on Body Image--and why I write about it.

It's National Eating Disorders Awareness Week (February 24-March 2). Because of that, there's some great literature on the internet this week, including this piece by Kate Fridkis which I read on Huff Post Women this morning and inspired me to write what follows...



I write about body image because "How can I know what I think until I see what I say."*

I write about body image because I hardly ever feel beautiful, but know that I am. 

I write about body image because beauty is an alienating thing--a terribly lonely thing--belonging not to the the person in possession of it, but to all those with the eyes to behold it.  

I write about body image because at the age of nineteen, heartbroken and homesick and absolutely out-of-my-depth, I learned what a calorie was. 

And I followed a false god home. 

I write about body image because it took five minutes in front of a mirror to reshape how I perceived my own body. Not thin, fat. 

Fat, now. 

I write about body image because the body is flesh and bones and tangible in a way that everything else is not. 

I write about body image because it's easier to think a man doesn't like me because-of-what-I-look-like than to hang in the gray space of the-infinite-uknonwn. But why, why doesn't he like me?

And I'm not good at the gray space.

I write about body image because body-image sometimes seems like a life-raft worth clinging to in the choppy waters of this impossible sea we call life.

It isn't.

I write about body image because for many, many years when I would feel too much, I would eat too much, just to sleep, a little. And then, to feel nothing, if only for a moment.

I write about body image because some days it is absolutely unbearable to live in my skin. And I think I cannot endure this sensation a moment longer. And I know it has nothing do with my physical body...yet it feels like it does. 

I write about body image because for a long time it was easier to hate my thighs and my hips than admit I really did not like myself.

I write about body image because it is the prism through which we, as women, see and talk about the world.

We talk about wanting to look this way or that way, when (I'm convinced), what we really want is love and acceptance and life-alteringly-good-things. (And appearance, for the most part, does not alter one's life--not in the big ways we always imagine it might. This, I know from experience).

I write about body image because it is the code by which we discuss things so large they scare us to say aloud.

I say I'm fat when what I really mean is I'm sad. And I berate the size of my thighs because that is easier than admitting I am untethered and adrift and totally lost at this point in my life--that notion is too big and too true and will surely make others uncomfortable, so I make it small...so small that it is about the size of my waist and the color of my hair and the awkward arrangement of moles on the left side of my face. 

I write about body image because before I can tell you just-why-it-is-I-really-don't-care-for-a-particular-woman (and sometimes, I really don't) I can say no less than five judgmental and evaluative things about what-she-looks-like. (Think about it, I bet you can do this too).

I find this both appalling and fascinating.

I write about body image because it shouldn't be a thing, but it is a thing, and more than that.. it points to THE-THINGS!(all the big and significant things that life is really and actually about and therefore difficult to break down into small, manageable pieces).

I write about body image because my eating disorder wasn't about what I looked like, even if for years I thought that it was. And so body image isn't really about what we look like, even if we continue to cling to the notion that it is.

I write about body image because I'm so much better now and so much happier and I still have a nearly impossible time having my photo taken...and what the hell, you know?

*E.M. Forster said this. And he's the coolest. 

twitter.

pinterest.

instagram.

almost every post i've ever written

about my struggle with an

eating disorder can be found

here.

and my most recent one...on the inevitable end of the thing. 

TED TALKS | dan barber

one of those talks that i wish would imprint itself on the masses immediately. ideas that would revolutionize our very notion of quality of life. not to mention, treating the earth as it deserves to be treated.

Infinities.

"I am not a mathematician, but I know this: there are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities."

The Fault in Our Stars | John Green



I don't know how to write about the end of it. Now that it's ended, I don't know how to write about the end of it other than to say that it's ended.

It was a quiet thing.  A silently-slipping-out-sort-of-thing.

I can't tell you how it happened, only that it did.

And only that I've just now realized it did. Only now, some weeks or months or some unknown amount of time after.

I wrote recently that the opposite of love is not hate. It is simply the absence of it.
The opposite of an eating disorder is not health. It is simply the absence of it.

It will last forever. It will be a forever-sort-of-battle. How many times people said that to me. Smart people, wise people, people with degrees in how-to-fight-the-thing.

How many people say that still, day after day.

I think often on why people say it. And why we accept it.

It was always clear to me that I would not accept those words. I would not accept that notion. And if it was true than I would go in search of a different truth. And if that different truth was not anywhere to be found then I would write my own.

An infinity. An unlimited extent of time, space, or quantity. There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. And even more between 0 and 2. And how can that be? How can one infinity be greater than another?

There was a timeline of events:

At nineteen I stood in front of a mirror and convinced myself I was fat. Five minutes it took me to rewire a small bit of the brain that perceived weight and shape. Five minutes. An infinity.

