Back in “the day” we didn’t have graduations from pre-school, elementary school or junior high school.  The first official graduation ceremony was high school and for some of us that was followed by the completion of college. I’m not certain if the increased number of graduation ceremonies for kids today dilutes the importance or impact of the upper class ceremonies or not.  That is a topic for another time. I do know that, at least for me, waiting twelve years to participate in the ritual added to the poignancy of my accomplishment.

I recently attended my niece’s graduation from the University of Maryland.  Sitting in the arena that is usually home to the famous U of M “Terps” basketball team, I was aware of the enormity of the occasion.  Thousands of people were there to witness over a thousand young women and men accept their diplomas.  The crowd noise was deafening. At first the atmosphere felt more like a sporting event than a graduation with people doing THE WAVE, passing beach balls to each other, and cameras flashing like strobe lights all around the stands.

Suddenly, it all changed.  The opening strains of the familiar melody, Pomp and Circumstance, more effective than any coaches’ whistle, quieted the entire gymnasium in an instant. Tissues appeared like clouds, dabbing at tears of joy and pride as the grads began to enter the room.  One by one they marched,  sporting identical caps and gowns, and found their seats on the polished hardwood floor of the center court. It soon became clear that the pomp and circumstance surrounding the ritual was not limited to that melody recognizable to all of us from every Bugs Bunny cartoon and Donna Reed episode we had watched during our own childhood. The pomp was interwoven throughout every aspect of the ceremony.  It was present in the grandeur of the procession, the solemnity of the handshake, the presenting of the scroll and of course the tradition and uniformity of the caps and gowns.

I watched the proceedings and listened to the key note speakers eloquently congratulate the students.  I scoured the sea of fabric and tassels beneath me looking for a sign of my niece. Then I remembered what makes graduations different from many other societal rituals and rites of passage. There is a duality inherent in a graduation ceremony.  We come together to formalize the completion of absorbing and demonstrating a grasp of a required body of knowledge. The graduation symbolizes our abilities to accomplish a set of uniform standards.  This thrusts us into a club that is made up entirely of members who have attained the same goal.  And yet, at the same time we are celebrating uniformity we are also acknowledging each student’s individuality and unique accomplishments.

I caught a glimpse of Stephanie and my “Auntie heart” jumped.  I grabbed my tissues as the tears started rolling down my face.  There she was part of a community that was celebrating everything they had in common AND everything that made them unique.  As each name was called people cheered and I welcomed the feeling of good fortune that had me there witnessing this moment.  I felt peaceful and calm and suddenly realized that I also felt relief…not that my niece had passed through all of the academic hoops and challenges…I never doubted that. No, I was relieved that for a brief moment in the world the focus of a ceremony was on the absorption of a body of knowledge instead of on the bodies of the students.

True, there were lovely attempts made by some of the grads to assert their individuality via decorating their caps or wearing flashy footwear, making them easier to spot in the crowd for their relatives and friends.  But more delicious was that the emphasis was on the student’s accomplishments and NOT their appearance.  I felt a deep appreciation for tradition and ritual in that moment.  It was as if all of the students were clad in an academic burqa. There was no temptation to scan, judge or criticize these soon to be college graduates.  And as they flipped their tassels, in unison from right to left, people were actually commenting on WHAT the student did and not how fat or thin they looked in their regalia.  It was a beautiful thing.  Now if only we could take that perspective out into the world as these young women and men continue to pursue knowledge and follow their passions, that would be a beautiful thing…tissues anyone? 

Now there’s a helluva word. 

Think about it…how could one itty bitty word elicit such a broad spectrum of feelings, images, and associations?

Throwing a fit

If the shoe fits

Misfit

The perfect fit

Fit for life

Fit to stand trial

When I worked in an inpatient psychiatric hospital for adolescents, one of the Expressive Arts Therapy activities I led was to have my patients free associate on the word fit and then choose one event from their list to explore. Without fail, the material generated from this directive was deep, rich, and expansive.

In the scenarios that emerged few, if any, were neutral in nature.  There is no middle ground about throwing a fit or not fitting in.  We are either fit or unfit for duty, a 1A or a 4F.  From the time we are aware of others around us we are praised for fitting in and criticized for not fitting in.  Redheads don’t fit in, tomboys don’t fit in, boys that cry or are too short don’t fit in.  I’m sure I’m not the only person who has had:

• Dressing room fits while on a quest for the perfect outfit

• Worked with her child to find a perfect fit college

• Became fit to be tied by the enormity of my to do list

But nowhere is the doctrine of having to fit in more oligarchic than in the context of women’s bodies.

I received an email this week from a patient I worked with years ago that made an enormous impact on me.  (She found me via Facebook, which brings up a topic for another time about how social networking effects patient therapist closure etc.).  I’m not sure if she was in one of the groups where we did the “fit” activity, but her letter got me thinking about the whole “fit thing” once again.  I asked her if I could share a portion of her email in my blog assuring that her identity would remain anonymous and she said, “Yes.”

