Happy birthday to all you people born on April 24th! If I could, I would make you all cake. I’d say cupcakes so you can be all individual and have your own personal sized cake with exactly one candle because it’s super cute, but apparently those don’t count as cakes ::rolls eyes at recent argument had over a lack of birthday “cake”::…
How was your week? Mine was pretty stellar… do people say stellar anymore? Did I just date myself?
Yeah, I had a pretty amazing weekend last weekend…Two weekends ago? You know what I mean. My sister came to town, who I see like once a year, and we got to spend some time together which was really nice. This also meant a pretty hefty dose of eating out and eating well, which is on one hand the funnest thing ever, and on the other super challenging. But, I made it through, with only mild panic attacks, and purposely limited body checking. All in all, a success. And I went to a bar, and I got ID’d which is a nice little morale boost because it doesn’t always happen anymore.
It’s funny, because when you first start going to bars and you’re ID’d before you make it two steps in the door every time, it is such a drag, but then when that starts to happen less and less and less, you kind of miss it. It’s like, man, do I have to start dying my grey hairs yet?
Then again, with that current fashion trend of dying your hair grey, that might not be a solution to any problem. Or did that trend pass already? I’m not sure. I never understood that one anyways…
So you all remember my last post? You know, the one where I found out that my guilt is a blessing if I choose to look at it in the right light? Easier said than done, but a good reminder that there’s always a silver lining. Anyways, it actually said Part 1 on it… as in therefore there’s a part 2, or Part II, or el numero dos, or whatever you please. Point is, something is supposed to follow it.
I’m like the worst for these types of things. I even hesitated to title the post “Part 1” because I know myself… I get all gung-ho for something, and I’m über inspired in the moment (because I’m mindful like that), and I’m all like, “Pssshaw, of course I’ll make the next part that logically follows! Of course I’ll finish my thoughts! This is like, my current maxim and my level of inspiration and expression will continue to abound for weeks to come!”
I know myself, hence my hesitation. Some people take lessons from their parents, and learn through the wisdom of age… I don’t do that. Apparently, I take lessons from this guy:
And to quote my boyfriend, this guy is “a special kind of stupid”. So while he can teach me some valuable things, like loving unconditionally (man’s best friend literally), or living in the moment and for the moment (hence the stolen ice cream cone from the coffee table), or life without regret (he had no regret for the ice cream cone, or for the piece of parchment paper that had lined the cheeseburger pan that he stole from the garbage and tore up during the night), he can teach me an infinite number of unnecessary ones as well. Those are the ones I seem to follow:
- How to do the same thing multiple times, and expect a different result (AKA the definition of insanity, most demonstrated by his persistence of begging for food from me when he never gets any). My argument is that this could also fall in line with being eternally optimistic… maybe.
- How to walk into things that are so blatantly obvious that you never should have walked into them (doors, cupboards, other people).
- How to have a remarkably short attention span, get bored easily, and have an inability to focus.
Yeah, that third one. You know when you throw a ball for a dog, and he’s all excited, but then you bring out a frisbee, or a treat or something, and then the ball that was the best thing in the world is forgotten? Yeah. Either that or something like this:
See unconditional love, and completely distract-able all at the same time. Story of my life.
So, I knew I’d get distracted, hence my reluctance to post a Part 1 and commit to a Part 2… and here I am, distracted. But sometimes, you can turn distraction into a roundabout point, so we’re going to try.
I had a Skype session with my dietician the other day, and we were talking about my levels of guilt. I had a few challenges for the week last week, and while I met them (mostly), there was incredible levels of anxiety, shame, guilt, fear, and an overall sense of FML that can be surmised in the phrase: “I just wanted to crawl out of my skin constantly.” Anyone with an ED knows that phrase all too well.
Anyways, we were talking and she said something along the lines of “Well, you gotta ask yourself why that guilt is there. Why are the food rules still there after so long? Why do you have the guilt, fear, and need to keep those rules in place? What are you afraid of?”
“Of becoming huge… and it’s ridiculous, stupid, and pointless. It shouldn’t matter to me! I mean, WHY does it matter to me?”
And the infamous psychological technique response she gave- a classic answer-a-question-with-a-question.
“Why DOES it matter to you?”
And it’s those annoying questions that frustrate me to no end… Because I have no freaking idea! It’s funny how you possess your brain, you’ve lived with it for 24 years, you’ve gone through moments of sadness, moments of joy, birthdays, deaths, weddings, parties, everything, and you’ve done everything in your life with the same brain… and yet a large chunk of the time you still have no idea how it works. There’s still 3 million crevices left unexplored, places where you’ve stored ideas, beliefs, values, memories that shape you but are enigmas to your conscience and comprehension. Sometimes your own head is as much a stranger to you as the guy sitting at the next table in a coffee shop.
Why do I have the guilt, the fear, the rules? Why am I scared to become huge? Why do I think this is important?
