You know, I'm a pretty sophisticated person. I went to an art gallery last night. Sure, most days I wear sweatpants and sometimes completely forget to put makeup on before leaving my house, but when need be, I can step it up and look the part. At least according to that woman in the ladies' room at that hole-in-the-wall bar last night in Hudson.
I don't get dressed up very often. So when I have occasion to do so, I'm never sure if I look like I have it all together, or if I look like I'm trying to look like I have it all together. I don't buy myself clothes very often. And when I do, I have a hard time rationalizing spending money on something I won't wear too often (ie. dress pants or skirts) versus something that I know I will (ie. more sweatpants). I watch What Not To Wear and lately, as I've been getting in my car to drive to Target (quite possibly to buy more sweats) I think about Stacy and Clinton forcing me to sit and watch a video of me shopping with no makeup, baggy pants and flip flops. And then the 360° mirror. It would be torturous!
Last night I went to an art gallery with two friends. We had kidded that we're obviously pretty darn sophisticated if we're the kind of people who go to art showings at art galleries. While we were joking around, I kept thinking about what I would wear, really. I have a pair of jeans that I finally fit into and with little heels they look pretty good. But my tops are all still a bit snug. I decided to wear a big-necked sweater and a little jacket. Oh, and I remembered to put on makeup.
They picked me up and my friends looked hip and truly sophisticated. I hoped that I didn't look like I was trying too hard, especially next to the two of them, who make it look effortless. We got to the gallery and fit right in. That's because there were people there dressed in everything from fancy dresses with leggings (that's for you, Shawnessy!) to jeans and flannel shirts. I think, even if I'd worn my sweatpants I wouldn't have felt out of place.
Someone once said to me, "Sara, you portray confidence, no matter what you're wearing." What's that supposed to mean? I thought. First off, what does that say about what I'm wearing? And second, I do tend to forget what I look like. For instance, Lily will be crying before I've had a chance to take a shower, and before I know it we're heading out the door to get to the bus stop and then I'm usually off to run errands. I'll catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and cringe. But by the time I get to Target (I spend a lot of time at Target) I have usually forgotten to be embarrassed about my hair or lack or mascara or the stain on my shirt. Is that confidence?
After the art gallery (and hob-nobbing with one of the artists, I might add), we went to a nearby dive bar. We had a couple of drinks and on our way out we stopped in the ladies room (which is putting it nicely). My friends struck up a conversation with a couple of other women waiting and as I came out of the stall one of them asked me, "Are you with them?" Before I could answer she said, "You look like you're with them." I know how junior high this sounds, and it really really shouldn't matter at all, but that one little drunken comment, just outside of a nasty bathroom stall, totally made my night. "Yea, I'm with them."
Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Shame on Me
I'm watching Oprah right now and, as Ms. Winfrey would say, I just had an A Ha Moment. Her guest, Geneen Roth, who wrote the book Women, Food and God, just said (I love my DVR, I can rewind and pause so I get her words just right), "We somehow believe that if we hate ourselves enough, if we shame ourselves enough, we'll end up thin, happy, peaceful people."
Makes sense to me!
I have spent most of my life unhappy with, bordering on hating, my body. The tape in my head goes something like this: Your thighs are fat. Your arms are fat. Your stomach is fat. You're fat. You're fat. You're fat you're fat you're fat fat fat. I try to be more positive. At times I'm even able to look in a mirror and think that I look alright, but the very next thought is always, Don't go easy on yourself. If you stop trying to lose, you'll start gaining. I would never NEVER talk to another person that way. But for some reason, it's perfectly fine for me to talk to myself that way. And if you're anything like me, then you've made it okay for you to talk to yourself that way, too.
Oprah talked about her January 2009 cover of O Magazine where she had her thin self standing next to her fat self. The caption read "How did I let this happen again?!" She said that at the time she just want
ed to get it out there, be the first to say it, before everyone else started in on her weight gain. But now, when she looks at it, she realizes that all she did was publicly shame herself. She said, "And in that cover what I was saying was that the thin me deserves all of the praise and the accolades. The thin me deserves to be loved, but the fat me does not."
