I was IM-ing with a friend this morning, about body stuff. She was saying that she was feeling a little unhappy with her figure.
“I know what you mean,” I typed. “I dropped a little weight when I was in Oz and I’ve spent the entire month since I’ve been back worrying about it. Sometimes you can’t win for losing.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“When I’m heavier, I worry about being fat. And when I’m lighter, I worry about…being fat. Like, what the hell, man.”
“What the hell indeed. I totally get it.”
I’m sure I know at least a couple of women who don’t worry about body image issues. I must. I know I know a lot of women who seem very comfortable and at home in their bodies, a lot of women who are very beautiful, a lot of women who use their bodies in interesting and exciting ways—but I think, based on various uneasy conversations we’ve had, most of them worry at some point, about something about their bodies. I do, all the time. Well, no, wait—not all the time, not anymore. But still, a lot.
My fat-girl story is probably like a lot of others. I was a thin child; I gained a lot of weight when I hit puberty; I ate really horridly and didn’t like to exercise for a long time. I dieted at a couple of points and was able to lose weight only when I was being absolutely insane about tracking my food–I have a vivid memory of a couple of years ago, sitting on the bed with my little graphs and calculators and things I used to determine what I could put in my mouth each day, and bursting into tears because I was so hungry and because I couldn’t find a way to make the figures add up that would allow me to eat—and the minute I stopped eating in that very rigidly restrictive way I would immediately gain all the weight back.
I have been lucky in that I only went through this cycle a couple of times. I have also been lucky in that I can’t remember a lot of (though of course there has been some) teasing or shaming for my weight or shape or size coming from other people—although that may actually be because I have been pre-emptively putting myself down before anyone else gets a chance to since I could talk, basically. I have been lucky in that I have a feminist critical theory context into which I can understand my own experiences with my body and the images I project to and receive from the society I live in. I have been lucky in that I started bellydancing eight years ago and surrounded myself with gorgeous, competent, elegant women’s bodies—many of which were fat—on a weekly basis. I have been lucky in that I finally, quite recently, decided to stop dieting, and that I would wear a bikini in Fiji, and that anyone who didn’t want to see a fat girl in one was welcome to LOOK ELSEWHERE. I am lucky in that I love a lot of fat people, especially a lot of fat women whom I happen to find very attractive.
I am also lucky in that I am healthier now, at thirty-two, than I was ten or fifteen years ago. It just sort of…happened, over a long period of time. I love vegetables now (last night’s pasta: asparagus, red peppers, onions and zucchini YUM) and could not be paid with real money to drink a Coke. I eat the most delicious cheese I can find and insist that my chocolate be the really fancy crazy kind, and as dark as possible. I am getting better at dancing, slowly slowly slowly: my double maya has to be seen to be believed, and I have an undulation that is illegal in a couple of American states, no, really it is, I checked. I am learning to do push-ups and tricep dips and I’m getting better about staying hydrated and now I actually crave walking, as opposed to when I was sixteen and I would drive the block and a half to my best friend’s house. My head is better, too, than it used to be and I’m happier and more fun to be around than I have been since…well, since ever, actually.
But I still worry. And I am still fat. After all that, after all the things that have changed in my life regarding my body and my thoughts about it, I still have to tell myself (out loud, sometimes) “No food restrictions!” when I start to stress about my weight. I still have to tell myself that it’s perfectly fine to wear a size sixteen, or a twelve, or a fourteen, or an eighteen, of whatever, that the important thing is to be comfortable and look good. At my old work I had to write out FAT AND HAPPY, STRONG AND HEALTHY on Post-It notes and stick them on my computer where I would see them every day. I still have to tell myself that the reason I am learning to do push-ups is so I can be strong enough to hold my goddamn arms up for four hundred hours in a tribal class, not because I have been bad and need to work out to atone for the sins of loving dark chocolate. I still have to remember not to put myself down when someone compliments me. I still have to remember to treat my body well and to not get angry at it for not being perfect, e.g. for not being thin. I have to remember not to apologize for the size of my ass.
And what I keep thinking about, over the past twenty years that I’ve been considering all this, is that I basically have no idea what I look like. I can’t just look in the mirror and know. I have always depended on feedback from other people to tell me what I look like, but I have never really trusted it, if that makes sense. So there’s really no way to know, is there. I have no idea, no one else has any idea (or if they do they’re obviously lying, goes my thinking), it’s all a big mess. After so much thinking about all this I still have no idea what the larger purpose of beauty is, in my life or anyone else’s.