At twenty I starved myself for two months. That was it, just two small and insignificant months. An infinity. 

And for the next three years I binged. And my body ballooned. And every bit of who I was as a person shrank in direct proportion. Three years in which an eating disorder hijacked my every thought and my every action and I felt as though I was drowning at all times and everywhere, above ground and in plain site. And it was an infinity somehow greater than those before. 

And then slowly breath and breadth restored some sort of life. And inch by inch ground was gained. And then some. And things got better. And I got better. But there was always more to go. There was always an infinity stretching before me. And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. 

Five years trudging towards recovery. An infinity. 

I remember having a conversation with one of my dearest friends about a year and a half ago. I was not feeling well--I was blue and low and bruised and I told her so and she said to me, Meg, we all have those moments. We all live through stretches in which we think we're not doing so well--in which we're not in a tremendously good place. And I remember listening to her as she was saying this and feeling a distance much greater than the small, marble table between us. I remember being aware that we were using similar words to describe two totally different experiences. That's not what this is, I wanted to say. We're not talking about the same thing. But instead I sipped my coffee and smiled and nodded, because, much as we don't always want them to be, some battles are private.

But just the other day I was walking east on 49th street and I though, I'm not doing so well. I'm having a rough time. And quick on the heels of that thought came another, This must be the not-so-good that everyone always told me about. I'm right now, at this very moment, going through a totally normal rough patch. And heaven was that thought--heaven was that notion of normal. My not good now is different. Shallower, more bearable, not so overwhelming. A little bit lighter, if you will. There are still plenty of tears and it feels like its own infinity, but it only feels that way, it never is.

I knew that one of the last steps on the timeline would be to divorce guilt-about-what-I'd-just-eaten from eating-more. I didn't know how to do it other than to create awareness around that intention and let it live in me, but not force it--to create enough space for healthier thoughts to grow.

I think about the notion of divorce a lot. About why people get divorced. Of all of the unknown forces at work. Of how impossible and traumatic it must be. And how it is not for someone like me to comment on it, ever. And yet, I think of myself at twenty-one and twenty-two and how at such a young age I'd already been doing battle with myself for so long. And I imagine that had I been in a marriage--if I was married to myself, I mean--then everyone around me would have said, with great love, maybe it's time that you think about divorce. Maybe it's time you leave this person. Because you are not good for each other. And it is not as though you haven't tried. For years you've tried. 

And the thing is, they would've been right. Divorce would have been the best option. But it wasn't an option--and that lack-of-an-option proved to be the blessing of my life. Because I had to stick it out. Because I learned about love by loving myself. And I'm so much richer and so much better and so much kinder for that period in which the best option was not an option and the infinity before me felt impossible.

This is where words fail. In explaining the end and explaining why I'm thankful and explaining why I wouldn't change the thing. This is where I get overwhelmed by just how much there is to say--and how many of the the things I want to say are consistently failed by the limits of language.

So I will say this, I will try with these words:

I remember being a little girl and going to school with another little girl. And I remember the moment that someone else said to me, she's fat. And I said, she is not. She is not fat. How can you say that she is fat? Truth it, I don't know if she was fat or not. I can't tell you anything about the shape of her body other than that she was tall.

As a little girl I didn't look at others as fat or not. My eyes didn't register that as a thing to take note of.

Sitting in Tom's office, years ago, I said, I want to go back to that place. I want to not know if someone is fat or not because I simply haven't noticed. Because it's not part of my visual vocabulary. But I don't think it's possible. Because once you see something, how do you un-see it? 

And he said, you can, you can return to that place. 

And here I am, returned. To that place. To myself. I am well and whole. In this way, at least, I am well and whole. And this is a whole new infinity. This is the infinity that will dwarf all those that came before.

Now if I lie in bed next to a sweet boy I'm so busy thinking about his long eyelashes that I never once think about my body--whether it is thin or not--whether he thinks it is thin or not. Because it is my body. And it is healthy. And it is remarkably free of the notion of fat or not. It just is.

