Post 5 - A Heavy Weight

A Toast To: Keep on keeping on.

Song Pairing: Serena Ryder "Better Now" (from the album, The Art of Falling Apart, 2021).

Over the past year, I have lost about thirty pounds. I was this same weight in 2006 on my wedding day. The first one. I remember the number on the scale not being good enough back then. It was never good enough. Even today, being able to look at myself naked in front of the mirror more confidently than I ever have before, it’s still not enough. I don’t know that it ever will be, despite all the years and all that I have learned along the way.

My mother birthed my nine-pound, thirteen-ounce ass, the good old-fashioned natural way, with ample drugs on board. In 1976, I was considered a big baby. Today, ten-pound kids seem to be more common. I blame processed foods, super-sizing, and Trump. I epitomized the pudgy-wudgy, chubby-cheeked, thunder thighs, roll-poly baby, except I one-upped all others and came out with a full head of red hair to boot. Pretty sure there were times as a wee bébé (love you Moira Rose), I toppled over while seated on the floor because of my girth. It’s okay, laugh. No one was laughing at age eight, however, when things changed from cute to a little more cautionary. At eight, it was officially communicated to my mother that I was overweight. The doctor spoke to her like I wasn’t even in the room. It was all said in a very professional way, something to the effect of “she is outside of the weight range normally acceptable for her age group.” So from that day forward, Canada's Food Guide was fastened to the refrigerator door, and that’s probably the moment where my insecurities with food and weight began. Simple as that.

By age eleven, I was on Weight Watchers ©, and I remember vividly my weight passport being stamped on week two around the 135 lb mark. Body Mass Index (BMI) had been invented, but it certainly wasn’t common vocabulary. I can’t be sure of my height and weight combination back then, so I’m not actually certain of how overweight I was. I wouldn't say obese. Although these days, according to BMI, everyone is obese. I was always bigger than my brother, bigger than all the girls I played with, and I know the comparisons I began making served as sparks igniting the inferno that was my self-confidence. There were many small cuts throughout my youth that hurt pretty deep. A cousin who said “you don’t want to get fat,” an aunt who took the mint jar away, the boy who made “ba-boom” noises every time I walked by, the occasional “you think you got enough ____ ” comments, and of course, wearing a t-shirt over my bathing suit from the time I learned to swim. Later came the more harsh realities of boys not wanting to date me because I wasn’t their type. Now, I can’t blame my lack of admirers on my weight alone. I had a lot of unglamorous qualities about me as I grew up. The “trifecta," as I call it, extra weight, acne, and thick (big), curly (uncontrollable), red (unique) hair. I also had terrible teeth and hated my boobs. Plus, my family was very blue-collar, so I didn’t have pretty things to disguise my insecurities or distract people, like the latest fashion trend or a fancy car. I’m not complaining, just trying to paint a picture here. 

Growing up, I didn’t understand how weight and food were linked, nor did I know that exercise wasn't an elective. I was educated at school, but I don't recall it being hammered into us that exercise equated to health. Either it wasn't as big of a deal back then or maybe I just hated doing it. Gyms existed, but not in the masses we have today, nor was going to the gym a popular social activity that people built into their weekly routine. Sports were a thing for sure, but both my brother and I were not exactly gifted with natural abilities. He was strong and fast, and he could outrun me on legs or a bicycle any day. He also always brought home the red excellence patch on those dreaded annual ParticipACTION days in grade school. I was lucky if I got marked present. The push-ups and sit-ups, like, come on. On a good year, I could maybe do five. To this day, exercise is something I do because I think I should, not because I like it. Although, a good twenty minutes on the treadmill is my means of escape and is also very effective in clearing my head or eliminating rage.

So what can happen to a girl who is overweight in childhood, grows up comparing herself to others, is pointed out regularly for certain eating habits, is not particularly active, and ends up lacking self-confidence? Easy. An eating disorder. It happened to me without even knowing what was happening, without even consciously choosing it. Ever so stealthily and gradually over the years. All the little comments, first said by others, eventually I started saying to myself, and in the process, I unknowingly rewired my brain to believe most food was bad and that I was even worse for eating it. By my early twenties, I feared some foods. Carbohydrates mostly, bread, and pasta were particularly terrifying. If I knew I was going to have pasta for dinner, I wouldn’t eat all day, and if I knew two days in advance, I wouldn’t eat for two days. It started with avoidance and restriction. That led to binging, which then led to purging. It’s a cyclical process. I was mostly in control until 2012, when at 36 years old, I had a miscarriage early into my second trimester. Not long afterwards, I was hiding empty packaging in my work bag from all the food I would binge at night. It was my attempt to both punish and soothe myself. I threw the garbage out at work so he would never know that on nights when he worked, I was at home feeding a very deep dark depression. I would eat until my stomach hurt as much as my heart did. I would eat hoping that stuffing myself would put me into a coma. On other nights, I would eat, shove a toothbrush down my throat, and then eat some more. I did this in a lame attempt to not gain any weight. If the food didn’t come back up in the quantity it went down, which it never did, I would hit the treadmill to try and run it off. If I was still angry with myself for binging, I would make the decision to simply not eat. This went on for many years. 