“…It’s been many years since I worked with you as my therapist in the hospital and the work we did helped me alot.  I changed alot of my bad attitude about my body and don’t get depressed as much.  The recreation activities we did helped me like my body more and I like doing more active things now than I used to.  I even think my eating is more normal I know I don’t binge like I used to and I am much thinner than I was when you knew me. I lost 45 pounds! But the problem is that other people still see me as fat. They don’t know that for me this is thin or thinner.  It makes me want to diet so they will like the way I look more.  I found your web page on Facebook and it made me feel better to know that I can be healthy at this weight. (I am 5’4 and weigh 150 pounds) But I still feel like I don’t fit  in. It’s hard for me to like myself when everyone around me thinks I’m too fat.”

Let’s be clear.  I read mountains of material on fatness and fitness and feelings.  I am used to reading endless disparaging comments about fat people by people who hate fat people or are truly worried about a loved ones’ health that they believe is jeopardized by their weight.  In fact, I recently received a comment  that kindly informed me that,

“You are doing a disservice to fat people by giving them the excuse to stay fat which comes with the tacit approval of being unhealthy.  How can you say you really care about someone’s health if you don’t encourage them to lose weight?”

Those kind of comments usually elicit a weary sigh and a response that I call “D3 on the juke box,” as I explain the Health at Every Size® perspective and that the war on obesity is causing more harm than good. But the personal perspective of my former patient’s note struck a different chord in me.  I felt angry and sad on her behalf and it elicited a flurry of questions.

•  How do we hold on to the benefits of adopting a HAES approach if loving yourself continues to be undermined everywhere you go?

• How do we strengthen our commitment to finding our healthy weight when the criticism we receive about how we look activates the urge to sign up for a diet program offering pre-packaged foods not fit for human consumption.

• Why do people keep insisting that even if we are healthy we still need to “just lose the weight” because we don’t fit the image of a healthy thin person?

• And why the hell does everyone on the planet all of a sudden seem to care about my weight anyway?  (Sorry, had a little s*#t fit there)

It saddens me that fitting in is so important in our culture that we often adopt self-destructive behaviors to feel included.  Pressure from peers, parents, and the media starts at an early age and continues relentlessly as we get older and often results in habits that become increasingly challenging to change. Negative thoughts and self-loathing are perhaps the most difficult habits to break because the standards of beauty and health that we are expected to attain are so extreme it makes it impossible for many of us to appreciate our strengths. Think about it…we get perpetual positive reinforcement for NOT LOVING ourselves!

I realize that answering the questions I raised, is an ongoing, complex process for all of us and the writings of one zaftig, redheaded blogger isn’t going to change the world. BUT,  one thing I am certain of is Virgie Tovar was correct

We could all stand to lose a little hate.

We have more of a hate problem than a weight problem in this culture.

We need to spend some time focusing on what is working not on what isn’t and find new ways to look at health and wellness goals, standards, and measurements.  Lets find  ways to help people understand the concept of body diversity and that some of us can be fit as a fiddle and can’t fit into a size 6 dress.  I love this quote by Rollo May,

“The opposite of courage in our society is not cowardice it is conformity.”

I agree.  I am  hoping my former patient can be Very Very Brave.

My mom hated her body. I knew it at a very young age. I didn’t understand it.

I loved my mom’s body. Not just for all of the reasons that so many of us write about e.g. the enveloping arms, and squishy soft pillows of comfort offered for snuggles and consoling. I loved my mom’s body because I saw it as constant, immortal, forever there and always accessible. Her size and shape had nothing to do with my love for her body. My love was about attachment. My love was about unconditional availability. My love was without eyes or judgment.

So when I heard my mom complaining about her butt and thighs I was bothered.

When I heard my mom crying in the bathroom and I’d peek in and see her looking in the mirror I was bewildered.

When I saw her picking out the combination of blue and red capsules from the little white boxes that Dr. Newman and Dr. Wortman used to give her, I was…

(Ooh, this is being to sound like a Rogers and Hart Song…Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered was I!)

Actually, I was scared. I didn’t understand the pills, the tears, the self-directed hatred. It was incongruent with my experience of loving her so much. Like a puzzle missing a piece.

My mom wore army boots.  Literally…she wore army boots. She wore overalls, army boots, and she was years before her time. She sent my sister and me to school with backpacks way before they were popular. We hated her for it. We wanted pretty little book bags, we got army surplus back packs. We were the coolest, later on, in the sixties, but by then we were used to feeling just a tad ashamed of Mom’s eccentricities.

My mom died when I was 13 of Leukemia. She got sick in October, 1969 and died two months later. By then I had adopted her body hate as my own. I had incorporated her habits of crying over the bathroom scale, wearing big cover up clothing and being embarrassed about my body. I too was taking pills, albeit, they were illegally obtained and had little crosses on them. I had inherited some wonderful qualities from my mother but they were totally eclipsed by the negative genetic legacy she passed on to me.

