I look in the mirror quite a lot: when I’m at home I will stop to consider what I see. When I am out I will sneak a quick glance when I get the opportunity. I’m not looking at my face. I like my face, it’s me and I like the way I look to the world. That bit’s ok. No, it’s the rest of me I am looking at.
I will turn sideways to see if my jumper is resting on my hips (then tell myself off for having a big bottom), I will look at my back to see if there are signs of back fat (then move everything around to reduce it), I will look at my trousers and if they seem too short then I will conclude it’s because my hips are getting bigger so they are moving up to compensate. Day after day, constant negativity, constant criticism. It doesn’t matter if people compliment me, tell me I look good, I will still insist on doing myself down.
One problem is not knowing what my body should look like: I’ve been so tied up with dieting for so long, losing and gaining weight, that I have no idea what I would look like. If I stopped dying my hair I can guess it would end up back as a mousy brown with lots of grey, but when I get to the end of this part of my life, when I feel at ease with my body, my weight, my eating, what will my body look like? Of course I’d like to imagine it will be slender, full of vitality, no rolls of fat lingering but maybe this current version of me is the me that I will always be, perhaps I won’t change, but how will I know? I don’t want to keep focusing on weight, on my body, but when will I feel ready to stop looking in the mirror and just know I am there?
We had a lovely family day yesterday: a birthday meal, plenty to eat and drink, lots of laughter, a really lovely day. I went to bed feeling blessed and happy. And then I had a horrible dream: the only bit of it I remember clearly is being told I had put on a lot of weight. I woke up feeling awful, and then sad that this obsession I have with my body, my eating, my weight, could impact on me so strongly and spoil the end of a lovely weekend.
The primary feeling I had was shame or embarassment. Perhaps the idea that I could enjoy a family day without monitoring all I was eating and drinking was too much for my subconscious, perhaps it was trying to inflict my old ways of thinking back on me? I sat and thought about it, remembering I hadn’t actually eaten that much so why were these negative voices so strong? And even if I had eaten more than normal why did it matter that much? We don’t do this every day, every week or even every month so one day wouldn’t have a huge impact. It just all seems so pointless and negative.
I don’t want the focus of my life to be on this, I want food to be simply fuel but it seems like parts of me are fighting back and I hated the feeling of shame, the idea of someone really hitting me where it hurts: the way I look and the way I feel about the way I look. I imagine every mouthful causing my hips to expand and I am fighting this really hard, talking to myself with the kindess I use with other people, but it is still fighting back. I still look at photos of friends from school to see if they are bigger or smaller than me: what a sad way to judge the world and the people in it. I realise the fight has just begun just when I was hoping it was getting nearer the end!