Weighty issue..
Before I have had the first bite I have already calculated the calories….
Yes, unfortunetly that’s me. All my life I have battled with weight issues. And when I say battle, I mean full on war against the enemy complete with ammunition, strategy, maneuver, analysis, militaristic regimen etc. With years of experience, resiliance, trials and errors, I have this science of losing weight down to pat.
It’s the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing on my mind at night. The minute I open my eyes I focus on how to start my day. Start with hot water? grapefruit? As I lay in bed at night, I meticulously go over every meal, every bite I have taken and calculate the total calories. Like a good army general I assess everything. When there is a plate of food in front of me, before I have had even the first bite, I have already calculated all the calories. I plan my meals strategizing on portion and calorie limits. If I know I will be going out for dinner then the rest of the meals have to be sacrificed. When I am at someone’s house for dinner, I will stake out their menu, starters, entree, dessert and formulate…what I need to eat and what to give up. Any thing of high calorie has to be worth injesting. I don’t technically deny myself anything anymore, I will eat that minuscule sliver of chocolate ganache cake and those calories will be very well worth it, but oh boy will I pay for it. I will mentally balance all the other forthcoming meals accordingly.
And like any war I have the formidable enemy: bread, pasta, rice, desserts. My allies are the weighing scale, the gym, stretch jeans! Iphone, the watch with a step counter are my holy rosary beads. My ammunition is the arsenal of health drinks, diets, workout videos, fat free everything! I have systematically gone through entire shelves of diet pills, laxatives, diuretics, energy pills you name it at the local pharmacies. I have two daughters one of whom is a dietitian and she is livid with my eating habits. (#chef_boyarrhe, #foodie_rheactions ). They say I am not a good role model for them! I agree. They say I have body dysmorphia. Agree again. I look in the mirror and see a fat person. No amount of compliments can assuage the low esteem I have for myself.
“To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself.” — Thich Nhat Hanh
Growing up I was a normal kid, neither skinny nor chubby, honestly I didn’t even think about it. Then I hit sixteen, had my first crush and suddenly I was body concious. I lost oodles of baby fat and was actually skinny (God I miss those days). I started the regimen of diets and exercise at a very early age. Up until my early twenties losing weight was a piece of cake (cake… oh my!). I would gorge on pizzas and chips at a birthday party, gain a pound or two and the next two day live on hot water and fruit, run like crazy and boom, down two pounds.
And then I had my son. It felt like I had been holding my breath for my entire life. Wait! I could eat all my favorite foods and not worry about weight gain! This was a whole new world for me. It was exhilarating, exonerating. And then I had my daughter and then another daughter. Post parted depression, little kids, overworked, my body was not mine anymore. My metabolism, my hormones, my life were all out of whack. I was stressed because I was big and then I would eat and fret and workout and this tumultous cycle would continue. There was a time when nothing worked and I was so desperate that I took to throwing up. The only reason I stopped was because -1) It did nothing! -2) my skin would get all blotchy and I was afraid people would figure it out. Add to that depression, anxiety, a toxic family life. It didn’t help that a vitriolic fiend of a person took to calling me ‘buffalo’. It’s been years and I have lost over 40 pounds but I look in the mirror and still see the old me. If my weighing scale goes past a pound or two, I hear the ‘buffalo’ resonate in my ears.
Okay stop. No more maudlin talk. The fact of the matter is I didn’t give up and took charge of my life, lost all that weight and look and feel great (most times anyway). But I can’t let go of my habits and sacrifices.
My daily battle begins even before my day starts. I refuse to eat a single bite till I have had my hot water, gone to the bathroom and have a scalding hot shower to get rid of dead skin, grime etc that I presume adds at least a couple of ounces). I wait till my hair is bone dry (wet hair adds at least 2 ounces!). I will then step on the weighing scale. But before I step on it, I have already ranted out a litany of excuses in my mind if the weight is up. I may have had rice or dessert the night before, I didn’t go to the bathroom enough, I didn’t workout enough. The few seconds before the number flashes and seals my fate for the day is the scariest few seconds. And then…. cometh the verdict. If it’s the same or a few ounces or a pound or so lower, phew! Its going to be a good day. I feel relieved, euphoric, thin, light. I’ll wear my tightest pants, most flattering top. I feel beautiful and sexy and fun. There is a bounce in my step and the sun is bright. I can take on the world.
And…….if….God forbid it is more…even a few ounces (could have been that half a banana or the crust off the toast). My day is shot. My life is over! And I’m not being dramatic… Buffalo! Buffalo’ I hear the echo. I feel ugly and fat. I will wear my drabbest sweat pants…Oh what is the use of living!!! I am so desolate and spiritless that some times I can barely talk. There is a psycological war within me and I am losing it. I will go on a bender and starve myself and workout even more till my weight is back to where it was. I am illogically, irrationally fixated on that number.
“Being a healthy woman isn’t about getting on a scale or measuring your waistline. We need to start focusing on what matters — on how we feel, and how we feel about ourselves.” — Michelle Obama
Yes, I know all the zen and life quotes on inner beauty and life and healthy living. It doesn’t matter to me whether people accept me or not. It’s me, myself….. I have a hard time accepting myself. I am my own worst lawyer, judge and executioner.
I can’t stop it. I can’t stop living the way I do. I can’t ever let go of my stringent disposition and my phobias and manias. Some time back I was at the gym trudging vigorously on the elliptical machine. I happened to glance up from the screen and right across of me was an older lady, probably in her late seventies diligently stomping on the treadmill. I stopped…. I stared…. I felt tears streaming down my face.
Oh my God! That is going to be me. This crap ain’t ever gonna end!
But….yes slowly, gently, as I grow older, a soft shallow acceptance has seeped into my skin like the evening shadow. At times, I reflect on my reflection and smile at myself. I feel rich with the wealth of life and love. Of history and experiences. I look at nature swiveling by and am overwhelmed. Sometimes the emotions are so intense, so tangible I want to swallow it and hold it in my throat and feel every nuance of it. So….Will I eat that wedge of chocolate cake?….maybe a forkful or two. Do I still hear the ‘buffalo’? Yes of course!
But I also know that inside that beautiful buffalo is a beautiful gazelle, both with a heart beating and a fighting spirit. They are one with their struggles, their identity, their abominable phobias and indefatigable hope that one day I will be a size 0!!!!
