stop moving and still continue to put away entire packages of Oreos, a belly starts to grow. What saves most teenage girls from an overweight life is their desire to fit in, to look good, to not be an object of scorn. Somehow, this never happened to me—although I am extremely grateful to have never had an eating disorder, which is the flip side of obesity—because I’ve just never been able to say no to fats and sugars. And because I worked at Baskin-Robbins.
You’d think in college, I would’ve found a clue. But I’ve always had a healthy dose of self-esteem. Not a Jen Lancaster level of pretty-fat appreciation, but the ability to look in a mirror and see the cute looking back. Again, it’s what saved me from an eating disorder, I’m sure, because at that point I didn’t believe in moderation. Instead I trundled on, adding a few more vegetables to my diet but still favoring the burritos when visiting the cafeteria.
These are strange sorts of revelations for someone who is now nearly obsessed with delicious food, but I did not start changing my food beliefs until just a few years ago. When I finally learned to cook at the age of 23, I started noticing changes in my body. I had more energy. My face slimmed down dramatically. I lost a couple dress sizes. All this due to simply cutting out processed foods.
But these days, life has sped up, and I’m throwing ten eggs in the air and trying to catch them all before they break and sometimes it ends up that I’m pigging out on the Ruffles found on the counter in my uncle’s kitchen. A combination of living with one of the most unhealthy men on earth and having a boyfriend that really loves his potatoes (and not much else) has caused me to grow a little padding around the belly.
What really did it, however, was seeing this photo:
I look at it and I don’t see cute. I don’t see slightly plump, or a bit overweight, or the pretty fat. I see an elephant arm. And right now, it’s causing my self-esteem to take a beating. I’m perfectly aware that I have a sharp brain and excellent writing abilities and a boyfriend who loves me—but for some reason, that arm is haunting me. Is it simply a long-buried psychosis triggered by the “ideal” figure of women? I’m not sure, but tis likely that this is not the only time that women’s view of women will come up during this blogging adventure. Suffice it to say that right now, it is that arm that has inspired me to embark upon this journey into healthful eating.
The paradox is that what I will be consuming might not be what others consider to be healthy…
2 comments:
That last sentence is intriguing.
What you say is so true about the processed foods full of hidden sugars. Corn syrup seems to be rampant and according to Dr. Oz very evil. I try very hard to stay away from it.
I think seeing my elephant arm made me realize that I really didn't look healthy. And yes, vanity plays a part as well. Women and beauty go together. It's natural to want to have a healthy desire to look good.
I read also for my heart health a woman's waist shouldn't be any larger than 34 inches.
So, bring on the delicious meals made with whole foods that burn clean.
Men can be just as vain. I've seen a picture or two of myself that have riddled me with self-loathing. "OMG, I look like a whale!" Usually results in a week of cutting out sugar and trying to walk everywhere I go.
Post a Comment