On food. Again. Part 1.


This summer, I took back my body from a society that doesn’t like fat people.

Or at least I thought I did.

I was really, really convinced that I did.

I started to embrace body positivity. I bought a fatkini, and I wore that fatkini all summer. I was feeling really good and strong. I was making good choices for my health and for my body. I felt great with the weight I had been losing by seeing a nutritionist and being disciplined.

But then life happened.

As it tends to do.

And I responded.

In the way I tend to do.

And now here I am, embroiled in another period of self-loathing, having gained back most of the weight I lost, and feeling like a stranger in my body. None of my clothes fit, and FFS, I cannot get my shit together. Intellectually, I believe that my worth is not tied to my size. Intellecutually, I believe in body positivity. I really, really do. And I have no problem supporting people in their bod pos journey. I will literally be your biggest cheerleader. And I will mean it. I read bod pos books and listen to podcasts and read articles and look at pics of fat people owning their bodies. And in my head, I am like, “Yes! You go girl! (Or boy.)” But I can’t get behind it for myself. Why? Because I hate how I feel. I hate how I look. I feel deficient as a human being. And I am back to trying to hide. I am back to shapewear and black clothing whenever possible. I am back to the place where I feel unlovable because of this struggle. (Sorrynotsorry for the gut-wrenching honesty.)

Reading the book Hunger by Roxane Gay was like reading my thoughts. I felt such solidarity in her story. But then I also felt depression, because her book is not one of “victory” like most of the books we read about weight. It’s not a success story. It’s a real story. It’s the majority story of people with food issues. And it’s so damn depressing.


Here’s a statistic for you-- 95% of diets fail.

That’s not very good odds.

What do I do with that information? On the one hand, sure, I have a chance to make my life a lot better, but it would take tons of work, and effort, and willpower, and pain, and discomfort... and there is only a 5% chance that I would succeed. And when you take all the previous (failed) attempts I’ve made to control this, I am sure my chances of success are much less than 5%. They are likely infinitesimally small. And so it feels hopeless that I could ever find peace.
But at the same time, just surrendering to this as a “this is just the way that I am” type of thing feels intellectually dishonest. I could imagine myself on “My 600 lb. Life” without too much creativity needed in my imagination. But I don’t think giving up on the struggle will bring peace either.

And so, about 2 months ago, I decided that I need more help with this. I made an appointment with a psychiatrist. I went to the appointment. And I was hella honest. I told him about all of the embarrassing behaviors that I feel unable to control.
He upped my Prozac dose and prescribed therapy with a psychotherapist who specializes in eating disorders. And as I was walking to the front to check out, I noticed that he wrote some numbers in the diagnosis section of the form. When I looked up further on the form to see what that corresponded to, I read “Binge Eating Disorder.” My cheeks burned with shame as I brought the paper up front to check out.

I don’t know why that moment felt so shameful to me. I have known this about myself for some time now. My unruly body gives away this "secret." But seeing it there in ink, and then being typed into my file… it’s just so... out there in the open. It’s been said now, and it can’t be unsaid.

And I found myself in another period of dissonance where my mind did not agree with my soul. Intellectually, I can see that admitting a problem or seeking help is not shameful. Intellectually, I am like, “Good job Gwenn!” And I channelled Dr.Phil telling myself, “You cannot change what you do not acknowledge.” But it FELT so shameful.

About a month ago, I started therapy to focus on this. I really like this therapist. She is gentle and compassionate. And I feel I can open up to her. But therapy isn’t particularly quick. And I am not particularly patient. And if I am honest, we haven’t even gotten to the food part of it. There’s too much other stuff in my psychological history to catch her up on.

And so, if I am feeling such embarrassment about all this, (and I am), you may be wondering why I would share this so publicly. Had I not shared all about my fatkini summer, I probably wouldn’t be sharing now. But this summer I felt so certain that I was at a turning point. I had started to love my body… or at the very least, not hate it. But here I am again where I cannot embrace that. And so, I didn’t feel it was honest to leave those posts out there without the qualifier that this summer was a single point on a larger journey. Also, I am coming to believe there can be more complete freedom when we keep fewer secrets.

There is no tidy way to wrap this up. It is what it is. I am where I am. But this time I am actively resisting the urge to figure this out before sharing this struggle. Because even if I do “figure it out” someday, it will only be my most current theory. Kind of like I thought I had it figured out this summer. So onward to the next conclusion I will (however briefly) draw.

Here’s to being present in the pain, knowing I probably won’t “win,” but keeping on anyway.

Popular Posts