And this will be the infinity that will dwarf all those that came before.

i own jeans now. (in more than one color, even).

before beginning:

this is a continuation.

of a story. about my nasty, 

little eating disorder.

check the sidebar

{FOOD AND HEALTH}

for the whole grizzly saga.

i've been thinking about how i wrote this post nearly three years ago. four years without owning a pair of jeans. which was really five. or six.

and then after that, came this.

jeans and pants: the eating disorder's worst fear and largest enemy.

so here's what i want to say:

i have one pair of boot-cut-jeans that i've owned since my second year of college (they've now reached vintage-esque status). i occasionally pull them out because they fit now and they really do look damn fine with cowboy boots.

i have a plum pair of skinny-jeans (cotton pants) from ny&co that always makes me feel more petite than i actually am (i like to wear them on dates). i have the same jeans (pants) in bright blue and while they aren't as forgiving, i've never wore anything more then i wore them last spring.

when i visited home last August i got two pairs of classic jeans. one was a twelve dollar pair from the banana repulic outlet store and they may very well be my favorite pair of pants (jeans) ever.

i own black corduroy pants. and gray ones too. i love them. (black corduroy pants can be worn with anything and dressed up or down--i can recommend nothing more).

i even have like three black stretchy exercise pants that cling to the curve of my but. and somedays i love them. and somedays i don't. but i have them. and i wear them. (in public, even).

i don't say all this to brag. to parade out a laundry list of pants so you can see just how many i have. (in my defense, i 1. never throw anything away and 2. am making up for a lot of lost time {four or five or six years}).

it's to say this: it gets better. life continues on and it gets better--and sometimes you have to fight for it to get better and sometimes you just have to wait for it to, and it's not always easy to know the difference, but there is one.

i went about six years without wearing pants. so deeply did i loathe my thighs and wide hips and large bottom.

and now i hardly wear anything else.

and the move from no-pants to pants was brought to you by relatively normal eating. no diet. no restriction. no ban on hamburgers or doughnuts or twizzlers. it was the product of exercise and vegetables and experimentation and a hell of a lot of patience.

honestly, it was the product of saying, my worth is not tied to how i look it jeans. i am worthy. period. and so i'll wear pants if i damn well want to.

i will choose to feed my body because i love it. i will not starve it into submission or starve it in pursuit of an industry's narrow-minded beauty ideal.

so at the start of the new year when we're all inundated by diet ads and weight-loss programs, i thought i'd offer up this little testimonial instead. just something to chew on.


(oh! and i did it by drinking as many lattes as i wanted. because i love them. and find them deeply comforting. and they bring a certain sort of happiness that i never want to deny myself). so there. 

WHAT I'M EATING// shaved brussels sprouts

There's a small French gastroteque in New York's West Village that I absolutely love. When two of my lovely, but non-residing-New-York-friends came to visit last week it was the first place I suggested. And it was again the local of choice this weekend when my dear friend Ashlea returned to the city after two months away on the Cape. (The food is delicious, the decor is endlessly inviting, and the attractive men behind the bar don't hurt).

They serve, among other things, a pesto dish that I am convinced tastes like a doughnut (a doughnut being the highest level of food perfection, in my book). But what I left thinking about this last time was their shaved brussels sprouts dish--mostly because I thought, you know, I bet I could make something like this (and I bet it would be quite healthy and inexpensive). 

Trader Joe's sells a bag of prepackaged shaved brussels sprouts that I cut up just a wee bit more. I then added parmesan cheese, toasted (always, always toasted--it brings out the flavor) pine nuts, and a bit of olive oil and sea salt.

That's it! Five ingredients.

(Note: pine nuts are as expensive as liquid gold so I suggest buying them in bulk at Costco, Sam's Club, or Trader Joe's. Buvette's dish uses walnuts as their nut of choice, so that's always an option). 

wisdom (nourishment) from dear sugar.

there have been two books in my life where i've said, if i had all the money in the world (or even just enough) i'd buy this for everyone i know.

for every woman i've ever known (for every woman everywhere, actually): what french women know: about love, sex, and other matters of the heart

and for every person ever (men and women alike): tiny beautiful things

tiny beautiful things is a compilation of many of cheryl strayed's columns as dear sugar writing for the rumpus. {i've posted some of those columns/ letters here before.}

last week and the week before when i was thinking about this idea of to nourish i was reading tiny beautiful things for the second time when i happened upon a letter by a woman in her mid-fifties who had just ended her marriage with her husband and was venturing into that terrifying world of meeting men and making love and forging real connections (a difficult thing for anyone, at any age).

much of her letter revealed a certain level of disease with her body. all women, all ages, we all have it, don't we?

and so i wanted to share some of what sugar//ms. strayed wrote. (to nourish).

(please note: what follows can be found in its entirety on page 178 of tiny beautiful things. what follows are just bits and pieces i wanted to share. all words are by the unparalleled cheryl strayed.)

"I've advised people to set healthy boundaries and communicate mindfully and take risks and work hard on what actually matters and confront contradictory truths and trust the inner voice that speaks with love and shut out the inner voice that speaks with hate. But the things is--the thing so many of us forget--is that those values and principles don't only apply to our emotional lives. We've got to live them out in our bodies too. 

