Perhaps it sounds like I’m whining about the extra 10 pounds I’m carrying, particularly to someone who feels she carries more than just 10 pounds she’d rather not have.
For me, hanging in there with extra weight represents a (sometime more tentative than others) confidence that I am more than a number on the scale. That can be, depressingly, difficult to believe at all times. Sometimes, the desire to lose weight feels frighteningly like it runs throw my DNA.
But I know that’s not true. I was born to love to read, to talk a lot, to dance happily but awkwardly, to love those dear to me. I was born to have a lot of hair, big teeth, long legs and very flat feet.
But I was not born with the desire to be as thin as possible. That came with time and self-hatred and a lack of faith that I was okay just as God, not Anna Wintour, made me.
It came with the desire to control SOMETHING when life felt wildly out of ocntrol. From the age of 12 to 17, I would repeatedly tell myself, ‘this can not be my life. This can’t be it.” But it was. And so, I stopped eating, because that was the only thing I thought I had any power over.
Of course, I had no power. A body can only starve for so long before something has to give. For me that meant binging (because I was starving)and purging, because I believed I was NOTHING if I wasn’t thin.
That belief goes deep and I am constantly challenging it. And when it does come up, I can say and believe it – I’m fine, right now, right here. And I am.
I am a woman, a sister, a friend, a reader, a talker, and an girl with very, very flat feet.
I am, like most of us, I think – a work in progress.