All this is to say that a couple of days ago I submitted a picture of myself, along with my “numbers,”—five foot six, one hundred and fifty-five pounds the last time I weighed myself (that’s seventy kilos or about eleven stone, all y’all non-imperial measurement users out there), body mass index of 25—to the amazing Kate Harding’s BMI Project. I know I want to be as healthy as I can be and have as much fun as possible in this body for as long as I live, but I still have no idea what I look like or if I’m fat or not–the BMI calculations put me in the Overweight category–or even what that means anymore. Looking through all the other pictures in that slide show actually just added to my confusion in a way, because it was really hard to connect the BMI categories with the actual people themselves: why is she overweight when she’s five pounds lighter than I am? How can she be obese when her waist is so well-defined? What is a morbidly obese person doing competing in a triathalon–I thought “morbidly obese” meant you never left the house, and yet there she is!
So I am still worrying, a little, and I am not done thinking about this yet. Somehow, though, it felt really good to put that picture in this project, to think about my body this way, not in comparison but in relation to other bodies. It’s helped something, it’s changed something. What is it, do you think? Could it help you, too?
Comments
18 responses to “Not Done Thinking About It Yet”
Ok, you’re not allowed to yell at me but I have an excel spreadsheet I revert back to when I find I’ve been packing on a couple extra pounds. I actually find using it quite fascinating — turns out when I’m not paying attention I eat way more than I think I am, and way more crap (cupcakes, junk food) than healthy stuff. When I keep track of what I’m eating I find that I eat less in general and eat more fruit and vegetables. I also find that I rarely get hungry when I’m keeping track of what I’m eating, which means that when I’m gaining weight it’s because I’m making bad food choices or eating out of boredom. (And when I do get hungry I just go eat fruit or vegetables because everyone knows those don’t count.)
Also, I know what you mean about relying on other people for an opinion on how you look. Mudd was the first time I ever heard people describe as attractive or hot, and I never really believed them. I always assumed it was because the geeky nerds didn’t know any better or had a predisposition to other geeks/nerds. It wasn’t until I moved to Pittsburgh and met several non-nerds that told me I was hot that I realized other people might actually find me attractive. And even still, I don’t really believe them, I just find myself wondering if they’re horny/lonely/want-something-else/etc.
Yes! I have no idea what I look like and what being in shape really means. Thanks for the link. Maybe research will help me.
Girl, we will NEVER be done thinking about this crap. Which is sad, because there are SO MANY better things we could be thinking about. It seems the best we can do is put it to the back of our minds for long periods of time, but it’s always there. Right now I’m struggling with the fact that I’ve gained about 10 pounds over the past year, which I am not happy about and while I’m sure I look OK I feel HUGE. I’m trying to not worry about it, to just eat healthy, and to remind myself that even if I’m a bit squishier than I’d like, I can still run 26 miles. 26 miles! Hours on end! I will never, ever be one of those stick-thin girls, so instead I just try to focus on what my body can DO rather than how it looks.
Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Either way, the fact that it’s even an issue almost bothers me more than the actual issue. Gah.
Chiara darling,
Every girl worries about her body sometimes. Too tall, too fat, too short, too skinny…are my feet too big? My ears stick out. I hate my nose. This never ending litany is just fodder for our insecurity.
All we can do is just do our best to ignore that lying voice in our heads and try to realize how beautiful we really are.
Chiara, you are absolutely stunning and in great health. Take a moment to think about the ways in which your body is good for you. Remember these things the next time that stupid voice tries to tell you otherwise.
This piece so resonates with me – and every other woman on the planet. I gain weight and am unhappy and obsess. I lose weight and I can’t relax b/c I’m afraid to gain it back and of course I will. I have figured out one thing: on the days where I exercise, I think about my body’s power and capability and am proud of it. So I run for my head and burning calories is a side benefit.
I just wanted to point out that The Illustrated BMI Categories Project got a shout-out on the New York Times health blog today. Also that I have ever so stupidly much more to say about this but I have to go walk to work now. Short version: my first instinct with this kind of stuff is to say “But you’re not fat!” but I’m pretty sure that’s not the right thing, and it’s only recently that I’m coming to realize exactly how much that might not be the right thing. Instead, I will say that you are ten thousand kinds of gorgeous and awesome, and I love you very much. So there.
i am considered “morbidly obese” on the BMI chart, and yet….and yet. i eat healthier than most anyone i know, and have been a vegetarian since i was 15. i’ve consistently gone to the gym at least four times a week for the last eight years. i do yoga most mornings. i can walk up the steepest san francisco hill while holding a passionate conversation without breaking a sweat. i don’t WANT to be skinny. and yet….all i can think is that i’m single because boys don’t like fat girls. pretty sad, no?
I am fat and morbidly obese. At this point in my life? It’s about getting healthy and feeling good in my skin. I could diet all I wanted and lose 50 lbs, but if I don’t feel good inside my skin, there’s no point.
