Sunday, November 23, 2008

Trust

I can relate to the alcoholic mindset "One drink is never enough." The same goes for me: one cupcake is never enough. One of the behavioral changes I've been working on is trusting myself and trusting my body, which is pretty scary because sometimes my body wants a cupcake and I'm afraid one just won't be enough.

The concept of pigging out in moderation is completely foreign to me. Those scenes in movies and on TV where girls are depressed or upset and eating ice cream out of the carton have always baffled me. I thought it had to be one of those exaggerations that seem realistic but don't really happen, like girls showering together after gym class or having pillow fights at a sleepover. I mean, those girls are never fat, so they obviously don't eat like that all the time (and they can't ALL be bulimic), and if you're eating out of the carton you're obviously eating the whole thing, right?

Last week I had what I'm starting to realize - and trust - was a "normal" food experience, though at the time I was freaking out because it felt like old times, and not the good ones.

That day I skipped breakfast (which never bodes well for me), ate a small lunch and then a light - though very satisfying - dinner. Leaving my friend's house around 10:00, I started jonesing for something sweet. The craving escalated quickly to near-manic proportions - I wanted junk food and I wanted it NOW. This is not a new feeling, in fact it's very familiar, but I haven't experienced it in so long that I hoped it was behind me. This is the feeling that has led to countless bakery thrift shop benders and 24-hour convenience store junk food runs, countless stomachaches, countless shame spirals. So yeah, I approached Food Lion with more than a little trepidation, though not enough to make me turn back (also familiar).

I had my sights set on pumpkin pie and sure enough, they were on sale. Again in typical fashion, I tore into it in the parking lot with the vigor of a junkie who needs his fix NOW. I continued eating during the five minute drive home but before I got there, something unexpected happened: I STOPPED EATING. I parked in the driveway, brought the rest of the pie (approximately half) in the house, and pretty much forgot about it for the rest of the night. THAT is not typical of my old behavior, I can tell you that much. The old me would have finished that bad boy before I got out of the car.

What it comes down to is this: I wanted pie. I ate some pie. I didn't want pie anymore. I stopped eating pie. I imagine that to a "normal" person, this is normal behavior. To me? It totally fucking blows my mind.

Sure, I ate the rest of it the next morning, which maybe isn't the healthiest breakfast but at least it served as a meal - pie for breakfast, not pie and breakfast. And two days later I got another pie, which I again ate in two sittings, but by then I had figured out an important piece to the puzzle: I was PMSing.

Now that I don't eat junk food all the time, I've been able to recognize a specific craving for it in the week before I get my period. I tend to panic a little when it happens because I fear I'm reverting to old habits, but when I satisfy the craving, whether it's for ice cream, chocolate, or pumpkin pie, I am in fact satisfied and don't lose control. This has been happening with a fair amount of regularity over the past six months, so you'd think I'd have stopped panicking by now. Of course, I would probably be less surprised if I paid attention to the calendar.

I think the panic is related to fear of losing control. The urge for pie that night was overwhelming but I didn't fight it, didn't try to exert my will - we all know how exercises in willpower tend to go - instead I trusted myself and in the end I got what I wanted without feeling bad about myself.

That's my goal, really: to eat what I want and not feel bad about myself. I've always hated diets largely because I'm just not organized enough to follow one successfully; eating food just shouldn't be that difficult. Plus I've never been one to deny myself something I really want (and if you've ever eaten my grandmother's Christmas cookies, you understand the futility of trying). Slowly but surely, I'm learning to trust that the changes I'm making are very real, and that trusting myself is the best way to get what I want.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Slipper socks - MEDIUM!

OK, that heading (a Christine Baranski quote from The Ref) has nothing to do with my post, it's just a phrase that always springs to mind when I hear the word "medium", which is what my post is about.

I've written about the behavioral changes I've been making with regard to food over the past 11 months and while weight loss has not been my focus, it has happily become a side effect. I don't know what I weighed in January when I started treatment and when my food therapist weighed me the other day I told her not to tell me the number; if I start thinking in terms of numbers I have no doubt that they will hijack my focus and all the old expectations & anxiety will come flooding back and derail my progress. So I don't know what I weigh, but I do know that I've lost 35 pounds.