Yours. Mine. Droopy and ugly and fat and thin and marred and wretched as they are. We have to be as fearless about our bellies as we are with our hearts. 

Real change happens on the level of the gesture. It's one person doing one thing differently than he or she did before...It's you and me standing naked before our lovers, even if it makes us feel kind of squirmy in a bad way when we do. The work is there. It's our task. Doing it will give us strength and clarity. It will bring us closer to who we hope to be. 

You don't have to be young. You don't have to be thin. You don't have to be "hot" in  a way that some dumbfuckedly narrow mindset has construed that word. You don't have to have taut flesh or a tight ass or an eternally upright set of tits.

You have to find a way to inhabit your body while enacting your deepest desires. You have to be brave enough to build the intimacy you deserve. You have to take off all your clothes and say, "I'm right here."

There are so many tiny revolutions in a life, a million ways we have to circle around ourselves to grow and change and be okay. And perhaps the body is our final frontier. It's the one place we can't leave. We're there till it goes. Most women and some men spend their lives trying to alter it, hide it, prettify it, make it what it isn't, or conceal it for what it is. But what if we didn't do that?

We don't know--as a culture, as a gender, as individuals, you and I. The fact that we don't know is feminism's one true failure. We claimed agency, we granted ourselves the authority, we gathered the accolades, but we never stopped worrying about how our asses looked in our jeans. There are a lot of reasons for this, a whole bunch of Big Sexist Things We Can Rightfully Blame. But ultimately, like anything, the change is up to us. 

The culture isn't going to give you permission to have "robust, adventurous sex" with your droopy and aging body, so you're going to have to be brave enough to take it for yourself. 

I know as women we're constantly being scorched by the relentless porno/Hollywood beauty blowtorch, but in my real life I've found that the men worth fucking are far more good-natured about the female body in its varied forms than is generally acknowledged. "Naked and smiling" is one male friend's only requirement for a lover. Perhaps it's because men are people with bodies full of fears and insecurities and short-comings of their own. Find one of them. One who makes you think and laugh and come. Invite him into the tiny revolution in your beautiful new world. 

WEEKLY WELLNESS// we're eating our veggies this week.

Weekly Wellness is a community driven project to help each of us adopt a more mindful lifestyle. It is a twelve week experiment wherein we (Laura, myself, and whoever else wants to join) commit to one small change for each of those weeks in an effort to see how even a small shift can reap big rewards. (For the introduction read this and this.) 

I must apologize for missing last week's recap. What follows here doesn't deal with one specific week of the challenge, but I wanted to share it nonetheless. While I'm not one to usually pay attention to stats and numbers, I can tell when a post is read more than others, and I'm constantly surprised that the posts dealing with health and body issues are among the top. It is my great wish that there is information contained in what I've written over the years that others find helpful. (This is my way of saying: thank you--for your continued support and kind, kind words). 

I didn't know what a calorie was until I went to college. 

I mean, I have a vague recollection of the 2,000 calories per day dictum, but beyond that, nothing--I had never looked at a nutrition label in my life. 

I grew up on chicken and rice and peas. Every night. For dinner. Bless, my mom because she made the dinner each night and around the table we sat--food only part of the experience. But, to this day, if I ever go out, chicken is not my food of choice. I've had enough of that bird to last a lifetime.

When I got to college and gained the standard freshman fifteen the proposition of losing weight was daunting. And that was the task at hand: losing weight. Not switching to a healthier diet, or a healthier lifestyle, not learning to read the whole of the nutrition label, but learning to lose weight and quickly. And what that meant was learning to read calories. 

And learning to read calories was, as it turns out, my very own Pandora's Box. 

My pediatrician recommended Weight Watchers. And then my gynecologist, as well. And so I embarked upon that path. And I did what I was told. I ate the fruits and vegetables and I made sure to eat no more than my 20 points, and no less either.

And it was so easy. So easy that I wondered how anyone could ever struggle with their weight when, with the right information, to lose it was the easiest thing in the world. 

Oh, the hubris. 

Now of course I look back and can see I was a woman obsessed--a woman who went to bed each night with the pain of hunger just below my ribs--a woman fed by information that was totally and completely wrong. 

I lost my period immediately. 

And so I went to the same doctors who had suggested the diet plan and I told them I didn't have a period and everyone told me not to worry, it'd be sure to return. 

And it did. Months later, when I began to eat again. 

I followed the plan. I ate the allotted points. And those allotted points added up to roughly 1,000 calories.

