Isn't it always?
The problem has always been there, but the way it manifests changes.
As a teenager, it came out by not eating. Only one teacher ever called me on it. Maybe because she was a sub and rather than watch me waste away a little every day, she saw me every couple of months, so the difference might have been more apparent. One day when I walked in her jaw just dropped. I told her it was because of a dance show, but that was a lie. I had a good teacher who worked very hard to keep that sort of pressure off of us. She'd actually quit working at a very upscale studio because she didn't feel right about keeping her dancers rail thin.
I had a lot of excuses.
I could be very convincing.
Baggy sweaters were in.
My goal, quite specifically, was to get rid of the crease where my butt met my thigh. I looked everyday for improvement. I weighed myself twice a day at least.
But us McIlhenney girls are hippy creatures, and while my eyes might be receding into dark pools on my face, and my cheeks disappearing, I still had an ass.
I called it 'watching my figure.'
Eventually, I got tired of being tired, and I realized that the passing out (and the bruises from the fall) were going to give me away. That was ok, I could find plenty of ways to be self-destructive.
In later years, I abused food in another way. I felt I deserved nourishment, and felt nobody was gonna give it to me but me. So I indulged myself ridiculously. With more than I wanted. More often than I wanted.
I called it 'being nice to myself.'
This left me with a rather thicker figure, as one can imagine. Nothin' I couldn't still work, I'm still mad-hot, but it's not really ideal.
In the last year, I've rediscovered my childhood love of cooking. I've been cooking healthy and tasty food. The sort of food I really like and that makes me feel better.
I call it 'balance,' but in truth, it's just adding one more layer of control.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to NOT be terribly aware of everything I put in my body. To pig out sometimes and rely on my healthy habits, rather than agonize over everything.
I have the healthy habits. I'm aware that it's ok and good even, to indulge sometimes.
But I don't trust it.
I agonize.
Even now.
Even now when my life is dreamy-perfect. I'm in the healthiest place emotionally that I can ever remember.
But yesterday I felt guilty for eating two slices of pizza. Yesterday I had to face the fact that I hadn't done more then snack for a week. (I'd called it 'proactive' because I wanted to lose some weight before being in a bunch of pictures at my brother's wedding.) That I'd made a show of cooking while talking to someone, and after two bites, it all still sits in my fridge. And that the only reason I was eating now was that my stomach was upset from the aspirin I'd taken on a empty stomach.
And the only answer I can think of right now is to exercise even more control. To trust myself less. To measure out exact portions and force myself to eat no more and no less. And then to try to force myself to think of something else for the rest of the day.
Will it ever be easier, less work, less forcing, less control?
I HAVE to sort this out.
There are teenage girls that look up to me.
The problem has always been there, but the way it manifests changes.
As a teenager, it came out by not eating. Only one teacher ever called me on it. Maybe because she was a sub and rather than watch me waste away a little every day, she saw me every couple of months, so the difference might have been more apparent. One day when I walked in her jaw just dropped. I told her it was because of a dance show, but that was a lie. I had a good teacher who worked very hard to keep that sort of pressure off of us. She'd actually quit working at a very upscale studio because she didn't feel right about keeping her dancers rail thin.
I had a lot of excuses.
I could be very convincing.
Baggy sweaters were in.
My goal, quite specifically, was to get rid of the crease where my butt met my thigh. I looked everyday for improvement. I weighed myself twice a day at least.
But us McIlhenney girls are hippy creatures, and while my eyes might be receding into dark pools on my face, and my cheeks disappearing, I still had an ass.
I called it 'watching my figure.'
Eventually, I got tired of being tired, and I realized that the passing out (and the bruises from the fall) were going to give me away. That was ok, I could find plenty of ways to be self-destructive.
In later years, I abused food in another way. I felt I deserved nourishment, and felt nobody was gonna give it to me but me. So I indulged myself ridiculously. With more than I wanted. More often than I wanted.
I called it 'being nice to myself.'
This left me with a rather thicker figure, as one can imagine. Nothin' I couldn't still work, I'm still mad-hot, but it's not really ideal.
In the last year, I've rediscovered my childhood love of cooking. I've been cooking healthy and tasty food. The sort of food I really like and that makes me feel better.
I call it 'balance,' but in truth, it's just adding one more layer of control.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to NOT be terribly aware of everything I put in my body. To pig out sometimes and rely on my healthy habits, rather than agonize over everything.
I have the healthy habits. I'm aware that it's ok and good even, to indulge sometimes.
But I don't trust it.
I agonize.
Even now.
Even now when my life is dreamy-perfect. I'm in the healthiest place emotionally that I can ever remember.
But yesterday I felt guilty for eating two slices of pizza. Yesterday I had to face the fact that I hadn't done more then snack for a week. (I'd called it 'proactive' because I wanted to lose some weight before being in a bunch of pictures at my brother's wedding.) That I'd made a show of cooking while talking to someone, and after two bites, it all still sits in my fridge. And that the only reason I was eating now was that my stomach was upset from the aspirin I'd taken on a empty stomach.
And the only answer I can think of right now is to exercise even more control. To trust myself less. To measure out exact portions and force myself to eat no more and no less. And then to try to force myself to think of something else for the rest of the day.
Will it ever be easier, less work, less forcing, less control?
I HAVE to sort this out.
There are teenage girls that look up to me.
4 Comments:
This post made me sad for you, and for all the other girls out there going through the same thing, whether now or in the past. I lost a good friend to suicide when I was in high school, and she was bulimic. None of us saw it. She ate with us. We just didn't know what happened later.
I wish I could pretend there was something I could say to fix this for you, but in reality you're right--this is for you to work out. I am most definitely thinking of you, and you are in my prayers.
That's just the point.
It's not that I need help to stop eating, or help to stop starving myself.
I CAN do that.
I just don't know how to stop agonizing.
That's not so simple.
The most important thing here is that you know what your problem is and you're trying to overcome it. And that's all anyone (including yourself) can ever expect from you; that you're working towards and trying to overcome it.
And by the way. That's a very nice rack you have. Just sayin'. Cause I mean... I know racks. ;)
Like the others have said there's no easy solution. But just talking about it will help you heal. That's the important thing, healing. The brain isn't a faulty computer that can be reprogrammed -- no matter how much we want it to be. Putting pressure on yourself to "get better" won't help. But talking about it will.
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