At the age of 15, I had grown to hate my Mom’s body because it became my body. I inherited her shortness, her roundness and sturdiness. I had not been given any examples of how to love my body. I grew up brainwashed by the message that this was a body to despise. I was TAUGHT to hate my body and my mom’s body. But what I came to realize years later is that what I really hated was the abandonment of that precious body when she died. The betrayal, and the reality that this wonderful Mommy Body was gone forever…well, it was  easier to hate my thighs and butt than to really grieve the loss.

My mom died when she was 52.  When I turned 52, I opened up a box of…trinkets, cards and clothing that I had saved from my mom…Mom-ories.  In the box were the overalls that she used to wear. They had embroidered flowers on the bib, and white lace stitched on to the legs. They were kind of girly-girl in a way. They were, I realized for the first time, a size 12.  My mom suffered a life time of self-loathing as a size twelve. I put them on, they fit just right.

I looked in the mirror and grinned, I looked adorable! Like a 52 year old Pippi Longstocking! I stood there and cry-ulled, (you know that crying and smiling at the same time thing that we do when both emotions are equally as powerful and you have to call it a tie?)

I allowed myself to love my mom’s and my body, for the two of us, as fervently as I could. I wore those overalls most of the day until I went out for my birthday dinner. (My mom would have worn them into Chez Panisse, or French Laundry, but I wasn’t that brave!) Still I carried my mom to dinner with me that night, in my thighs, my butt, my belly and my heart.

It’s Mother’s Day. It’s my first Mother’s Day without my child at home. He is a college freshman 3,000 miles away yet dutifully “CAWLED HIS MUTHUH.”  Our conversation meandered effortlessly from topic to topic, giggles, tears, politics, and school. We are very close, very chatty and unashamed to acknowledge how much we love each other.

I inherited that quality from my mom. My son knows that I am constant, forever there, and always accessible. My size and shape have nothing to do with our relationship.  He loves me without eyes or judgment.

And more importantly, I feel the same way about him. I will light a Mom-orial candle today for my mom and make a wish that we can all embrace ourselves and each other with love and acceptance.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Reading the comment section, however, made it clear that there is little debate over the existence of a powerful disdain towards fat people in this country.

Stock down.

The following night, PBS aired a segment on NEWSHOUR where Senior Correspondent Ray Suarez looked at how the increasing number of obese people in America is resulting in skyrocketing costs of everything from healthcare to transportation.  The message couldn’t have been clearer, fat people are stealing our money and they need to stop being fat.

Stock way way down.

But then Dr. Pattie Thomas a renown Psychologist, HAES advocate, and writer for Psychology Today wrote this enlightening piece on the Risks of Obesity:  Financial Cost/Benefit Analysis and once again my portfolio was brighter!

Next came North Carolina’s decision re: disallowing same gender marriage and I was thrust into my own personal Great Depression. Honestly, civil rights are theoretically supposed to protect all of us, all shapes and sizes, all genders and religions. How could there be such overwhelming support for a law that blatantly discriminates against a segment of the American public?  But then…just like that…my radio became the bearer of beautiful news!  President Obama publicly announced his agreement with Joe Biden’s statement earlier in the week and came out  in favor of same gender marriage.  It was an affirmation of one of the basic principles that America was founded on and despite a potential political risk, Obama firmly made his position clear as clear could be.

Stocks up!

But lest I get too complacent, there is an anti-obesity campaign about to be launched by HBO on May 14th and 15th that consists of four full length films, 12 short films, a website and a book.  It was produced in collaboration with the Institute of Medicine (IOM), the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), and the National Institutes of Health (NIH). It’s title, Weight of the Nation, accurately describes the feeling I had in my heart as I read a description of what the American people are about to have foisted on them.

“…one of the most far-reaching public health campaigns to date on obesity.”

The fear mongering in their P.R. is tangible with warnings that we all need to learn more about the,

“…impact that obesity is having on the health, well-being, and future of our nation,”

and I could feel that part of me starting to sink under the weight of the notion that obesity is a disease that is going to bring this nation down more quickly and more decisively than anything in any foreign power’s arsenal.

Luckily, the Association of Size Diversity and Health (ASDAH) were on it…quickly and vehemently with the following  response:

“ASDAH is concerned that instead, we may be seeing one of the most misleading and misguided public health campaigns – ever.”

And they didn’t stop there.  ASDAH has launched a section on their website specifically devoted to the Weight Debate:  Their hope is that,

“You will take a moment to review our response via the links provided and think through some of the claims the documentary is making.  Please don’t take our word for it.  We only ask that you examine the science that shows that weight loss approaches are not only ineffective but harmful.  Examine your conscience, and ask yourself whether continuing the anti-obesity rhetoric embodied in this documentary is the best way to promote health.  We invite you to familiarize yourself with the resources on our website to learn more about the Health At Every Size® approach that offers a compassionate and sustainable approach to health promotion.”