1,000 calories is not enough for a woman of my height. At 1,000 calories I was starving myself. This is not opinion. This is fact. And I know this now because other (more informed) doctors have told me this. Someone once commented on one of my posts saying that Weight Watchers is not about deprivation, it would never endorse starvation. But I'm just laying out the facts: I ate the points suggested to me for my weight and height--in a program recommended by more than one doctor and I starved. Until my body couldn't starve any more. And it did what it had to do to make me eat: I began to binge.

You know how if a person hasn't slept for a certain amount of time (I'm talking days) the body will collapse--actually inducing sleep? Or if blood isn't getting to the head fainting occurs so that the head is on the same level of the heart and blood can reach it more easily? The body takes control. It takes over.

That's what binging was. The body taking over. That's why it felt so beyond my control. Because I was starving, my body bypassed my conscious mind (my will power, if you will), and it fed me. A lot. Fed me to the point of over-feeding, because my poor body was so damn terrified that it would never be fed again. And then it clung to every single calorie and I watched, helpless, as the weight accumulated. 

I was at war with myself--my body engaged in trench warfare, shoveling in food, because it couldn't trust that I would ever again feed it.

I still eat too much sometimes--enough that people would label it a binge. But I know better, it's not a binge, it's just too much food over a short period of time because I'm feeling guilty or bad or just worn down--the reasons are many and often without sense. But I am not driven to binge the way I once was. I am not possessed and out of control. 

I used to say that recovery is like a grain of salt tunneling through a glacier. It takes ages. It took my body a really, really long time to trust me again. I would sit on the train and have an unhealthy thought like I've had enough today, I need to eat nothing else and I'd feel a tightening in my chest--like a large door closing and immediately I'd be hungry. I'm now pretty sure that tightening was panic on a cellular level--was my body recognizing the thought and preparing itself for what was to come.

It took a lot of time, and quite a bit of proof (food) too, for my body to forgive me and know that I'd never again withhold sustenance. And only once that trust was built was I returned to myself. 

It's still a process. It's still slow. And that gran of salt is still trucking. And it moves by the small choices I make day after day, week after week. A little more water, a good book in my hand, more vegetables, and getting myself to the exercise class even when I think I might lose my lunch during the worst of the squats. 

That's why I'm so enjoying the Weekly Wellness challenges that change with the weeks. Because it's to say, yeah, I'm doing this, I'm in this. I'm doing what I can to make my life better. It's not an overhaul--it's small, mindful choices tunneling through the crap of processed food and a society with ridiculous beauty standards and a whole diet industry that says the calorie count is the end all be all.

I had to learn how to unlearn what a calorie was. That's been the game-changer. Giving up the low-fat and fat-free and "healthy" foods. Forgetting the points assigned to eggs and tortilla chips. Trusting that my body will tell me when it's had enough if I can quiet my own fears and the hum of all-that-wrong-information enough to listen.

WEEKLY WELLNESS// cutting out fat talk and diet coke

Weekly Wellness is a community driven project to help each of us adopt a more mindful lifestyle. It is a twelve week experiment wherein we (Laura, myself, and whoever else wants to join) commit to one small change for each of those weeks in an effort to see how even a small shift can reap big rewards. (For the introduction read this and this.) 



on fat talk: 

a few years ago--just when i was starting to really get well--i dated a man.

and i was honest. as honest as i could be. (remember this?). 

and he did what i would have done had i been in his position. he made jokes. and he made me laugh. and his jokes regarding my eating disorder and my health fostered a levity that made me feel normal. oh so normal. and that's not only what i needed, it's what i wanted.

but his jokes, well, they were most assuredly fat talk.

fat talk as humor.

tom (my very, very wise therapist who is an eating and weight disorder specialist) and i would go back and forth on this fat-talk-as-humor-thing. i want to be able to laugh at myself, i would say. i want to be able to make fun of the thing--diminish its power in this way. his response was essentially this: nope. you can diminish the thing and you can be self-deprecating, but not in this way. it's not necessary.

a few months later, after the man i was dating made an exit from my life (at my request), i found myself across the country sitting at a table with a group of people i barely knew. we were eating ice cream and later in the day we were going to play tennis. and i made a joke connecting the two. about how thank god for the tennis to work off the ice cream (something along those lines) and a young man across the table looked right at me and said, no, you don't get to do that. you don't get to make that joke. this is me looking out for you and saying, i'm not going to let you talk about yourself in that way. i'll never forget that moment--it remains one of the most mature (and sexiest) things a man has ever done for me.

it was also in that moment i understood what tom was talking about. i got it. i can be funny and i can be self-deprecating, absolutely. but i don't need to engage in fat talk to do it. those jokes are damaging. period. for the person saying it. and for those who are forced to hear it. and because we cannot know how damaging it is for those listening we must put an end to it. the language of fat and body and devaluation is small and insidious and climbs in under the skin. it affects our behavior  before we even know it's happening.

