on food and goodness and stuff
Jul. 24th, 2011 07:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelSo my sister drove in to take my mom out to lunch for her birthday, and I came along.
There are certain ways of talking about food, and eating habits, that I have been trying to train myself out of. And I noticed after the fact that when I am around my mom it is scary easy to fall back into those ways.
Dessert is evil. Seconds, or finishing what's on your plate at a restaurant, is bad: Hunger is wrong, giving into hunger is worse. Having seconds is wrong. Buying something not entirely 100% nutritious, like a donut, or ice cream, or frozen yogurt (even if you only get fruit toppings and none of the nasty candy stuff) is naughty.
Also, unredeemable.
#
Here's the thing. Or, at least, a thing. A relevant thing.
I am not skinny. I don't think I have ever been.
I also have a skewed-as-fuck mental image of myself. It doesn't help that, seated, my thighs splooch out (everyone's does, you just don't usually see it). It doesn't help that my hips are frozen in a position that means I can't wriggle into thinner pants; my butt gets in the way, as do my bones. It doesn't help that my spine is frozen such that it looks like I'm slouching and my gut is sticking out (also doesn't help that I have several ovarian cysts, stable and benign but it makes me bulge out more). It doesn't help that the double chin I have is as much a product of head position as it is neck fat.
It also doesn't help that I see myself more or less up close, and others from afar, and my brain skews relative sizing so that, because my arm takes up more of my field of view than another person's arm, it must be fatter.
#
Here's another thing: I have no good way to exercise.
Also, several of my drugs have weight gain as a potential side effect. I don't know if they're contributing at all, but they sure as fuck aren't helping.
I could starve myself into oblivion and not get thinner. I could force myself into a diet of celery sticks and water, and I would be utterly and completely miserable and also still see myself as being too fat.
I could do as I have learned, and denounce what I am eating as I eat it: this donut is bad, I am wrong to eat it, and I am eating it anyway. This is the worst of both worlds, because it pulls enjoyment out of food but doesn't do anything productive, but it is how I have been trained, to think and to act and to do and say.
#
I want to be in shape, but that is quite literally impossible.
I want to like my body, but it's taking a lot of work.
#
I want to say to my mom -- and also, less strongly, to my dad, who once called me out on getting fries with my sandwich, and I stuck with the fries but they didn't taste as good --
I want to say: I know that you say these things because you think they're the right thing to say; I know that you want me to be healthy; I know that you want me to be healthy; please, for the love of all that is holy, do not ever talk to me about food or about eating habits, especially if that talk is laced with shame, repression, denial, self-loathing, etc.
Only more eloquently.
I want to say: I'd rather be happy, and enjoy what I eat while I can eat it (once my jaw locks up -- and as much as I want it to be an "if", it's more likely a "when" -- chewing will not be an option, and while it is an option to throw things into the blender and suck it up with a straw it's not the same, and the prospect terrifies me; I have only skittishly come to terms with it by allowing myself that, ifwhen my jaw locks up, I can get my ears pierced, which I am afraid to do in the unlikely even that it causes lockup), and enjoy my life, and not be the perfect body image, and not care.
I'm just too scared to.
#
Bother and blast and all that.
There are certain ways of talking about food, and eating habits, that I have been trying to train myself out of. And I noticed after the fact that when I am around my mom it is scary easy to fall back into those ways.
Dessert is evil. Seconds, or finishing what's on your plate at a restaurant, is bad: Hunger is wrong, giving into hunger is worse. Having seconds is wrong. Buying something not entirely 100% nutritious, like a donut, or ice cream, or frozen yogurt (even if you only get fruit toppings and none of the nasty candy stuff) is naughty.
Also, unredeemable.
#
Here's the thing. Or, at least, a thing. A relevant thing.
I am not skinny. I don't think I have ever been.
I also have a skewed-as-fuck mental image of myself. It doesn't help that, seated, my thighs splooch out (everyone's does, you just don't usually see it). It doesn't help that my hips are frozen in a position that means I can't wriggle into thinner pants; my butt gets in the way, as do my bones. It doesn't help that my spine is frozen such that it looks like I'm slouching and my gut is sticking out (also doesn't help that I have several ovarian cysts, stable and benign but it makes me bulge out more). It doesn't help that the double chin I have is as much a product of head position as it is neck fat.