That is exactly how I feel right now. I don't have a picture of the current me standing next to the me from August 2008, the thinnest I had ever been, but that image is as clear as day in my mind. A few months ago, at a neighborhood coffee, a new neighbor showed up. Throughout the morning I kept hearing myself say things about having to lose weight, not being able to lose weight while nursing (I loved that excuse!) and not being able to fit into my old clothes. Later, after the coffee was over, it dawned on me what I had been doing. I had been using my own secret code to tell this woman that I don't want to look like this. It's okay to like me because I'll be thin again someday.
And it's not just to new people I meet. It's to everyone. I'm constantly telling friends that I still need to lose this much weight. I can't quite fit into my favorite pair of jeans. Even with my mom and my sister, who I know love me unconditionally, I feel that I need to justify why I'm heavier than I want to be and what I'm doing to change that. My sister is coming into town in a couple of weeks (Yay!!) and guess who stepped up her workout in an effort to lose an extra pound or two more before Molly arrives.
I think I'm a nice person. I'm a good friend and I'm easy to talk to. I'm willing to help anyone who needs it. But from my point of view, none of that matters. Or at least none of it matters as much as the fact that I'm not thin. When I just outright say it like that it sounds absolutely ridiculous! So, I'm vowing to be nicer to myself. If I were my own best friend I would tell myself that I'm doing a good job! Keep up the good work, me, because the goal is totally in reach! You'll get there! I'll get there! I'm going to try to focus on the things I'm doing right...and even more so, try to take the focus off food and weight altogether!
It has occurred to me, in the past, that if I didn't spend so much time, so much brain power, thinking about my weight I could be doing some amazing things! I could be curing diseases. I could be discovering new elements. I could be paying more attention to my kids. Seriously, I could, should, be setting a better and more accepting example. A week or so ago my daughter poked me in my tummy. She asked why my stomach looked like that. I'm not proud of my response. "You, your brother and your sister made it look like this," I said as I pushed her hand away. I wish, instead of blaming her, I had said something like, "My stomach looks like this because I am blessed enough to have had you, your brother and your sister." I don't ever want her thinking she's to blame for my body issues. And I certainly don't want to teach her that a body that has carried and nursed three babies is something to be ashamed of.
This will be my last post on weight, at least for the foreseeable future. Instead of beating myself up all the time, I'm going to kill myself with kindness. And in the meantime I'm going to put my focus on other things. Writing, for instance. Since I write what I'm thinking about, and I'm no longer going to be thinking about my weight, it would make sense that you won't see any more about it. It won't be quite that easy, I know. So friends, when, out of habit, I start talking about how unhappy I am with my body, just change the subject. Who knows, maybe you'll inspire my next post!
Makes sense to me!
I have spent most of my life unhappy with, bordering on hating, my body. The tape in my head goes something like this: Your thighs are fat. Your arms are fat. Your stomach is fat. You're fat. You're fat. You're fat you're fat you're fat fat fat. I try to be more positive. At times I'm even able to look in a mirror and think that I look alright, but the very next thought is always, Don't go easy on yourself. If you stop trying to lose, you'll start gaining. I would never NEVER talk to another person that way. But for some reason, it's perfectly fine for me to talk to myself that way. And if you're anything like me, then you've made it okay for you to talk to yourself that way, too.
Oprah talked about her January 2009 cover of O Magazine where she had her thin self standing next to her fat self. The caption read "How did I let this happen again?!" She said that at the time she just want
ed to get it out there, be the first to say it, before everyone else started in on her weight gain. But now, when she looks at it, she realizes that all she did was publicly shame herself. She said, "And in that cover what I was saying was that the thin me deserves all of the praise and the accolades. The thin me deserves to be loved, but the fat me does not."That is exactly how I feel right now. I don't have a picture of the current me standing next to the me from August 2008, the thinnest I had ever been, but that image is as clear as day in my mind. A few months ago, at a neighborhood coffee, a new neighbor showed up. Throughout the morning I kept hearing myself say things about having to lose weight, not being able to lose weight while nursing (I loved that excuse!) and not being able to fit into my old clothes. Later, after the coffee was over, it dawned on me what I had been doing. I had been using my own secret code to tell this woman that I don't want to look like this. It's okay to like me because I'll be thin again someday.
