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A beautiful guest post from Joy@Stodzy.com. You can see more of her work @ The Sobriety Collective, Veronica Valli, and Substance for You.
A beautiful guest post from Joy@Stodzy.com. You can see more of her work @ ♦ ♦ ♦
From an early age I remember being called “Pugsly.” But I don’t remember being fat or even chubby. Not any more than any other kid is as they develop from 5-10. Anyways, little kids aren’t supposed to even think about such things. My mom was always trying to lose weight, always going on some fad diet, taking fat burner supplements, doing scissor kicks in the pool, twisting feverishly on this little orange twister thing that was supposed to diminish her waist. Then there was The Fat Roller. God Save Me – This thing to me as a child was behemoth. FAT in itself. Massive and intimidating, I could hear the “click” of the ‘On’ switch, the soft whir of the motor and then the clackity clack clacking as her meaty hip engaged with the pale blonde wood rollers. It was this great 60’s shade of sea-foam green with ridged chrome strappings and the wooden bars in the middle that looked more like they belonged in a staircase banister. These were the essential the rolling parts. This is where the magic happened. My mom sat at this thing periodically, reading as the fat roller spun and spun and clicked and clacked. Apparently, it broke up the fat for whatever part of the body you placed against it. Bizarre, I know. I’m certain the same people who invented this body molding machine are descendants of those who brought to life the torturous medieval devices used to elicit admissions to heresy. My point is (aside from hoping to cause my readers to chuckle) is to illustrate that these weird body image things can get started very early in life! Kids are sponges – be careful what you spill, and say around them. “Don’t eat that you’ll get fat.” “A moment on the lips forever on the hips.” These are the messages I was hearing before I even turned 6. It’s all my mother’s fault. Someone call my therapist.
Body Criticism
I’ve always had this weird thing, this body consciousness, body criticism. As my body changed in adolescence and I went from flat chested to 32DD seemingly overnight. It felt like my world was collapsing. I could no longer climb trees without these THINGS getting in my way. I hated them. I hated being a girl. Curves?? What‘s with all these curves and bumps and at the sight of my first very own muffin top I thought I was going to disintegrate like a sculpted sand mermaid facing a tropical storm. I was becoming a woman and learned that there were a lot of things that go along with that; men and boys staring, people in general staring, attention, compliments – OH! How I hated compliments! I just didn’t want anybody looking at me!! At ALL! That was very hard for me even though many people made an effort to convince me, “They’re staring at you because you’re pretty.“ BAH! I didn’t believe them! . At that time though, as I look back I wasn’t feeling appreciated or adored. I understand now that I was feeling objectified and that’s what was ruffling my feathers. I was too young to “get” the concept at that time in there had ever been a red flag that intervention would be necessary, this was it.
Girls are curvy
As time went on and I grew, I always had a self body image as “fat” or simply less attractive than some other girl. I constantly compared myself to emaciated 12 year old models in magazines. It was really annoying to my friends. When I complained to my college roommate about this she’d look me up and down and shake her head and say, “You’re a girl. Girls are curvy. Guys LIKE curvy.” Hmm. A new perspective that I hadn’t considered. I mean, that a guy would even take a second glance at me was taboo in my mind – “What must be wrong with HIM?!” is what I’d think to myself and if they did hold their glance even if accompanied by a friendly smile, I’d spout off with some feminist comment or piercing verbal attack, “You f***ing pervert!” There was NO self worth in those days. NONE… and certainly no filter.
Junkie Chique
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately as it may seem in the long view… these body image issues, this lack of self-worth based on what the scale said lead me down a dark path of self-destruction over time. I found the answer to all my problems….I found DRUGS. When I saw that some of them turned me into a stick figure over time I of course formed the twisted belief, ”..drugs = skinny. Drugs good! “ No! Drugs NOT Good! I went through a whole decade of “Junkie Chique” thinking I was just way too cool for the human race and truth be told, I nearly took myself out. Slow Suicide is not attractive. Slow Suicide is not cool. Thank God some people who cared about me arranged something with Intervention Services. I nearly killed myself over a few pounds? A few curves? Yeah, I was a mess. But not anymore. At some point I hit a miserable bottom where I decided enough is enough. The pain became too much. I gave up the fight and with the push from the intervention, I sought help at a drug and alcohol rehab. There, I received so much love and reassurance that everything would be okay if I just stayed put and followed suggestions. I reached that familiar point of being sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was malnourished to the point where my body functions and mental functions were debilitated. In rehab I received formal education on how to nourish my mind, body and spirit and how to live a well balanced life. I incorporated new, healthy habits in my daily life that made me feel good about myself and good in general. I even felt like doing things to make other people feel good! Now, that’s one of my most favorite activities. Random Acts of Kindness are a powerful part of my daily recovery plan. I’ve had rebuild neural pathways in my brain to get around those old damaging beliefs and doing things to get outside myself is a very effective way to accomplish this.
Re-Parenting
Even now, when I feel plump and I don’t fit into my favorite “skinny” jeans at that particular time of the month I have that old familiar tape that starts running, “Pugsly.” I am able now to quickly flip it and tell myself a powerful positive affirmation like, “I’m a beautiful, worthwhile desirable woman with many talents – and then I wear sweats to work. Who cares? Life is not a high fashion runway. Sometimes we just need to re-parent our own selves to fill in the gaps where our family of origin did the best they could. I’m curvy and I’m good with that. Anytime my mind starts down that negative self talking path, I just have to remember the lessons I learned from all the “teachers” along the way. Life is a buffet best savored one bite at a time.