It also doesn't help that I see myself more or less up close, and others from afar, and my brain skews relative sizing so that, because my arm takes up more of my field of view than another person's arm, it must be fatter.
#
Here's another thing: I have no good way to exercise.
Also, several of my drugs have weight gain as a potential side effect. I don't know if they're contributing at all, but they sure as fuck aren't helping.
I could starve myself into oblivion and not get thinner. I could force myself into a diet of celery sticks and water, and I would be utterly and completely miserable and also still see myself as being too fat.
I could do as I have learned, and denounce what I am eating as I eat it: this donut is bad, I am wrong to eat it, and I am eating it anyway. This is the worst of both worlds, because it pulls enjoyment out of food but doesn't do anything productive, but it is how I have been trained, to think and to act and to do and say.
#
I want to be in shape, but that is quite literally impossible.
I want to like my body, but it's taking a lot of work.
#
I want to say to my mom -- and also, less strongly, to my dad, who once called me out on getting fries with my sandwich, and I stuck with the fries but they didn't taste as good --
I want to say: I know that you say these things because you think they're the right thing to say; I know that you want me to be healthy; I know that you want me to be healthy; please, for the love of all that is holy, do not ever talk to me about food or about eating habits, especially if that talk is laced with shame, repression, denial, self-loathing, etc.
Only more eloquently.
I want to say: I'd rather be happy, and enjoy what I eat while I can eat it (once my jaw locks up -- and as much as I want it to be an "if", it's more likely a "when" -- chewing will not be an option, and while it is an option to throw things into the blender and suck it up with a straw it's not the same, and the prospect terrifies me; I have only skittishly come to terms with it by allowing myself that, ifwhen my jaw locks up, I can get my ears pierced, which I am afraid to do in the unlikely even that it causes lockup), and enjoy my life, and not be the perfect body image, and not care.
I'm just too scared to.
#
Bother and blast and all that.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 03:35 am (UTC)here's to being able to enjoy your food as long as possible and with as little shaming from your family as possible.
*fierce hugs offered*
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 04:06 am (UTC)But. Yeah.
*hugs back and clings*
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 06:13 am (UTC)My mom's been on this "oh my god I'm so fat" kick for the past four or five years (hint: she's not), and although thankfully she doesn't try to pull the fat-shaming shit on me or my younger sister (who's about 80 pounds heavier than I am, and I'm not thin), both of whom inherited the extremely slow metabolism with associated PCOS-related problems from my dad's side of the family, it makes me want to smother her with a copy of whatever batshit unhealthy fad diet she's doing this month half the time. I can't imagine how much worse it would be if she were trying to convince me or Susan that we need to jump through the ridiculous arbitrary diet hoops too.
Fuck them in the ear, babe, and fuck the little voice in your head that's been programmed by them. Eat what you want, when you want it, in the proportions you want to eat it, and the hell with everything and everybody else. Your body is the source of so much pain and suffering for you; anything physical that you can take pleasure from is one little stand against that pain and suffering. Good food should be a source of joy, not a source of guilt and shame, and anyone who tries to layer that guilt and shame over top of it needs to fuck straight off, because there is zero moral weight to that donut. The only moral weight assigned to the donut is whether or not you take pleasure in the eating of it. If you do, there is absolutely nothing wrong with eating it.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 08:41 am (UTC)Quoted for motherfucking TRUTH.
And "healthy" (when it comes to food or anything else) should encompass mental health, too. A diet of celery sticks and water and guilt and shame is not good for the mind or the soul (or the body either, for that matter).
*gets off soapbox*
Have you found The Fat Nutritionist (
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 09:09 pm (UTC)Thank you. I needed to hear this. Especially this:
Your body is the source of so much pain and suffering for you; anything physical that you can take pleasure from is one little stand against that pain and suffering.
which made me cry (but in a good way) because that is just. so much yes.
(and one of my dad's lines is that transfers would be easier if I weighed less, which is technically true but also I have felt the way my body has been shifting and changing and constricting, millimeters of movement eroding away in a process I can't do anything about)
and. just. *love* and thank you.