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| Size 0, Size 6, Size 12. Lasting satisfaction certainly doesn't come with a dress size. |
For two and a half decades of life, I always had a little more padding than I would have liked. It seemed like women were supposed to be these fatless, breastless creatures that roamed the earth, satisfied with lettuce and the fulfillment being skinny brings. While part of me wished I experienced this zen-like state of nothingness, I obviously wanted real food even more (look at a few weeks worth of blog posts and you'll understand). I always dreamed of being one of those people who just doesn't like to eat. And one day, the magic fairy of skinniness came down and gave me the gift of hating food.
Organ failure is a funny thing and with it, the pounds started falling off. Before I knew what was happening, I had one of those impossibly thin figures model scouts long for. And it. Was. Awful. Nothing fit me properly. It wasn't like my body was perfect -- I wasn't happy with my body: I still had the same slightly larger-than-I would-like waist and the enormous ribcage that helps me to sing. People were always pestering me because I was too thin. I went from a D to an A cup. The worst part was I really hated to eat. My day was a collection of hours between horrible feeding times. Everything tasted bad. But of course, I was literally dying, so who would expect me to enjoy the life of the super-skinny?
Once I was out of the hospital, it wasn't much easier. I still didn't enjoy eating much. I was at constant threat of heart failure because our bodies can't process potassium properly when we're too thin. But I'm a good soldier. My new full-time job was gorging myself. The almond breeze in my fridge was replaced by full fat milk and cream. No more olive oil. It was olive oil+butter. Cookies, tortillas with cheddar and cream cheese, full-fat Liberte Yogurt, butter on everything. In the beginning I didn't enjoy it at all. But by the time I did, it was too late. I had left my "ideal weight" behind and formed new, bad eating habits that put me on a steady upward march on the scale. Now it's not like anything is out of control... yet. But this week I'm changing to a summer menu of sorts. I refuse to use the word "diet" since it begins with "Die." I'm at a totally healthy weight, well within BMI standards. But I'd just like to be sure the needle on my scale stays put instead of continuing making... errr... progress. My question is super skinny, normal or overweight, why is it so hard for to be happy with our bodies? Why is food either a chore or a forbidden fruit? How can we reach a happy medium and is there a happy medium to be reached? I would love any insights you might be willing to share.