And it's not just to new people I meet. It's to everyone. I'm constantly telling friends that I still need to lose this much weight. I can't quite fit into my favorite pair of jeans. Even with my mom and my sister, who I know love me unconditionally, I feel that I need to justify why I'm heavier than I want to be and what I'm doing to change that. My sister is coming into town in a couple of weeks (Yay!!) and guess who stepped up her workout in an effort to lose an extra pound or two more before Molly arrives.
I think I'm a nice person. I'm a good friend and I'm easy to talk to. I'm willing to help anyone who needs it. But from my point of view, none of that matters. Or at least none of it matters as much as the fact that I'm not thin. When I just outright say it like that it sounds absolutely ridiculous! So, I'm vowing to be nicer to myself. If I were my own best friend I would tell myself that I'm doing a good job! Keep up the good work, me, because the goal is totally in reach! You'll get there! I'll get there! I'm going to try to focus on the things I'm doing right...and even more so, try to take the focus off food and weight altogether!
It has occurred to me, in the past, that if I didn't spend so much time, so much brain power, thinking about my weight I could be doing some amazing things! I could be curing diseases. I could be discovering new elements. I could be paying more attention to my kids. Seriously, I could, should, be setting a better and more accepting example. A week or so ago my daughter poked me in my tummy. She asked why my stomach looked like that. I'm not proud of my response. "You, your brother and your sister made it look like this," I said as I pushed her hand away. I wish, instead of blaming her, I had said something like, "My stomach looks like this because I am blessed enough to have had you, your brother and your sister." I don't ever want her thinking she's to blame for my body issues. And I certainly don't want to teach her that a body that has carried and nursed three babies is something to be ashamed of.
This will be my last post on weight, at least for the foreseeable future. Instead of beating myself up all the time, I'm going to kill myself with kindness. And in the meantime I'm going to put my focus on other things. Writing, for instance. Since I write what I'm thinking about, and I'm no longer going to be thinking about my weight, it would make sense that you won't see any more about it. It won't be quite that easy, I know. So friends, when, out of habit, I start talking about how unhappy I am with my body, just change the subject. Who knows, maybe you'll inspire my next post!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The Whole Thing
On a walk last week my neighbor was describing a sandwich she had eaten a few days prior. It was chicken salad, with double melted cheese and dripping in a special mayo. I gained weight just listening to her. This isn't the first time she's talked about her feats in eating. Jimmy Johns, Chipotle and others have also made the list, and the story always ends with "and I ate the whole thing!" Did I mention that my neighbor is tiny? And if I didn't like her so much, I wouldn't like her at all!
When I was first getting to know Tina, I was training for my second Breast Cancer 3Day. I was in the best shape of my life at this point, but I remember standing in her kitchen, complaining that no matter how much I walked, my thighs never seemed to get any smaller. Tina commented that I had worked hard and should be more accepting of my body. Easy for you to say, I thought, In your skinny jeans with your skinny self. But as I've gotten to know Tina better, I have learned that she's not skinny because she starves herself, or because she spends all day working out at the gym. Like my thighs, it's just the way her body is.
Tina realizes how lucky she is. She knows that not everyone can eat like that and look like her (and, by the way, even Tina doesn't eat like all the time!). But I got to thinking that I'm pretty lucky, too. I have to pay close attention to what I eat in order to lose, or even maintain, weight. I know myself well enough to know that if I could eat anything I wanted with no apparent consequences, I absolutely would! Therefore, the majority of the time, I make healthy choices. And because eating anything causes me to gain weight, I have to work out regularly. Again, that makes me healthier than I would be otherwise.
Many years ago my brother injured his back in a skiing accident. He had physical therapy and learned many different exercises he needed to do in order to strengthen his back and keep it from going out and possibly causing permanent damage. He was young, and was bummed that he had these restrictions. I remember overhearing a conversation between Matt and my dad about being disciplined concerning the exercises Matt was reluctant to do. My dad explained that everyone needs to exercise to be healthy, but Matt had added incentive, which was a blessing! Most people who don't have to exercise, don't. And they are less healthy as a result. But Matt had more than just his general health at stake. If he didn't follow through with these exercises he would have serious consequences. I can't speak for my brother as to whether that conversation stuck with him all these years, but it stayed with me. I don't have back problems, but I have issues with my backside, and exercise definitely keeps it in check.