But weight…there’s more!  In the blog section of ASDAH’s website, which I am proud to say I moderate, Dr. Deb Burgard provides a “viewer’s guide ” to help you maintain sanity points and Fall Ferguson, JD, M.A.,  presents reasons to be concerned about the approach that WOTN is using to reach its audience and the message they are delivering.

I know there are those who are questioning why this is so important to me and who may be feeling that I am nonchalant about issues related to health.  I have been told that my pro Health at Every Size® stance is just an excuse for staying overweight because I am too lazy to do anything about it.

“If you were thin, you wouldn’t feel this way!”

Even if those accusations were true, my response to the way obesity and those labeled obese is being demonized in our society would not waver. This is an equal rights issue.  This is a pro-choice issue.  This is about civil rights.  In an article written by Paul Campos last year he discussed how sometimes even the most politically liberal people still can not get past their prejudice towards fat people.  If your position about obesity is based on concern for our health or presumed financial burden on society, I just ask you to read more than the one side of the story that you are being told over and over and over.  Then, just as you would for an election, make your decision based on being informed.

For those of us who face discrimination, bullying, rudeness and marginalization based on our bodies we need to brace ourselves for what may be a windstorm of hatred and disdain coming our way.  I am hoping that we can be strong and engage in the debate. In order to do that, we need to educate ourselves with accurate facts.

Please read the articles on the ASDAH website and find other sources of information.  I have some listed on my website.  These resources will help you navigate through what is certain to be a test of our HAES resolve and our ability to deflect the onslaught of what may be a new wave of contempt towards people based on  body size alone.  And who knows, we may change some minds in the process.

Stocks up!

Our bodies are miraculous.  They give us the capacity to touch…and only for such a relatively short time.  My brother-in-law was only 65.  And for the few troll-y folks out there who read my blog and constantly question my assertion that fat does not always=unhealthy, no…he was not fat, so you will have to get your data elsewhere.

He was someone whose body provided warmth and comfort to his wife and tickles to his grandchildren.  His hands were magical and his wood working projects will be around for years to come.  His arms hugged his family with a strength that was invincible and nurtured them without hesitation.

What does your body do?  What does your body allow you to provide for the loved ones in your life?  There is NOT enough time for us to waste it away hating ourselves for what our bodies look like. Really…think about it.

Perhaps it is a coincidence, perhaps it is because I called my mother, Ma, but the first two letters of the month reminds me that MAy brings us Mother’s Day.  Despite the fact that some folks tout this as a shameless commercial “Hallmark” opportunity for selling cards and gifts, others experience it as a more poignant day; ripe with meaning and fertile ground for insight and expression.  For people working on issues related to food and body image, the connections between mothering, nourishment, nurturing and the female body are easily accessible during this time.  You don’t have to be Freud or even Freudian to understand that looking at our earliest associations with food, love, and self-soothing MAY provide us with valuable information about our current relationship with food and our bodies. 

Our mothers are frequently the first reflection we have about the importance and meaning of food and our bodies.  Powerful role models, we choose to either emulate them or rebel, consciously or unconsciously.  How we integrate the messages we received from our moms impacts our behaviors and self-image long after we have left the nest.  Last year, for Mother’s Day, I wrote a piece about how my mom’s hatred for her body shaped my feelings about my body shape. (Here’s the link if you would like to read that post).  But this year I would like to write about a different aspect of mothering.

Whether or not we have any kids of our own, we are all still mothers to ourselves each and every day.  As adults, we have the honor, challenge, and awesome responsibility of taking care of ourselves and must learn how to discern between the positive mothering skills we learned from our mothers and those less beneficial to our physical and emotional health.  This MAY be an opportunity to do some spring cleaning and discard some less healthful behaviors, beliefs, or habits while showing gratitude for the ones that are enriching our lives. This isn’t always easy to do, especially if prone to guilt. 

“How can I reject my mother???”  “If I do it differently from my mother what does that say about how I feel about my mother?”  “I would like to take three giant steps please!  Ack!  I didn’t say, “Mother may I?* I have to go back to the starting line!”

*(For those of you too young to remember this game it was similar to Simon Says, in that you had to ask permission to move forward.  And if you got almost all the way to the finish line and forgot to ask, “Mother may I?” you had to go all the way back to the starting line.  Kind of like having to start back on Level one in Welder.** No room for error. All or nothing.)

**(For those of you too old to know Welder, it is …ah, never mind!)

 But remember, there are numerous mothering styles, ranging from overly detached (othering) to overly enmeshed or (smothering). Consciously choosing a different style than our mothers used when we were growing up is not necessarily disrespectful nor does it diminish the loving intentions that hopefully accompanied their actions. We MAY choose to let go of some aspects of how we were mothered and keep others. (I will resist all temptation to make a pun about being my mother’s keeper.)

