One thing that I still don’t understand is why we equate size to health. As a nation we believe that the skinnier we are, the healthier we are. Knowing that this is so far from the truth and convincing myself of it however, are two entirely different things… and that makes me angry. Angry at the blatantly false misconception, angry at society for endorsing such false and dangerous propaganda, and angry at myself for buying into it (at least on some self-conscious, subconscious level).
I see Facebook posts, blogs, and articles all the time that highlight the inspiring story of a man or a woman who has gotten healthy by losing X amount of pounds. Not that I am downplaying the role weight plays in health or the hard work many of these men and women have put into losing the weight, but I am simply suggesting that merely losing weight does not equate to health. The equation is not that simple! Just because someone loses weight eating frozen dinners and drinking diet cokes, does not mean that they are doing their body any favors (trust me, I’ve been there). It will in fact, only accomplish the opposite – making them more unhealthy.
Enter my story. In my most desperate of times, I would eat anything that I believed would result in the body I thought I was meant to have (which I only believed I needed thanks again to societal standards). This unhealthy way of life eventually developed into an eating disorder. At my lowest point, I can remember one specific night where I made a special trip to the gas station to purchase a bunch of junk food …which I knew I was going to throw-up later. Laying on my bathroom floor, crying, with the leftover taste of regurgitated Cheetos and donuts mixed with bile, I finally asked myself one simple question, “Why?” And while that pivotal moment began my search for a healthy relationship with food, unfortunately it wasn’t the end of it.
One of the best things I did for myself was find a workout regimen that I loved – one that had nothing to do with losing weight, one that made me forget what I wanted to look like but rather focused on who I wanted to be: strong, confident, self-loving, and truly heathy! I didn’t want to be someone so obsessed over the vessel that allowed me to live life (aka: my body), that I actually stopped living life. For me, CrossFit® was the sport that really caused me to have this paradigm shift. Beyond that, I desired to eat in a way that fueled my body to do all of these amazing new things (like deadlift my own body weight and do 300 squats in a row). I desired to eat and actually enjoyed eating, without guilt or fear.
Now, as simple as this all sounds, I would be lying if I said that even during that time I still didn’t have breakdown moments and make unhealthy choices… and cry because of my cellulite or because I didn’t fit into my old jeans… but one thing had fundamentally shifted, and I would not go back. I could not. I was learning to truly love the body I had for reasons far beyond how it looked. That dark path I was previously on, as I laid on my bathroom floor that night, was one that could only lead to destruction and hopelessness, not health and the “perfect” body.
The story doesn’t end their however. Fast forward a couple of years. On top of developing an eating disorder, I had struggled with health issues for almost my entire life (which I talk waaayyyyy more about in other posts). After many trips to the ER and years of incorrect diagnoses, I was diagnosed with Late Stage Lyme disease. While there are many (countless) things that I could talk about regarding my diagnosis, the one I would like to focus on is my weight in regards to the discussion of health. At the beginning of my treatment I lost weight – like a ton of weight. The thing that I remember most about it though was that I was also the sickest I had ever been in my life (and trust me, that’s saying something). I was weak, I had a low heart-rate/blood pressure, headaches, dizziness, and periodically my limbs would stop working/go numb. At times I couldn’t walk, my husband even had to help me to the bathroom (talk about true love), and I intermittently couldn’t talk – not to mention the uncontrollable muscle spasms and all over pain/exhaustion. I really thought that I could die and sometimes even wanted to… But, I lost weight (“Good trade off, huh?” – she said sarcastically). During this time, the most upsetting thing I encountered was when people, who didn’t know I was sick, encouragingly asked me if I had lost weight and told me how great I looked! It was infuriating! Beyond infuriating! While I know it was usually said with the best of intentions, it still made me sick to my stomach (and it wasn’t just the nausea from all the meds). I couldn’t believe that while yes, I was finally my unrealistic “ideal” weight, it was truly the last thing that mattered to me. I just wanted my life back.
This brings me to now. I’m still in the full swing of my treatment and on the long and jagged road to recovery. The nausea comes and goes but I am able to eat normally again most of the time. In fact better than my previous normal. I follow a schedule, eat cleaner, more balanced, and more consistent, but not because of how I want to look but out of necessity. Because I want to one day have the chance to live the life I choose again. Because there truly are more important things than weight and because my health is not determined by the way my body looks. My size does not equate to anything more than a number. Nothing. My body is the ideal and is perfect because I am caring for it and because it allows me to explore this crazy life – not because it is what someone else has determined as ideal.
So why am I writing this now… today? I guess that I just needed the reminder. As I have gotten back into the swing of life, eating normally and without obsession, I have put on weight. This morning, I let myself fall into a (small) pity party about none of my clothes fitting. Then instead of obsessing over it, I got angry. Not at myself, but at society for condoning such an unhealthy sense of “health.” I found myself thinking (just for a split second) that I liked how I looked better when I was so sick I couldn’t walk. How sick is that (and not the physical kind)? Thank goodness I snapped out of it! Thank God I know that as my body regains strength, it TRULY DOES NOT MATTER what it looks like. As I am able to walk, shower on my own, feed myself, drive and enjoy an occasional afternoon with a friend, I know just how beautiful this body is. And I am forever grateful to have learned that lesson – no matter how painful.
I leave you with this: I know that I am not the only person out there who has felt that they are less than adequate or have abused one of the most precious gifts we get, our bodies, all in the name of “beauty.” So get mad. Don’t take it. Don’t believe it. Don’t stand for it for one second longer. Don’t allow a backwards society to determine anything about you. Talk about it. Share your story. And maybe, just maybe we can change it. Let’s embrace a real “healthy” and a new beautiful – one that has nothing to do with how we look.
“Fall in love with taking care of yourself. Mind. Body. Spirit.” – unknown