Well, we ended up at the same point as I came to in my last post, which was kind of ironic. The conversation kind of went, “Hey Tiffany, maybe you should write a blog post or something on guilt and how it connects to your values?” To which I responded,”…Um, I kind of already did last week…”
Actually no, our conversations are like never filled with awkward silences. Usually we’re laughing about something ridiculous that happened related to food, like driving backwards through a DQ drive through, taking an open flame to a nutrition label, or making a YOLO pizza and topping it with rice.
Then we get serious(ish), and back to business. Such as her next point, “Okay, great! Part II then (haha, it’s a roundabout pun), define your values. I mean if you value thinness, like you realize you do, look at why, and decide what you’re missing out on if you make it that important. Hopefully you realize that you don’t have time for that shit.”
I attached a link for her related blog post, because why not explore it with me right?
So, why do I value being thin?
Do it with me: loooooooooong sigh.
I don’t know. I wish I didn’t. I think it’s a plethora of things:
It’s that kid that went to family get togethers, and felt isolated because she wasn’t an athlete, or sports-minded. Whose coordination sucked so much that it wasn’t fun to play baseball, or basketball, or tennis, because really, yes you can have fun sucking if the people you play with aren’t too serious but sometimes you just get tired of not being able to do things. You just want to make a basket, you just want to rally a ball. And also being a kid with a ridiculously different body type, but not realizing that it was because of this difference in body type that she looked different from the rest of the people in the family. I mean, I have a DD cup, and I have curves. Compare that to an A or B, long and lean. You can’t.
So when the other girls my age could trade clothes, or fit into a size 2, I couldn’t. I couldn’t because my breasts wouldn’t fit into a small shirt, or a medium sometimes. and my curves in my thighs ad hips wouldn’t fit into a size 2 pant, or often a size 4. Usually it was a six. And when you’re young, things are simple and you don’t understand the complexities of body type, of genetics, of all the fine print. So if my cousins could fit into a 2 or a small shirt and I couldn’t, there must be something wrong with me. Just like if they could hit a tennis ball and I couldn’t, there must be something wrong with me.
I didn’t know how to ride a bike, or swim, but they did. There was something wrong with me.
I was the quietest. The shyest. The most introverted. A lot of them were extroverted… they were comedians, they made people laugh. They thrived being with others, and had lots of friends. They were social and always on the go. I wasn’t. There was something wrong with me.
I ate what I wanted, when I wanted, and oftentimes ate more than the rest of them (hello fast metabolism I now know I have thanks to my Dad). But they thought about sugar grams, and ate smaller portions. If I didn’t do these things, there was something wrong with me.
From a young age in our family we were told of the importance of exercise, of getting outside on a daily basis. Of not drinking juice until we had at least one glass of water. And many family activities during our get togethers were focussed around hiking, or walking, or running, or biking, and if we didn’t participate in these things, we were guilt tripped. We were told how it was “good for us”, how we were “being lazy” if we didn’t. We were shamed.
My parents didn’t have rules like this. My parents didn’t withhold food from me until I ate something “healthier” or drank some “clean water”. They encouraged me to follow my own passions, decide for myself what I wanted to do. They were okay with me being the artist always scribbling in her sketchbook. They were fine with me being the academic, with her nose in a book. And they were equally fine if I decided I wanted an ice cream cone in the afternoon, or a soda with my dinner. They allow me to decide.
And let me be clear. I was never “overweight” because of it.
But my cousins were everything I wanted to be, and they were my role models. They were happy, beautiful inside and out, had tons of friends, and were coordinated. They were confident. That was a big one for me. Confident. That’s all I really ever wanted to be. Happy and confident in who I was. And I was bombarded by messages. And in between hearing the food rules that they had set out for them, in between watching them eat smaller portions, and only eat certain things at certain times, in between watching them thrive at sports, and obey their parents/aunts/uncles with the “get outside and get moving” mantra, and then see them in their long and lean body types, the solution seemed clear. Somehow their external appearance and their driven, always keep busy attitudes, were the key to happiness, confidence, and love both inside and out.
There was something wrong with me, and this was the way to “fix” it.
Add to it the rest of the environment. The environment that all of us face every time we set a foot outside our front doors:
The NIKE labels branded across thin, muscular people, coupled with their slogan, “Just do it.” Like, it doesn’t matter if you’re tired, or sick, or not happy. Do it anyways.
The distorted yoga movement that is meant to encourage mindfulness and self acceptance, but is now branded with ridiculously hot rooms, a hierarchy of praise and respect for those who practice the more intense power and vinyasa styles, and an average calorie burn next to videos and course descriptions.
The amount of times you go out for lunch with people and see thin people overeat or eat a “unclean/yolo/cheat” food (brownie, burger, pizza, ice cream, etc) and be praised or appreciated for “not being anorexic” or for “being normal”, for eating for enjoyment, or for being indulgent because they “deserve” it. Meanwhile, a fat person orders the same thing and is condemned for eating past full, or for just eating for enjoyment… because they DON’T “deserve” it. They, controversly, are expected to be constantly proving to the world that they are actively trying to be “normal” by working as hard as they can to not be fat.
sorry, not sorry, but that is fucked up.