In thinking about my mom, there is no doubt that food was a large part of how she mothered me.  Her hands patting my head were indistinguishable from the sweet creamy farina I was eating when home from school with a fever.  Her arms around my waist held me like the cone held the ice cream I was lapping away at, as I snuggled on her lap and celebrated my birthday.  Food was an extension of her love and a language she was fluent in.  Was she the perfect mother?  No.  Was she the worst?  No.  Did I learn from my experience? 

No doubt. 

I have learned that it is never too late to learn how to be a good mom to myself and learn positive ways to take care of my body, mind, and spirit.

I have learned that in order to be a good mom to myself it is imperative to provide a supportive, nurturing and accepting environment for growth and sustenance.

I have learned that one of the negative outcomes of our diet obsessed culture is what a bad rap emotional eating has gotten from the dieting industry.  In the spirit of restriction and in the name of health and self-control, we are told that if we EVER eat when we are NOT hungry and eat to self sooth or celebrate, that somehow we have failed in our quests to attain the perfect body and achieve that coveted, detached and apathetic relationship with food.  But we are human.  And from the very start our experiences with food are intertwined with love and emotions, sad and joyous occasions.  To place a completely negative value judgment on eating for those emotional reasons is cognitively dissonant from what we have grown up with.

But unlike my mom, I consider myself bilingual in the language of food and love.  I have adopted a more mindful relationship with eating that helps me understand the difference between hunger, appetite and satiety and doesn’t exclude any one category out of fear. I have taught myself that self-acceptance, health, and self-worth are NOT based on being thin enough, or weighing a certain amount or using our body as a way to garner acceptance and approval from others.   It hasn’t been easy but I have had to learn how to trust myself with food instead of adopting punitive restrictive diet plans and extreme doctrines that call for an all or nothing approach.  These interventions inevitably set us up for bingeing and self loathing.  Our bodies and brains become the arena for the war between the “loving mom” who gives us permission to eat our fill and the nagging punitive mom hollering, “YOU DIDN’T SAY MOTHER MAY I!!!!” 

I am not sure what my son, now in his 20’s, would say about my mothering skills.  He doesn’t read my blog.  I will guilt trip him about that later.  But I try my best to be a good mom to him and to me and that means putting my beliefs of what makes a good mom into action.

I believe a good mom:

• Accepts their child for who they are.  They reinforce the strengths of the child, teach them how to be safe, and try to reshape and dissuade them from self-destructive or hurtful habits and behaviors.
• Teaches and role models tolerance and acceptance of diversity in others.
• Realizes that a child must be nurtured, nourished, loved and taught how to love and nourish themselves in the absence of the mom.
• Realizes that there is a middle ground.  That no one is all good or all bad. And if you make a mistake you don’t have to go all the way back to level one. 

Hallmark Opportunity???  Maybe.  But if that is what it takes to honor ourselves with a Mother’s Day gift of self-care, self-acceptance and gratitude for what good moms we are and are becoming then Happy Mother’s Day!!!

And yes, you may take as many steps as you’d like!  

There seems to be an unspoken rule that it is perfectly okay for people to comment on other people’s bodies.  And I am not referring just to the behind the back conspiratorial comments frequently accompanied by a wink wink nudge nudge to a nearby co-commenter.  I am not even talking about the never-ending stream of body comments in the tabloids.  I am talking about face to face full body slamming contact commenting by strangers who feel perfectly justified in walking up to someone and letting them know that they are fat.  A public service announcement of immense proportions doled out as if I had been living my life under a rock.

 “No, really???  Me??? Why, I hadn’t noticed!  Thanks for telling me that…now I will fix it and my whole life will be better and all because of you!”

“Oh wait, don’t leave, how in the world shall I repay you?”

And then there are those who are more specific in their assault as they single out a particular body part that they find offensive or distasteful.

“Wow, you’d be such a babe if you lost some of that fat around your middle.”

To which the thought that inevitably crosses my mind is,

“I’m sorry…but have we met????”

Perhaps it’s not even the incidents involving strangers that are really the most egregious though.  What about the times when you are with someone and you feel safe, loved, and sexy?  Someone with whom you have shared intimate moments with…sans clothes…who suddenly finds it vital to inquire whether or not you have considered losing some weight in order to be really beautiful?  Talk about a buzz kill!!!

Did I miss the amendment to the etiquette constitution that afforded people the right to give their unsolicited opinion about my body?

Where are the filters between thought and speech that most of us were taught growing up?  You know the ones:

• Think before you speak.
• If you don’t have something nice to say, just don’t say it.
• Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

I can’t remember ever going up to someone and saying,

“Wow, you’d be great if you just dyed your hair a different color or grew six inches.”

