Yes, you ARE fat - My Messy Beautiful

This post is part of Glennon Melton’s “Messy, Beautiful Warriors” project.  Glennon is the fantastic author of “Carry on Warrior” and writer of one of my favorite blogs, Momastery.  If it wasn’t for this opportunity, I would probably have never shared my story.  Thank you for taking the time to read it! 

October 1st, 2005 - Journal Entry
I suppose I have to start somewhere, so here it goes.  This move to Atlanta has thrown me completely out of balance.  I don’t know how things got so out of control.  I thought I had it together, and now I feel so far gone.  I have days where I feel amazing, and so happy, and then there are days like this one, and I don’t know what in the world could possibly make me feel better.  I tried to sit by the pool and read my book, like a normal person, but my brain was scattered.  Looking at my body has become an obsession.  One minute, I think I’m fat, the next minute, I don’t even recognize myself.  And now I have this weird blonde body hair everywhere, like a spring jacket.  I don’t know if it’s new, or if it’s always been there??  I am completely fried and out of touch with reality.  I can’t deal with anyone asking me to go to dinner, so I’ll lie and say I’m not hungry, just so I can make sure I am able to stick with my insane routine of steamed vegetables, vodka and, then maybe, just maybe give myself permission to eat once I’ve taken a sleeping pill and have lost all concept of inhibition and guilt.  Each morning starts the same,  the freaking scale, tears, wondering what I ate last night.  Was it too much?  Can I eat today?  But I have to pull it together, because apparently now I have a job, and I’m an adult.  What the hell?  I feel like the only thing I know for sure is that my name is Liz, I weigh 85 pounds and my life is a lie. 

WOAHHHHH……It’s so strange to read back on that journal entry.  I remember that person so very well, like an old friend that has just moved away.  Those days of sitting by the pool freezing, and isolating myself in my apartment were the beginning of the “end” of my eating disorder.  I say “end” though, because once you’ve been down that road, you are never really far off it.  In a way, you’re just on the sidewalk, trying to keep yourself safe. It took three months of inpatient treatment, and years of follow up meetings and counseling to get to where I am today.  I am still shocked sometimes by the amount of thought and energy I put into what I eat, and how much I eat.  The feelings involved in eating may always be there, but I’m aware of them now, and can deal with them.  I can tell them to shut the hell up.  I now have the voice to speak back when my brain tells me not to eat, or to feel bad about something I ate. I now know that when you are highly sensitive, it can be much easier to deal with the details of food, rather than the complexities of emotions and relationships. In reality, it’s never about the food/alcohol/relationship/shopping/gambling (insert main squeeze here).  Those things just cover up the bigger feelings.  The ones that make us feel yucky.  The ones that don’t show us in our best light.  

A couple of months ago, I was sitting on the floor of my five year old daughter’s room, rushing her to get dressed.  “You have FIVE minutes. Your clothes are laid out on the floor waiting. For the love of GOD, get DRESSED!”   When it comes to getting dressed, this child can be like a hummingbird in a bed of sweet zinnias. It requires deep breathing and time outs, for me.  As usual, she jumped on and off her bed, hung upside down from the bedpost, and did a handful of headstands. Then she stood proudly in front of the silver framed mirror I had picked up from Goodwill.  Clad in My Little Pony panties, she made silly faces in the mirror and covered her face with her dark hair like a monster.  I watched her expression change from a grin, as she looked at her sparkling eyes and dark brown hair, to a frown as her gaze shifted downward over her body.  She turned sideways, to examine her profile, and traced her hand over her precious tummy. 

I should stop here and say (for those of you that don’t know) I have two daughters.  Sigh…… (I CAN hear your prayers and THANK YOU). I make it a point to never say anything about my body, positive or negative.  My body is simply where my soul lives.  I let them pinch and pull and poke whatever tummy rolls they want, and we all laugh. They will never, ever see me frown at my appearance, comment on my body, or regard my own physical appearance in any way.  We are more than that.  We are the Pearsons, I’m sure you have heard of us ;-)

So, she looked in the mirror and began slumping her shoulders over.  Her little nose scrunched upwards.  “I’m so fat!” she whined, staring and poking at her bare stomach.

I felt my neck and back become clammy.  Nooooooooooooooooooooo, I thought to myself.  These words, these horrific words that I never wanted to hear from my child were already happening.  Wasn’t this a 13 year old thing?  And furthermore, where was she getting this?  I had NO idea what to say.  My body felt numb, my brain was buzzing with panic, but, in that moment there was one thing I did know for certain. I knew that it didn’t matter that she wasn’t fat.   In fact, she is built like a miniature body builder. The girl has abs of steel, and a gun show to boot.  But, I knew from my own experience, that when you feel fat, the last thing in the world that you need is for someone to tell you that you’re not.  What you need is to be “seen” and “heard”. 

“Come here Ella”, I said, reaching out to hold her in my arms.  “You are right, you are SO fat”
She looked at me, with wide brown eyes, undoubtedly surprised, and likely a little horrified.  I started to wonder if I was about to damage her for life.

“You are SO SO FAT, in your heart”.  She smiled.  “You are SUPER DUPER FAT in your brain”.  She giggled.  “I hope that your brain and your heart get FATTER and FATTER because those are my favorite things about you”.

See, fat is just a word.  It’s only negative if we make it negative.  I know that in this world of raising girls, I’ve got a lot of forces working against me.  But, at the end of the day, I believe it’s MY voice they hear, MY actions, and MY opinions that they will hold onto.  Someday, probably many days, they are going to feel fat, and they are going to feel ugly.  I hope that on those days, they know that the answer is NOT to try and become skinny.  The answer is to find the things that are already there that make them beautiful.  When we remember that we are FAT with kindness, bravery, strength and determination, then we can look in the mirror and be proud of how much we have grown.