For years exercise was torture and I thought of healthy food as boring and no fun. Then, about four years ago, something changed. I made my workout into "me time" and I actually started looking forward to it each day. Instead of looking at food as entertainment I thought of it as fuel. Sure, I still like to indulge from time to time, but I know the consequences. And most surprisingly, I've found, when I put healthy food in my body, the bad stuff has less of a hold over me. Or, instead of eating the entire piece of chocolate cake, I am happy with just a bite or two.
But all of that is on a good day. I still have days, weeks, months, when I forget how much better I feel when eat right, and I give in to the temptation. I rarely miss my daily workout, but it's so easy to negate all that time and energy with one bad decision. When I was pregnant I let myself eat whatever, whenever, and that continued while I was nursing. That's all done now, and I'm paying the price. But I'm getting back on track and coming to the same conclusion I had before: I feel better on every level when I take care of my body.
As much as I would love to have Tina's metabolism, the fact is that I don't. But I do have the knowledge and power to make healthy choices. I suppose that will have to do.
When I was first getting to know Tina, I was training for my second Breast Cancer 3Day. I was in the best shape of my life at this point, but I remember standing in her kitchen, complaining that no matter how much I walked, my thighs never seemed to get any smaller. Tina commented that I had worked hard and should be more accepting of my body. Easy for you to say, I thought, In your skinny jeans with your skinny self. But as I've gotten to know Tina better, I have learned that she's not skinny because she starves herself, or because she spends all day working out at the gym. Like my thighs, it's just the way her body is.
Tina realizes how lucky she is. She knows that not everyone can eat like that and look like her (and, by the way, even Tina doesn't eat like all the time!). But I got to thinking that I'm pretty lucky, too. I have to pay close attention to what I eat in order to lose, or even maintain, weight. I know myself well enough to know that if I could eat anything I wanted with no apparent consequences, I absolutely would! Therefore, the majority of the time, I make healthy choices. And because eating anything causes me to gain weight, I have to work out regularly. Again, that makes me healthier than I would be otherwise.
Many years ago my brother injured his back in a skiing accident. He had physical therapy and learned many different exercises he needed to do in order to strengthen his back and keep it from going out and possibly causing permanent damage. He was young, and was bummed that he had these restrictions. I remember overhearing a conversation between Matt and my dad about being disciplined concerning the exercises Matt was reluctant to do. My dad explained that everyone needs to exercise to be healthy, but Matt had added incentive, which was a blessing! Most people who don't have to exercise, don't. And they are less healthy as a result. But Matt had more than just his general health at stake. If he didn't follow through with these exercises he would have serious consequences. I can't speak for my brother as to whether that conversation stuck with him all these years, but it stayed with me. I don't have back problems, but I have issues with my backside, and exercise definitely keeps it in check.
For years exercise was torture and I thought of healthy food as boring and no fun. Then, about four years ago, something changed. I made my workout into "me time" and I actually started looking forward to it each day. Instead of looking at food as entertainment I thought of it as fuel. Sure, I still like to indulge from time to time, but I know the consequences. And most surprisingly, I've found, when I put healthy food in my body, the bad stuff has less of a hold over me. Or, instead of eating the entire piece of chocolate cake, I am happy with just a bite or two.
But all of that is on a good day. I still have days, weeks, months, when I forget how much better I feel when eat right, and I give in to the temptation. I rarely miss my daily workout, but it's so easy to negate all that time and energy with one bad decision. When I was pregnant I let myself eat whatever, whenever, and that continued while I was nursing. That's all done now, and I'm paying the price. But I'm getting back on track and coming to the same conclusion I had before: I feel better on every level when I take care of my body.
As much as I would love to have Tina's metabolism, the fact is that I don't. But I do have the knowledge and power to make healthy choices. I suppose that will have to do.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Mind over Fatter
I had a baby 8 months ago. Well, almost 8 months ago. During my pregnancy I gained just over 40 pounds. Within a week of delivering my precious 8 lb, 5 oz. bundle I had lost about 12 of those pounds. And then...nothing. I worked out every day. No change. I counted the Weight Watchers (nursing) Points. Nada. Over Christmas and New Years I didn't work out and ate my weight in cookies and lefse. The number on the scale stayed the same. At this point I realized it made no difference what I did, the weight wasn't coming off.