In what world is it okay for one person to eat a cookie, but another not, based on the amount of adipose tissue strapped across their midsection or thighs?
In what world is it acceptable to have a second slice of pizza based not on hunger or enjoyment, but rather on whether or not you hit 5k on your morning run this morning?
In what world have we replaced the unacceptable racism, sexism, and ageism, with an apparently “healthy” and acceptable size-ism and shape-ism?
Why do I value thinness? Because I am disposed to believe that just as I am, there is something wrong with me.
Or rather, because I grew up believing that there is something wrong with me, as a result of values others hold. I may have contorted them in my own head, but they are a result of nature and nurture, things seen and heard. Because I have never felt like enough, and I just want to feel okay. Because I am ashamed of myself, and I don’t want to add any more shame to the equation. And because in this day and age, the ultimate shame is to be fat.
Which brings me to Part 2! YAY FOR ROUNDABOUT POINTS!
Part 2 of that duo, and that Brené Brown quote:
I believe that there is a profound difference between shame and guilt. I believe that guilt is adaptive and helpful – it’s holding something we’ve done or failed to do up against our values and feeling psychological discomfort.
I define shame as the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging – something we’ve experienced, done, or failed to do makes us unworthy of connection.
I don’t believe shame is helpful or productive. In fact, I think shame is much more likely to be the source of destructive, hurtful behavior than the solution or cure. I think the fear of disconnection can make us dangerous.
Shame is the partner in crime to guilt, but whereas guilt is kind of like a nagging mother (a pain in the butt, and you don’t want her to be right, but her goal is to protect and to help you know what is really important), shame is just the grade 2 bully, or the devil on your shoulder.
The, “I made a mistake” (guilt), versus the “I am a mistake” (shame), if you will.
The reality is that shame does nothing helpful. It doesn’t encourage you to make amends or point you toward your values. More often than not, shame just encourages you to give up, leads to despair, and is, as Brené pointed out, “more likely to be the source of destructive, hurtful behaviour, than the solution or cure.”
If someone believes they are not enough, they are unworthy, or unloveable, it is hard to remain connected to others. It is hard to remain connected to others because it is actually PAINFUL to remain connected. The constant reminder of your own inadequacy is one of the greatest emotional pains you can experience.
One of the biggest problems that comes with shame is that the “I am a mistake” mentality is usually related to something about yourself that is unchangeable. I can’t change my body type, my personality, my introverted nature, or my natural talents. So if I’m ashamed of any one of those aspects, I can attempt to do something about it (diet/plastic surgery, be false, throw myself into an extroverted group/club/etc, try over and over again to be good at something else) and while it might work for a bit, eventually I’m doomed. You can’t change the type of person you are. You can’t change your natural talent for English, or your quiet personality any more than you can change your skin color. It’s a part of you and you will naturally always fall back towards what is uniquely and inherently yours. This is the same thing with your body shape and set point weight, and the reason why when you diet eventually you gain the weight back. It could be slower or faster but your body has amazing control mechanisms to keep you where it is designed to be.
So when you’re shamed by something that is unchangeable, when you can’t change it no matter how hard you try, you just feel like a failure. You feel unworthy of love, connection, and belonging. And as those are the basic emotional human necessities, you suffer.
Nowadays, as a society in general we are more bombarded than ever by messaging and fat shaming. A greater and greater emphasis is being placed on external appearances and physicality, and now that medical professionals and governments have waged a “war on fat”, those who naturally have more voluptuous frames are facing a greater pressure to fit into a mould that only a small percentage of the population is designed to fit in. Larger women who go to the doctor for an ear infection are told to lose weight. If a thin woman went to the doctor for the same thing, they would be given antibiotics. Does the larger woman not deserve the same courtesy minus the extra shame pill thrown in? Shame isn’t a vitamin, and it doesn’t enhance the antibiotic’s effectiveness.
Here’s the reality: Just because you’re thinner, DOES NOT mean you are healthier. Likewise, just because you’re fatter, DOES NOT mean you are UNhealthier.
Just because my thighs have cellulite, DOESN’T mean I’m less deserving of a third slice of pizza than my thinner cousin.
Just because my stomach rolls when I bend over, DOESN’T mean I can’t enjoy a latte with my scone instead of black coffee.
Just because my hips don’t fit in a size 4 half the time, DOESN’T mean that I should walk more, or add in a 5k run to my exercise regime.
AND, if I lost weight, if I changed my body’s natural shame, it DOESN’T mean I would be happier. I think we’ve beat that one to the bush enough times. Or does another relapse need to happen?
Just because we’re fat phobic, doesn’t mean we need to fat shame.
Just because shape-ism and size-ism is different than racism or sexism, doesn’t make it right. Why is my adipose tissue any different than my skin color?
Just because we’re all different, doesn’t mean we’re wrong. Stop being ashamed. You are not a mistake.