for a good long while now i've been careful of fat talk. careful of engaging in it, quick to point it out (sometimes to the frustration of my friends who dammit, just let them be) but this week was different. there was something about making a formal commitment to abstain from it that was tremendously empowering. i felt lighter. those are the words i do not need. and without them a weight is lifted.

on water:

for the most part i gave up soda (coke and diet coke and pepsi and the like) a few years ago now. started drinking soda water instead--found that what i really wanted was the hit of carbonation more than the taste of the stuff. but there were always the small indulgences. the soda when eating out to dinner. or the can of diet coke at a friend's apartment. a diet-pepsi to get me through the occasional work day.

this week i didn't have any of those occasional cans. didn't even think about them or miss them or want them. it wasn't a conscious decision--just a really nice realization as i became more mindful of the water i was drinking.

a few weeks ago i sat in on a day-long conference centered around food and addiction and does food addiction actually exist? to be honest, much of what was said was over my head--the people speaking were scientists and researchers speaking to other scientist and researchers. but there was a moment when kelly brownell got up to speak (the man is a renowned expert on obesity--seriously look him up) and he was flipping through slides and he pulled up an image of coca plant. this in it's natural form is not dangerous to humans. process it enough and you get cocaine, extremely dangerous. process it even more and you crack cocaine. he then pulled up a slide of water. process it enough and you get coca-cola. diet coke. and on and on. his point was not that soda is as addictive as cocaine. it was that anything processed to that extent--that far removed from nature--is dangerous to consume. the effects of soda may not be immediate--or even fully known, but it certainly isn't good for us.

pass the water, please.

........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

now onto week two: REST!! to be completely honest, i'm not yet sure what this will mean for me. how can i rest better? my job and my life don't allow for a consistent sleep schedule because every day is different--some nights i don't get home from work until one. but i'm excited to figure out what this week will mean for me. does it mean keeping a cleaner apartment so that i feel more at ease when i'm in it? or climbing into bed as soon as i get home at night? does it mean making an effort to have a plan for my morning already in place the evening before? or maybe it's that one day i'll skip the gym and go for a full-body massage. 

what does REST mean for you?

and how did you feel focusing on water consumption? read laura's insights here. 

onward to...WEEK TWO: REST (and continued pledge to cut the fat talk). 

FOOD AND HEALTH//

the summer after my first year of college i developed a severe eating disorder (non-purging bulimia). i was finally diagnosed at the start of my fourth year and have spent the many, many years since on that strange and wonderful journey towards recovery and health.

while there has been much written about the peculiarities and particulars of eating disorders, little has been written about all that goes into getting better (and just how long and slow that process is).

what follows below is post after post charting my own progression in the hope that others might find comfort in knowing they are not alone and that it does and it will get better. 

the thing is, this isn't just the story--the progression--of recovering from a severe illness. it is the story of ferreting out happiness, of returning from the edge of absolute sadness and discovering a real peace. some of the posts are not explicitly about the eating disorder, but they are part of that journey nonetheless.

(it is a lot of information and much of it's repetitive, but here it is, all in one place)...

my hope is that this will help others struggling, but particularly the family and friends of those who struggle--so that in some small way they may understand and be supportive and positive and healthy ways (because few things are so important) 

the story of my eating disorder and the winding, circuitous road to health:
...from the beginning...

an introduction.
how i came to know NED.
spring is hard.
a story.
miracle of miracles.
ned be gone.
NYC and it's calorie count law (i don't like it).
the story of ned.
start of a new year.
cannot admit depression.
blue jeans.
the white flag.
not wanting to feel.
on giving up diet coke.
setback.
on the importance of really hard exercise.
on trying to write about it all (the disorder/and the path to wellness).
the first step.
eating meat. or not.
small victories
eating well is a constant choice.
making small goals each week.
getting rid of the scale
forty pounds
the danger of fat talk
5 point roadmap to health
green pants.
friday night cab ride.
eat real food (so simple)!
when i start to get sad.
food has a cost.
figuring out happiness.
food as a political issue.
getting to the good part.
the eight word prayer.
claiming the land.
the swell and the breath.
on emerging from a funk.
i mostly think falling in love with music made me well in a way nothing else could // more proof of that // and again
on beauty.
a list: i love myself enough to...
in inches.
a cookie and coffee for dinner.
these are the ways to love yourself (to forgive).
cleaning out my closet.
two months doing weight watchers. six years battling an eating disorder.
on why i'm actually thankful for the damn thing.
perfect bodies. cellulite. and a little rebellion.
on eating burgers again.
on owning jeans. finally. 