I didn't need to get weighed to know I was losing weight. All my clothes fit differently - thank God I never throw anything away, I don't have to buy new clothes because I'm starting to fit into my old ones! - and I can feel the difference in my hips and belly. I'm happy that it's happening but it's not what my life is about; my life is about making healthful choices and positive changes (and movies & television, of course).

That being said, I had a pivotal clothing experience today: I FIT INTO A MEDIUM SIZED T-SHIRT! I whole-heartedly believe that size is just number; I don't aspire to a specific weight or size, that's not what this is about - this is about not owning a medium sized garment since I was about 12 years old.

Granted, it's a large medium. My friend Linda gave me a couple of shirts a while back because they didn't fit her right. I literally laughed in her face and told her it didn't matter how big they ran, they would never fit me. I tried one on just to be sure and it was airway-restricting tight. The only reason I didn't throw them away was because I figured I could use them as car cleaning rags (and also because, as stated above, I never throw anything away). And there they've sat all these many months - geez, maybe even over a year - crumpled up in the backseat of my car - until tonight.

One of the perks of having a ridiculously cluttered car such as I do is that there's often a solution to any last-minute wardrobe emergencies. I wasn't planning to go out after work tonight so I didn't bring a change of clothes. When my plans changed and I was too lazy to drive all the way (i.e. 3 miles) home, I started excavating.

Since I recently (i.e. in May) cleaned out my backseat (i.e. reduced a 3 foot pile of clutter to 1 foot), my options were limited to a yellowed white T-shirt and the aforementioned medium. There was also a zippered sweatshirt back there, so I figured even if the medium was too tight I could cover most of it up with the hoody. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the shirt not only did NOT restrict my airway anymore, it actually FIT! Like in an I-don't-necessarily-HAVE-to-cover-this-up-with-a-hoody kind of way. Mind you, I still wore the hoody, but it looked better that way and besides, it was chilly out.

There is no real point to this story, only that I fit into a medium sized T-shirt today, and it was extremely gratifying. I'm also reassured by the fact that I had a stronger emotional response to how I felt in my clothes than to learning exactly how much weight I've lost. I don't need or want my existance to be validated by weight loss but the fact that something so mundane affected me so profoundly is significant, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Fat Girls Laugh Last

There were two major reasons I was skeptical about watching the Steve Carell movie Get Smart. For one thing, film adaptations of TV shows are often mediocre at best. For another, the previews highlighted an over-the-top dance sequence featuring Carell with a Very Large Woman. All I could think was, “And now for the 'Let's Laugh at the Fat Girl' portion of tonight's entertainment.” Ugh. I got the same feeling in my gut that I used to have in high school approaching a group of kids I thought would make fun of me.

Luckily the cast and my love for the show won me over; otherwise I would have missed out on a very funny movie and one of the greatest Fat Girls in Film moments I've ever witnessed.

First of all, it's more of a “laughing with” than “laughing at” type of scene. Trying to one-up his partner, Agent 99 (Anne Hathaway), on the dance floor, Maxwell Smart (Carell) approaches a group of blond girls.

“May I have this dance?” he asks.
“No,” the alpha blond sneers at him.
“I wasn't asking you,” he says.

The crowd parts and we see that the object of his pursuit is the Very Large Woman mentioned earlier (Lindsay Hollister, who has fabulous hair and wears a stunning gown).

It is revealed earlier that Smart was formerly 150 pounds overweight (those were the “Let's Laugh at the Fat Guy” scenes), so it's fair to say he knows how this girl feels. The implication of choosing her in his effort to impress 99 is that her weight is not a liability, it doesn't diminish his confidence in achieving his goal. Sure, the big lift at the end is meant to be funny because of its absurdity but it's the situation that's absurd, not the girl.

The best part comes after the dance: Walking past those same snotty girls, our heroine pauses to smirk and flip them the bird. Take THAT, bitches!

It seems like in most outcast fat girl scenarios in books, movies, and on TV, the “happy ending” is either the fat girl getting skinny (a la Smart) or winning over the cool kids by proving herself. What does being fat have to do with a person's merit? What is there to prove? This girl doesn't try to win anyone over. She doesn't want to be friends with those blond bitches; why would she? She knows what they think of her. She has her great little “Eff you” moment and goes on her merry way.

In Get Smart, the fat lady doesn't sing, she gets the last laugh.