(Apply that last one anywhere you’d like! )

Lately, there has been an avalanche of news stories about bullying.  Most of the attention has been focused on situations involving race, sexual orientation, or religion and include tips for intervening and explaining how most bullies were abused and are perpetuating the abuse cycle with their own bullying behaviors.  The victims are offered support as well and are being counseled to speak up and not suffer in silence.  Schools and workplaces are implementing zero tolerance policies along with both proactive and consequential strategies to eliminate bullying cultures.  And I applaud this trend whole-heartedly.

But what about the situations where the targets are fat?  When the targets are fat, the advice is almost certain to be,

“Just lose the weight and then you won’t be a target.”

“You are just asking for it by not losing weight.”

“The best revenge will be getting thin, that will show him!”

These attitudes are insidious in a variety of ways but one of the most destructive is that it implies that there is nothing wrong with shaming a person for being fatter than the bully’s definition of what is NOT too fat. And because many fat people already feel like failures in the diet game, we don’t feel it is our right to stand up to the perpetrator; instead a common inner monologue goes something like this:

“Guilty as charged!  I am fat and deserve to be admonished for my crime against society.  I am an eyesore in your world and if I walk out in public it means I have checked the box indicating that I accept the terms of agreement for users of the streets.”

And so I continue on my quest and ask the same QUEST(ion) I have been asking for so many years and no one has been able to answer.

“Why do we hate people just because they are fat?”

Chris Reid recently wrote a piece about respecting fat people in the Huffington Post and while it didn’t bring me any closer to the answer to my QUEST(ion) I found it a refreshing reminder about manners.  Granted, it isn’t a perfect article but I for one am hungry for any public proclamation that calls for people to examine their prejudices and change their hateful points of view and actions.  Mr. Reid appropriately directs people to examine their bias against fat people and own up to their inner bully.  Reid does not exclude himself from having to go through this inner spring cleaning process as well, but the article assumes two things:

1.  People are capable of that level of insight and

2.  That insight leads to a change of behavior.

Those are assumptions that I find difficult to have faith in at times, but, if I didn’t believe in change of that magnitude, I would have thrown my therapist towel into the ring years ago.  The gear shifting step from internal attitudinal change to external behavioral change is huuuuuuge, necessary and not easy.  Once we admit that it is wrong to judge people based on their bodies and even “more wrong” to feel entitled to verbalize those opinions, we need to learn to speak up.  I know, I know, that sounds contradictory…learn when not to speak and then learn to speak up, but think back and remember when we were learning what words we could and could not use in front of our grandmother and trust that we still have that skill set! Whether we are the victim, a reformed perpetrator, or the witness of fat bashing it is our responsibility to cultivate our own constant comments that tell ourselves or others,

“If you think you are helping, you are not.”

“Why are you so mean?”

“Have you considered another point of view?”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

Or if all else fails there is always the question about that six inches…

Passover Seders will kick into gear this Friday and while the diversity of rituals is extensive, one common thread is singing the Dayenu song.  Dayenu, loosely translated means, “It would have sufficed, or it would have been enough.”  Rarely do we take time to check in with our lives and see what is working, what is good enough, and what is positive.  Too frequently we focus on what is left to be done, what is missing what is not o.k. and obsess on fixing what we perceive as being broken.

Whether you are celebrating Easter or Passover or nothing at all, consider taking time this week to acknowledge and appreciate the things about you that are good enough, o.k. wonderful, smart, funny, quirky, all of the things that make you YOU.  And know that without you, this world would be a less unique and wonderful place.  That is not egotistical, that is not bragging that is just fact.

I will be taking a bit of a blogger vacation but would like to leave you with the blog I wrote last year for Passover.  I hope it gives you a chuckle and a moment of feeling, “I’m not the only one.”  I also want to appreciate my readers, whether you comment on “Dr. Deah’s Tasty Morsels” or not, for taking time from what are certain to be extraordinarily busy lives, to “visit” with me once in awhile.

Dayenu 

Passover is one of the many Jewish Holidays that is celebrated with a ritual feast. A feast filled with symbolic foods and a prescribed schedule for when to eat which foods.  Depending upon how observant the participants are, there is a wide range of recipes for the ritual readings at a Passover Seder. Some read from ancient texts, others from more progressive versions. Some are tailored for passionate political discussion, others for children with short attention spans.  Despite the diversity of the Seder itself, there are at least three specific commonalities adhered to by the most liberal and orthodox Jewish celebrants.

There is no leavening used in any of the meals, there are at least four cups of wine, and when it is time to eat, there are no restrictions on how much you can eat.

As a kid growing up, dieting and caloric restrictions were an everyday part of my life. I was surrounded by dieters. The youngest of three girls, my two older sisters always dieted and both of my parents did as well.  The diets never really seemed to work, none of us were thin.  My mother often chortled, “Imagine how fat we would all be if we didn’t diet?”  And of course I believed her and followed suit.

Many young girls that diet wind up becoming sneak eaters and I was no different. Because we are forced to satisfy our hunger and cravings privately, we develop the notion that we are beasts with insatiable appetites.  Our appetite for food is freakish and our need to satiate this hunger is so strong we must adopt furtive methods of feeding that monster.  It is a double bind.  We feel weak in our inability to resist the urges to eat the “bad” food and yet the part of us that is demanding the food is a formidable foe of great strength and power.  We are split and fractured around food.