INFINITIES. ding-dong-the-witch-is-dead!



...to where i am now...



inspiration and information:

Janna Dean: healing the body image // healthy body image for our children // weight doesn't matter
fat talk (video)
so much happiness
women in advertising (video)
scarlett johansson speaks out
body image is still a thing (hello giggles)
audrey tautou's wise words
happiness is (quote)

just say no... to sugar


may i also suggest FAT, SICK, AND NEARLY DEAD, as well as, HUNGRY FOR CHANGE (both streaming on Netflix).

what i'm eating. (the expanded edition). day two.

so immediately upon beginning this experiment (to document what i eat for a week) i thought: this is a terrible idea. not only am i not an authority on what's healthy and what's not, but frankly, i barely have the energy to photograph everything i eat. 

and then there's the fact that i've chosen a week that stress has infiltrated my life on every level. when i went to visit tom (my life guru) this week, that's basically what we decided: stress is disrupting my sleep to the point that i am exhausted.all.the.time. which leads to a lot of crying and the like. and it doesn't just affect sleep, it affects appetite too--in that, i don't have much of one. this is a welcome release from the days i'd overeat to deal with stress, but not super healthy, nonetheless. 

but i made a commitment, so here we go: day two. 

1. soy latte
2. i have a tendency to sip on my latte for so long that i miss breakfast all together and opt for an early lunch. today it was two slices of spelt with pumpkin seeds (surprisingly good for you, those seeds) with cheddar cheese, and avocado thrown in for nutrition and color. and yes, of course the bread was buttered for the pan! {i'm going through a major grilled cheese phase}.
2. asparagus with oil and salt. i need more veggies in my life, this was an attempt.
3. i knew i had to eat something before work, but frankly i didn't want to. i hopped over to whole foods and the only thing drawing my eye was guacamole and chips, which i'm gonna level with you--not the best i've had.
4. when work let off after 11 i went with my girlfriends to a wine bar where they sipped their spirits and i imbibed quite a bit of a cheese plate with pears and walnuts.

if nothing else, let this be the take-away:

life happens. some days stress gets the best of us. and some days it doesn't. some days you're hungry for everything in sight. and somedays you're not. most diets i know don't allow for this variation of life. you eat the same amount each day. and that's just false. that sets you up with this false notion. it's okay to eat more some days and less others. life has a way of balancing out--and we gotta trust that--as opposed to putting some false construct on top of that and trying to fit everything into a box.

what i'm eating. (the expanded addition). day one.

not long after graduating college a good girlfriend turned me on to a blog: the actor's diet. the whole premise behind the blog was to show in a real way what an actor ate day-by-day. 

what i took away from lynn's blog is that here was a woman who had struggled for years with eating issues and she had moved past disordered eating by...actually eating. and she felt good, felt beautiful, and had a slim, healthy body that she empowered her when walking into auditions. 

i remember looking at her blog all those years ago and thinking, wow, this girl actually eats! she eats quite a bit! in truth, she eats a totally normal amount (but it seemed so much more than the amount i thought i needed to eat to lose weight {1,000 calories, it turns out, doesn't look like so much--mostly because it isn't}).

i always bristle when reading magazines or health articles that say you can lose weight while eating a hamburger, can you believe it?! or a square of chocolate won't undo everything, so go ahead, indulge!!

it is my deep-seated belief that you can lose weight eating anything. all in moderation. yes, stay away from processed foods and choose fruits and veggies when possible, but a hamburger isn't the worst thing in the world. 

the same friend who introduced me to the actor's blog suggested that i do something similar: reveal what i eat as a way of providing some information. 

i've been hesitant because i don't want anyone to look at this and think it's a roadmap. someone else may eat exactly what i eat and have a totally different experience. eating is an experiment. you have to find what works for you. and that means trial and error and a little failure. because at the end of the day it's not really about food, is it? loving one's body is about loving one's self. and the more you love your self the more your body rolls with the punches. the more forgiving it becomes and the more it works to give you exactly what you've always wanted. 

for one week (just one week, i promise) i will endeavor here to show you what i eat. please, take it with a grain of salt. it's my way of saying you don't have to have your coffee with low-fat milk to have a happy body. and you don't have to cut out nachos. in fact you can have full-fat milk and grilled cheese sandwiches and a piece of chocolate cake and wake up each morning feeling better than you did the day before. 

what i'm going to attempt to show is the anti-diet. the take-much-of-what-you've-been-told-and-turn-it-on-its-head lifestyle.

