...is when I spend time with my younger sister. She's gorgeous. She's thin. She was selected as Miss Teenage Model USA in the early 70's.
Only one problem. She thinks she's fat. She hates her head shape. She hates the way her hair is graying. She hates the fact that she has some rather small and inconsequential love handles.
Have I mentioned yet that she's gorgeous?
I'm a 53 year old woman. For my height: 5'8", I'm of a normal weight: 157. I'm pretty secure in my skin. Except when I'm around my
skinny sister.
My body image battle has been hard won. An anorexic ballerina at age 15, my weight bottomed out at 104. Fortunately, that was a temporary state, and didn't require the type of extensive hospitalization and treatment that many young people
endure to get cured.
But let's back up a little. My mother, a bipolar psychotic with a side-order of food obsession, took me along for the ride on her yo-yo life of dieting... Stillman, Atkins, a diet developed by her psychiatrist which allowed unlimited salads all day followed by a filet mignon and a martini every night... well, I didn't drink the martinis. I look at pictures of myself at age 12 and I was a thin kid... maybe a little pudgy in the tummy, but essentially thin. Except I thought I was fat. I always thought I was fat.
As a middle school student I decided that I wanted to be Peggy Fleming. I trained doggedly, getting up at 5 a.m. to practice before school. My coach warned me that if my backside got too big, I wouldn't be able to get off the ground. I took him seriously. I would try not to get fat. So I dieted with mom, but between meals I would gobble candy bars that I had stashed in my room.
Following a job transfer that moved my family to a town were there was no skating club, I rewrote my career plan and at age 14 decided to become a ballerina. In anticipation of an audition for a local regional ballet company, my dance teacher told me that I needed to lose a few pounds. I took her more seriously. In the course of one month I starved off 30. That's when I hit the bottom: 104. The dance teacher was ecstatic. And I got into the Ballet company.
But my parents were getting a little worried. I was subsisting on Fresca, cottage cheese and lettuce. I weighed myself daily and if I had gained a couple pounds, I would fall to pieces screaming and crying in rage. Finally my mom, fed up with my weird eating habits and tantrums, marched me off to the family doctor.
I was anemic, my hair was falling out, and my nails were peeling and cracking. I was freezing cold all the time. I was a "little" moody and I was not sleeping well. (My nights were filled with fantasies of eating forbidden foods followed by terrifying weight gains... followed by waking in the middle of the night starving, yet relieved that it was all a dream.) According to THE DOCTOR I needed to gain at least 20 lbs and take a series of iron shots. I was devastated. And relieved. At last, an adult whose authority I respected had given me permission to eat! I left his office with a 2000 calorie diet tucked under my arm and was told that if I followed it, I would gain weight.
Around the same time, a hip injury stopped my dancing in it's tracks. During the long 6 week of recuperation, it was made clear to me that my body was just not suited to the demands of a career in ballet. As an alternative, my instructors encouraged me to try a modern dance class. As soon as I was able, I did, and it was love at first sight. Over the next several months I gained back most of my lost weight, and began to feel much, much better. Except I was fat.
Fast forward: College. Marriage. Two pregnancies. Several surgeries. Osteoarthritis. Career change from dance to art. Empty nest. Death of parents. Became a grandmother.
For most of those years I obsessed about my body size and was generally unhappy in my skin unless I was "thin". I had two states of being. I was either fat. Or thin. I went up and down the same 20 lbs. pretty much annually.
(Isn't it strange that you're either "fat" or "thin"? Whatever happened to "normal?)
Then 5 years ago my dad got terminal cancer. I stood by helplessly as his handsome, strong, well-proportioned body deteriorated, wasted and died. Near the end he was skeletally thin. It was devastating to watch. And it put a few things in perspective.
My body is not me.
My body is temporary transportation.
I need to care, healthily feed and exercise my body because it's the only one I'm getting.
The whole media driven obsession with being thin is ridiculous, and I need to be grateful every day for a body that carries me through the things I love to do.
This morning, while I was thinking about this post, I asked my husband a hypothetical and possibly loaded question that had the potential of getting him in a little bit of trouble:
"What's more attractive to guys, a beautiful thin woman who's not comfortable in her skin, or a beautiful woman who's on the plump side, but comfortable in her skin."
His answer: Most guys will want to "do" the thin one who fits the image of what turns guys on, but the curvier one who's confident with her body will probably be a lot more fun in the sack.
Well put, honey, and you're not one bit in trouble.
Here's a good site for anyone who's struggling with body image.
I also found this fabulously funny Fat Rant and More Fat Rant on Utube.
There. Now I'm cured.
"Keep it Simple."