My rock bottom came in 2018, after consuming a large pizza, garlic dip, an order of jalapeño poppers, and a full bag of two-bite brownies within less than an hour. I was disgusted with myself, so ashamed, and I knew at that moment I needed help. I needed to share my secret. I called my Mom that night. The next week, I saw my doctor, who referred me to a psychotherapist specializing in eating disorders (ED) with whom I worked for two years detangling the thought patterns my mind had created. Not long after starting therapy, I was fortunate to get a spot in a local support group that met weekly. Think AA, NA, etc., only in ED groups there are really strange rules that I still don’t quite understand. In ED groups, at least in the one I attended, you can only refer to experiences as “partaking in ED behaviours.” You cannot say “I binged a bag of cookies and then tossed my cookies.” Apparently, honesty is triggering. So as helpful as it was to be surrounded by others whom I completely empathized with, it was a little weird. I also did a lot of reading to try to understand how I got where I was. The book that helped me most is called Brain Over Binge by Kathryn Hansen. I only came across Kathryn’s book after reading sections of Alcoholics Anonymous The Big Book. It surprised me how much eating disorders mimic the behaviours of other addictions. It took a very long time to reach a better place where I was less fearful of foods, not associating any food as “bad," and to stop partaking in ED behaviours completely. My struggle with body image, confidence, and constant battle with negative thoughts continued. Kathryn Hansen writes about two regions in the brain known as human and animal. The animal brain is savage, its only goal being survival. It is a wild, strong force that is difficult to keep caged, which is why pushing down thoughts that stem from this part of the brain can be extremely challenging. This made a lot of sense to me, and it is something I still reflect back on to this day.

A few days after my fiftieth birthday, I felt a shift. Up until then, I considered myself in recovery, and though ED is not something that ever completely goes away, I felt in control. I felt good in my body at this weight. I felt strong, fit, dare I say even a little more confident? So finding myself stopping at a convenience store to load up on supplies one night after work scared the shit out of me. I binged that night; I didn't purge, but all the routine behaviours quickly resurfaced. Within a week, I could feel myself unravelling, and as much as I wanted to quiet my animal brain, it just kept screaming at me. Thankfully, I see signs quickly now and have tools to work with, but I still struggle. Food, unlike other drugs, is readily available and needed for survival. It's why ED is so difficult to restrain. I can't not have food in my house. I can't not eat, and limiting foods is dangerous. It's a very delicate and complicated dance. A lot of people use food to soothe or sabotage. Here is where things get really interesting and honest as fuck. Losing weight, liking my body, starting my second chapter, rediscovering who I am, having goals, being content...this is where I can't seem to give myself grace. The universe, directly and indirectly, has stolen good things from me repeatedly over the years. I have never had one true thing that I love last. I have trouble trusting and have come to question how deserving I really am. Self-sabotage protects me from others looking to steal my sunshine. Sadly, I have concluded, if I take something away from myself, it’s easier to accept. I can blame myself. It's no one else's fault but my own.

Will I get back on the wagon? I will. I just find myself jumping on and off these days. Like anxiety, my relationship with food, body image, and self-confidence has been a lifelong struggle. It’s an unhealthy way of coping. I know this, but the knowledge and experience I have gained over the years help. I’m certainly not happy this little challenge was gifted my way, but I do think it has made me a more compassionate person. It’s so interesting to look back at things to try to figure out the why. It sucks when there isn’t a why, or when a why doesn’t make any sense. I like to think everything that happens in life has a purpose. Perhaps finding out the purpose is what life is all about. I’ll be sure to post about it the minute I figure it out. 

To anyone out there reading who relates to some or all of this post, keep urge surfing the best you can. Look in the mirror every day and repeat the affirmation made so famous by the great Mr. Stuart Smalley: "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.” 

RR

xo

Works Cited

Hansen, Kathryn. Brain over Binge: Why I Was Bulimic, Why Conventional Therapy Didn't Work, and How I Recovered for Good. Camellia Publishing, LLC. Phoenix, AZ. 2011.

W. Bill. Alcoholics Anonymous The Big Book. Works Publishing Inc. (later Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc.). New York City, NY. 1939.

Moira Rose, played by Catherine O’Hara on Schitt’s Creek 2015-2020.

Stuart Smalley, played by Al Franken on Saturday Night Live, early 1990s.

Support Networks

NEDA https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/

Hopewell https://hopewell.ca/

Sheena's Place https://sheenasplace.org/

Urge Surfing https://www.therapistaid.com/therapy-worksheet/urge-surfing-handout 

Notable Reference

Kerr, Alison C.. The Binge Code: 7 Unconventional Keys to End Binge Eating and Lose Excess Weight. Mindfree/Lightning Source Inc.. United Kingdom. 2017.