Plus, I still get plenty of play as I am right now.
I actually saw the BMI project linked from another post on my LJ and who did I happen to spy but the lovely Chiara! Then as I was continuing down the list of posts I saw this one from you and thought I would say “hey I saw you on there”.
One thing to remember with BMI is its really just a guideline. I have a friend who set a little goal for himself just to see if he could do it and worked out and gained muscle till his BMI said he was obese. It was funny since he is one of the most in shape people you will ever see and he is technically ‘obese’.
Like Marcy said, Every girl worries about her body. I spend enough time giving my female friends the ‘your crazy’ look when they start talking about whatever body issue they might be having that only they see or is blown out of proportion to know. If you tend to eat right and work out then thats all that really matters. If you are healthy then screw the BMI. Be happy with who you are and what you look like, I promise there are plenty of people who think you look great.
One last thing to all the women who have posted here who I do know in real life. Chiara, Seema, and Marcy, you are all beautiful women and don’t ever forget it (yes, I know you wont believe me but its true =P).
I have been pre-emptively putting myself down before anyone else gets a chance to since I could talk. Honey, I so hear you. It’s something I’ve been trying to stop doing lately, not only because a couple of people I loved in the past told me straight up that it was really unattractive. I’ve succeeded, I think, in no longer apologising for me legs or my belly when I show them to demonstrate stuff for my classes.
The BMI project is awesome, someone linked me to it yesterday. I won’t even get started on how much shit I think the BMI is, but it certainly isn’t helping me have any confidence in the medical profession (or the exercise science course I quit).
And I know this is pretty arbitrary, but I can’t believe you think you’re fat. Have you *seen* your waist and arms? But hell, I don’t even think *I’m* fat most of the time, and I have fat all over me.
Rant ends ;~P
I have always thought you were really beautiful.
I’ve always thought the girls I got involved with were really beautiful, too, and I’ve had a bunch of people apologize to me – like, while we were getting it on – for having flaws, for not being perfect. And it kills me, and it kills me that I’ve done the same thing. And yet, here we are.
I love when you write about things that I think about. I think about this stuff all the time. Something I do is look at pregnant women’s belly shots and think about how their stomachs are flatter than mine are, and I’m not pregnant. And I wonder if that might make me a little crazy. Anyway, I love you a whole damn lot.
http://flickr.com/photos/77367764@N00/1478991521/in/set-72157602199008819/
Oh, YAY, girl! I am so thrilled you put a picture in–an AWESOME picture!
Chiara, it was actually seeing your picture on there that made up my mind about whether or not to send mine in. (I did, and my weird smirk is forever immortalized. That’s what happens when people point cameras at me, I can’t just smile.)
I have a piece of paper with a saying I got from an online community for people with eating disorders: “Real girls are not perfect. Perfect girls are not real.” It helps.
thanks for that link, Chiara. I’ve been fighting with my doctor about the whole BMI thing and lately it has become unbearable. Qualification for surgery strictly adheres to the BMI score, meaning I have to become unhealthily skinny if I want to get the surgery.
What frightens me is that this prejudice against the body is being perpetrated by the very people we go to for help. At 8 years old my doctor pushed her fingers repeatedly into my belly and told me I was fat. Until then I was a highly active, healthy, and happy child. Imagine my surprise when I looked back at childhood photos and discovered I was NOT fat.
My curent doctor has not ever examined my body, but is making the blanket assumption based on my BMI that I am fat, lazy, and an unhealthy eater. Despite viewing my exercise and food logs.
It’s funny how having to fight for proper recognition regarding the level of my fat has made me the most comfortable about my body than I have ever been. I vow here and now to celebrate women in their differences and do all I can to assist others with accepting themselves.
I also was compelled to submit a photo after seeing you on the BMI project!
My reaction to the site was that it just demonstrates the limited nature of BMI calculations. BMI is based on height and weight…and that’s it. One 5’5″, 150-lb woman is not the same as the next. So to take those two attributes and add them up to “overweight” or “obese” or “normal” or whatever is so limited.
For example, my numbers have always been in the normal range. But I know that when I was at the lower end of normal I was very, very unhealthy…underweight, malnourished, inactive. And now, more in the middle of normal, I am running and eating better and I feel great and…I look fatter. Well, screw you, BMI.
I can’t claim to never, every worry about body image issues. But it really is quite rare. I’ve been pretty happy with my body since I gained curves in high school. The most issues I’ve had are with pregnancy (and the nurses telling me that gaining 60 pounds isn’t healthy). And I still haven’t quite finished worrying, because my weight is still changing. (Though at the moment I’m only worrying that I’m losing too much weight, because I now weigh less than I did in high school, and that just isn’t right.)