"You'll lose it when you're nursing," is a lie. At least for me, it's a lie. At first, as I came to the realization that as long as I was nursing the weight was going to stay, I was upset. I wanted my body back. Not this jiggly balloon version of my body, but the sleeker, firmer version that fit into my jeans. But, I made the decision to nurse until my baby was six months old and then... I realized the freedom that came with that choice. I could eat. I could eat whatever I wanted and it made no difference! Pregnancy had been a free-for-all for me and now I had bought myself a few more months. And once I stopped worrying about it and stopped weighing myself everyday, something amazing started to happen. I stopped hating my body.
Never in my post-puberty life had I not hated my body. Even at my thinnest I had lists of things I would change if I could and I always, always, always had more weight I thought I could lose. But once I realized I couldn't nurse and lose weight, I guess I let go of all the hate. I started thinking about how amazing it was that this body, my body, was feeding my baby. It's really quite miraculous. And as I marveled at that, I began to not just not hate my body, but actually think this ol' bod wasn't so bad. It carried and nursed (for varying lengths of time) three babies. And then, even more amazing, really, is how it's somehow able to keep up with all of them each crazy, hectic day. All that stretching, pulling, pushing, tugging, hefting, bending over, picking up, it's no wonder there's a bit of wear and tear.
Don't get me wrong, I'm done nursing now and I'm all about getting myself back in shape. And that hate has started to creep back in. My well-meaning husband hid the scale so I can't weigh myself everyday. Because I don't know how much I weigh I had started allowing myself to feel better about my body. On the other hand, I tried on my jeans and realized that I still have a loooong way to go. I got up early every morning for a week and did pilates. Feeling better. But when I measured my thigh I had only lost 1/4 of an inch. Hate hate hate.
So, the lesson that I've learned is the more I know about sizes, inches and numbers on scales, the more unhappy I am no matter the progress I have made. But when I don't know my body's stats, I'm able to focus on eating healthy and enjoying my workouts. I've spent so much of my life worried about my weight, but I guess ignorance really is bliss.
"You'll lose it when you're nursing," is a lie. At least for me, it's a lie. At first, as I came to the realization that as long as I was nursing the weight was going to stay, I was upset. I wanted my body back. Not this jiggly balloon version of my body, but the sleeker, firmer version that fit into my jeans. But, I made the decision to nurse until my baby was six months old and then... I realized the freedom that came with that choice. I could eat. I could eat whatever I wanted and it made no difference! Pregnancy had been a free-for-all for me and now I had bought myself a few more months. And once I stopped worrying about it and stopped weighing myself everyday, something amazing started to happen. I stopped hating my body.
Never in my post-puberty life had I not hated my body. Even at my thinnest I had lists of things I would change if I could and I always, always, always had more weight I thought I could lose. But once I realized I couldn't nurse and lose weight, I guess I let go of all the hate. I started thinking about how amazing it was that this body, my body, was feeding my baby. It's really quite miraculous. And as I marveled at that, I began to not just not hate my body, but actually think this ol' bod wasn't so bad. It carried and nursed (for varying lengths of time) three babies. And then, even more amazing, really, is how it's somehow able to keep up with all of them each crazy, hectic day. All that stretching, pulling, pushing, tugging, hefting, bending over, picking up, it's no wonder there's a bit of wear and tear.
Don't get me wrong, I'm done nursing now and I'm all about getting myself back in shape. And that hate has started to creep back in. My well-meaning husband hid the scale so I can't weigh myself everyday. Because I don't know how much I weigh I had started allowing myself to feel better about my body. On the other hand, I tried on my jeans and realized that I still have a loooong way to go. I got up early every morning for a week and did pilates. Feeling better. But when I measured my thigh I had only lost 1/4 of an inch. Hate hate hate.
So, the lesson that I've learned is the more I know about sizes, inches and numbers on scales, the more unhappy I am no matter the progress I have made. But when I don't know my body's stats, I'm able to focus on eating healthy and enjoying my workouts. I've spent so much of my life worried about my weight, but I guess ignorance really is bliss.
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