Last week I spent an hour or so on the SparkPeople website reading blog entry after blog entry. These were written by fitness professionals who compared their post-pregnancy bellies to "rising bread dough" (boy, do I identify with that one!) and who, despite being a very good weight for their height, have cellulite that makes them not wear swimsuits in public. Entry after entry convinced me (again) that the current view of the female body is so unhealthy. We look at the stars on the magazine covers fully knowing that they are photoshopped, they have personal chefs, they have personal trainers, and they can literally devote their lives to having those bodies (which still need to be touched up when photographed) and while our brains say, "Not real!" our emotions say, "I want to look like that!" We set up a mental ideal that is impossible to achieve, but think that if we just exercise enough or cut out enough food we'll get there.
And then when we see the stars in their natural form—in swimsuits on vacation or whatever—and see that they really do have lumps, cellulite, and imperfections, the magazines mock them and rip them to shreds. This can only cement our notion that perfection is somehow (a) achievable by all, and (b) keep-up-able 100% of the time, can't it? We expect the stars to do it, we should be able to do it too.
(Here's a link to get you started, if you want to immerse yourself in these wonderful posts: http://www.dailyspark.com/blog.asp?post=i_profess_that_i_love_to_confess)
Do we even remember what a real body looks like? There are websites full of pictures. If you've searched out and seen the real tummies and real thighs, tell the truth: were you grossed out by the dimples? Or did you feel camaraderie? Did you think, "Maybe I'm more okay this way than I thought I was?"
So what's new since I took a flying leap off the wagon?
- I'm not weighing myself at all. I have long known what a mind job that weight on the scale is. If I've been working hard all week and it hasn't budged, I get depressed and start inhaling the doughnuts while saying, "Evidently eating less doesn't help! No matter how hard I try nothing makes a difference!" If I've lost weight that's encouragement in itself; if I haven't lost, it just bums me out and makes me overindulge. I may weigh once a month now, or something. But daily and weekly weighing is right out. I just don't need to drag myself into that game.
- I'm keeping a paper food diary of what I eat. Not counting calories, not trying to meet any minimums or maximums, just tracking. Tracking has always worked for me. It helps me, somehow, to control my intake. If I don't want to write down that third cookie, I don't eat it. Tracking keeps me honest.
- I'm eating less, genuinely. I guess I had turned into a mass of emotions and needs and I was trying to tame everything by eating it. Letting go of weight expectations, letting go of the emotion of what's on the scale, has enabled me to let go of trying to comfort myself with this or punish myself with skipping that. I don't have to overfeed, I don't have to overcompensate. I'm a lot closer to that zen relationship with food—that it is merely fuel for my engine, it is not best friend or social companion or crutch or comforter.
- I'm eating less sugar. It goes hand in hand with #3, but it's still notable.
Those are all really positive changes. I'm so at peace with my body. Grateful to it, even, for being so healthy. My body has never stopped me from doing anything I wanted to. How great is that?
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