Passover and other food centric holidays present a double bind for people already struggling with feelings about how and what they eat, how and what they don’t eat and how and what they would like to eat if they were allowed to eat how and what they wanted to eat.

I KNOW YOU HAVE TO READ THAT SENTENCE AGAIN…BUT TRUST ME IT MAKES SENSE AND PUNCTUATION WOULD ONLY DIMINISH THE LOGIC!

The Double Bind of Feasts as Rituals

The week before The Seder, we obsessed over what to wear. An unsanctioned but equally predictable ritual of Passover was: 

The Body Scan; everyone checking you out to see how you “measured up” to the last time you were all together.  In my family, despite the fact that very few of us were thin, there was still a hierarchy within the ranks that clearly labeled the “Always Thin” relatives as the better ones. The praise and attention was lavished on them. The jealousy dripped like honey.

Then there were the “Always Fats.”  They were already “fats de complis.” They would always be fat and that was that, those poor people.

“Newly Thins” were the ones I envied the most.  The attention they received, the fawning, the exclamations of, “How did you do it? You look amazing!” They were the stars of the night. Somehow they had conquered the beast, they had become successful.

Conversely, the lowest caste of the crew was reserved for the “YO YO’s,” those who had lost but gained their weight back plus more. The tsks tsks and cluck clucks of the tongues, the subtle shakes of the heads, the implied message of, “If I had lost that weight I would have kept it off,”… or more blatantly, “I knew she or he couldn’t do it.” They were the ones my heart ached for and the club I dreaded ever joining. (Of course I was in and out of that club numerous times until I realized that it was the dieting that was creating the largest part of my problem).

So I would go to Seders ready for my “close ups Mr. De Mille,” and often encased in tight body control top pantyhose literally binding my belly. But the second bind of the double bind was not far away.  After the reading of the ritual story of Passover, the feast would commence. Places everyone!  But wait!  It was as if they had replaced the cast with all new people and all new scripts.

All of a sudden size or weight was inconsequential.  There was a resounding chorus of, “Eat eat!” And, “Have more, what you don’t like my matzo balls?  This is no time to diet, this is Passover, forget about it for just one night, you look fine!”  And for the next couple of hours I felt normal. I felt happy. I felt I could eat with abandon and enjoyment. I could savor the pleasure of food, slowly, languidly and not worry whether I was leaving crumbs behind like a guilty Gretel who subconsciously wanted to get caught eating Ring Dings in her bedroom.

I didn’t feel insatiable, or monstrous.

Why is this night different from all other nights?

Because on this night I’m allowed to eat my fill in public, without guilt, with enjoyment and with self-acceptance.

I won’t give my power over to the scale.

I won’t give my power over to the fashion magazines.

I won’t give my power over to bullies.

I won’t give my power over to my upcoming high school reunion…well you get the idea.

Changing patterns that have been ingrained and reinforced for years often entails looking back and assessing the habits, routines and assumptions that have accompanied us throughout our lives.  This can be painful as we review times we may not want to remember or remember times that we thought were long forgotten.  It may trigger feelings of remorse about what we perceive as regrettable decisions or missed opportunities.  And it certainly can re-activate feelings of self blame and self doubt.

When I think back on when I first started hating my body and turned to dieting as the only way I would ever be considered good enough, I want to apologize to the 9 year old Deah in the photograph quizzically asking, “You thought I was fat???”  And she is right.  I wasn’t fat.  How many of us look back at old photographs and wistfully say, “I wish I looked like that now,” or regret that when we were thin we didn’t enjoy it because we were too busy trying to get thinner?

Well even in those remarks, we are not embracing ourselves as we are now.   We are replicating the same attitudinal pattern we are examining as being unhealthy.  And if history is a good indicator and attitudinal changes are not made, ten years from now I will feel sad that I wasn’t appreciating myself for who I am today!

“If I had just kept exercising, if I had just stayed on that diet, if I had just…” All of those thoughts take us out of appreciating and acknowledging who we are now and how much we are doing towards establishing and maintaining physical and emotional healthy life choices.

I look at my old photos now and wonder what if I had told that young girl she was fine the way she was and directed my anger towards the people who were bullying her for not being model material for the cover of Seventeen Magazine?  But even in that reaction there is self blame.  I am blaming myself for internalizing the words and opinions of others and not being savvy enough to fight back.  I am blaming myself for not doing something that I was too young to know I could do.  I am reproaching myself for being too young to believe that my opinion mattered more than those of the authority figures that were giving me those messages.

I knew their words hurt; I didn’t know they were wrong.

I knew their words hurt; I assumed I was wrong.

Please, read those statements again.

I knew their words hurt; I didn’t know they were wrong.