day one: wednesday

i have a latte more often than i'd like to admit. not because i'm ashamed of the drink, but because of the cost associated with it. i take mine with either soy milk or full-fat whole milk. i don't add sugar, but a a hefty-shake of cinnamon keeps me in good stead. 

for a while there i experimented with a vegan way of life. but it was an experiment. and what i came away with is that right now, it's not for me. most mornings i have two eggs (full eggs, not just the egg whites), full fat cheese, on either one or two slices of spelt bread. spelt was a bit of an acquired taste--but now i'm smitten with its nutty flavor. 

one of the things that i don't particularly love about my life right now is that i often leave home knowing i'll be gone for hours and hours and hours upon end. yesterday was a rare day in which i packed lunch/dinner. pumpkin filled ravioli with a little bit of olive oil and salt + a slice of spelt bread with a hefty bit of peanut butter. 

one of my absolute favorite salads is arugula with toasted pine nuts (you must toast them--the flavor is so much better!), capers, and a bit of oil (i use olive mixed with walnut). it's so simple, but i tell ya, it packs a punch. 

when i arrived home at just after one in the morning (yes) i made myself some nachos. yes, i ate nachos at one in the morning and there wasn't a lick of guilt anywhere in sight. tortilla chips, refried beans, cheddar cheese, and jalepenos. all washed down with soda water. this photo makes it look totally unappealing, but don't be fooled. it was darn good. 

(the only things not pictured were some salted almonds i had at work and a few handful of reduced-fat cheeze-its. i do not believe in reduced-fat anything. i think foods should be consumed in their whole form. but that's all that was there and i got hungry during the course of my six hour shift. sometimes you gotta take what you can get). 

don't worry, this blog isn't about to become one on which i'm constantly revealing what i eat. and then showing you how thin i am. this is not meant to be a guide to nutrition nor a this-is-how-to-get-thin series. this is just my way of combating all those 1,500 calorie a day segments in the health magazines in which the food is all so darn "healthy" and always leaves me feeling bad about myself. 

just a week. another experiment. because my body--my health is still, very much a work-in-progress. 

i'm actually tremendously thankful for the damn thing.

i remember the first time i told tom i was glad to have had the eating disorder. 

it must have been nearly three years ago and i probably didn't use the past tense because it was still very much present. he immediately challenged the statement: you're glad you had it, or you're glad in spite of it?

that question has hung in the air between us for years now. tom knows the answer. and he knew, even those three years ago, that i knew--deep down i already knew. but he also knew it would take the intervening time to know i knew and then be able to articulate it. 

yes. the whole thing. the whole fiasco of a thing (a thing i would never wish on anyone) i count as one of the great blessings of my life. 

and let me tell you why: the eating disorder proved the single greatest educator of my life. or if not the educator, it was at least the classroom in which i learned.

1. don't put all of your eggs in one basket. 

happiness is a tricky thing, wouldn't you say? it's always somewhere else. over there. contingent upon when i's and if i's and the like. for me, for so long, it was well, when i'm thin, if i ever get thin then i'll be happy. i won't feel sadness, i won't feel anxious. i'll get the parts i want, i'll get the guy i want, i won't have to worry about sidelong glances from this person or that person, i won't have to fear. 

i won't have to fear. 

that was probably the big one. thin would eradicate all the ills of my life. it would be the plateau on which i would coast.

here's the thing.

thin does none of those things. absolutely not one. don't get me wrong, it has its advantages, but it does not heal relationships--it doesn't heal the part of yourself that is so hurting and broken--the part of you that becomes co-conspirator in this fallacy so that it gets left alone to fester and brood.

a few years ago when i was coming out of the worst of the disease, but still very much in it, i dated a man many years my senior who made me feel like a giant among women (in the best possible way) until he didn't. you're so young, he would complain. you have so much to learn, he'd reproach. and all i could think was, but i'm trying. are you? i wake each morning fighting to get better and be more and inviting the demons into the ring with me. do you? 

he wasn't worth it. so i didn't really ask those questions. he's not the only person i've cared deeply for who i look at and think, all that wasted time. all those many years spent disliking yourself--spent focusing on this or that just to avoid dealing with what you clearly need to deal with. 

the eating disorder forced the boil. it made manifest my problems in a way that i couldn't help but deal with them. and for that i'm so tremendously grateful. 

the perfect job, the acclaim, the moment you become a parent--if you expect those singular moments in time will bring lifelong happiness, well you set yourself up for one hell of a fallout when you wake up weeks, months, years later and realize it wasn't everything you expected it to be. 

and man, does that fall hurt. 

i may be getting a late start now on certain things (careers and relationships and the like), but i'm pretty damn confident in the foundation i've built.