I knew their words hurt; I assumed I was wrong.

If we replaced the topic of those thoughts with any other type of criticism or degrading behavior other than being told I was fat, there would be an outcry and charges of abuse  and bullying.  But in the arena of fat there is still a tendency to blame the victim and not reprimand the bully.  Some of it is excused by concern for the child’s health and comes accompanied by a doctor’s note warning us of the childhood obesity crisis, other times it is ignored because of a deeply rooted stigma and prejudice directed towards fat people in our society.  Those are now active arenas for the size activist and Health at Every Size® movements and becoming active in fighting discrimination can be quite empowering.  But not all of us are cut out to be social activists and that is okay.   We are, however, able to be self-activists and tackle the power struggle going on in our own internal world.  The one arena where we can make change and have total control is in our own self-worth and self-acceptance.  We don’t have to wait for anyone’s permission to forgive ourselves for what we did or didn’t do in the past.  We can start today to appreciate who we are and value the body we have.  We can help our kids to accept and appreciate body diversity in themselves and others.  It’s a whole different kind of power trip and I for one am enjoying the ride. 

Did you know that Dr. Deah’s Tasty Morsels was acknowledged for being number 4 in the top 50 self acceptance bloggers? 

Thanks to all of my readers for your support and input!

I’ve written about it several times, my favorite renditions being Please Hold which gives a glimpse into my experience with learning to manage my wait.  And again in Spare Change where I discuss a former a patient’s “aha” moment of leaving the waiting room and moving forward with her life.

But as a baby boomer, I have become acutely aware of my aging process.  This has been a slow revelation because there seems to be a glitch in the time space continuum.  I can’t explain it, but I know it is there.  For some inexplicable reason, (where is Carl Sagan when you need him?) the generation ahead of me and the one behind me are all getting older.  In my son’s case, like some real life version of the song Circle Game, the years have indeed flown by and now MY boy is twenty. My dad is firmly planted in his 80’s and I haven’t aged a day since college.  Unfortunately my body doesn’t always agree with my perception and has ways of telling me that I am not getting or staying any younger and that time, indeed, waits for no one. Well, if time isn’t waiting for me, then I am no longer willing to squander this opportunity to live my life fully and without apology.

Clearly, I need to lose some wait.

I know I am not writing about anything ground breaking or especially profound but I feel compelled to remind people that it is time to take your wait problem seriously.

Why now?

Frequently we establish these waiting patterns early in our lives when we are more impressionable to other’s feedback and more invested in pleasing those around us.  If we get the message that we don’t look good enough or are too fat to go swimming, scuba dive, dance, date, travel, or express our sexuality, then frequently we begin our “bucket” list of what we will do when we are acceptable and permitted to dive into new experiences.  Even if we were daring non-conformists in our youth, we may have been chastised for our audacity leaving us embarrassed and resulting in squelching any future attempts to try new things until certain no one will laugh at or admonish us for crossing the line.

But as we grow older we tend to let go of some of our concerns about how others see us and gain some insight that even if we manage to attain that perfect size or number on the scale we will never look like the models in the magazines; who by now are half our age.  There is a freedom in aging that many people write about and that I didn’t believe until I turned 50 and adopted the motto,“f*#k you I’m 50!”  Honestly after half of a century of living, does someone have the power to dictate what I can or cannot do because of what I look like? More importantly, why do I give others that much power over what I do and how I feel about my body? I know this sounds easy, and it isn’t.  It takes practice, it takes courage, and it takes WILL power.

Why now?

Why not now?  Seriously, when was the last time you took an inventory of your belief system?  How much of the waiting is habitual at this point?  What would happen if you took a quiet moment to reflect on the things you have wanted to do in your life that you wouldn’t let yourself do because of your negative body image and see if they still interest you?  Some may be old and no longer seductive, others may be newer additions that just fell into the instinctual knee- (or no) jerk reaction.  As you review your waiting list, consider whose voice it is telling you that those things are off-limits.  Look at the situation from the present moment; in the here and now.  Are the risks still as scary as they once were?  Are you still willing to deprive yourself? I found that the voice telling me to wait had no real power over whether or not I chose to listen to the other voice that was beseeching me to stop waiting for a time that may never present itself.

It’s too bad in some ways that it took me as long as it did and I’m certainly not going to beat myself up for not having done this sooner.  I wish things in our culture were less stigmatizing and shaming towards those who do not fit into the narrow definition of beauty.  There would be so many juicier lives being led and fewer people obsessing about their weight and dieting.  But whatever age you may be, I ask you to consider walking out of the waiting room and making arrangements to fulfill some of your dreams, wishes, and goals.  If it’s too scary to go it alone, there may be someone who has been waiting to find someone else who was ready to stop waiting!  You never know…the important point is that you get moving…now.  Small mindful steps are better than no steps. And remember that you, not Jenny Craig or Jean Nidetch are in charge of your Wait Management Program.

So…what are you waiting for?