Thank you for sharing your journey through your body image in “Baby Fat” [Issue 135]. It struck a familiar chord.
Two years ago, after having been on many diets, I looked at myself in the mirror and pledged to find out what could possibly put a stop to this madness. I could no longer stand looking at myself with embarrassment and self-consciousness, nor could I tolerate the see-saw of binging and dieting, gratification and deprivation. Where did my feelings of worthlessness come from?
By the age of ten, I had developed breasts, grown considerably, gotten my period, and become a fully grown female. It was quite shocking to me and my family. I was ridiculed by others for something totally out of my control. My folks thought I was overweight and put me on my first diet.
Our culture seems to notice and appreciate only those women who are anorexic and boyish in form. The models and actresses all have that “I’ve been eating salad and jogging ten miles a day” look. And here I was trying to look just like them. No wonder I didn’t consider myself beautiful or worthy enough.
The first step in my body reclamation project was to totally appreciate and accept my body just as it was. I often spent five minutes in front of the mirror, totally naked, noticing my body. When I found myself making negative judgements, I’d go over that body part with my hands, breathe deeply and say an affirmation.
Next, I looked at when I ate. Although I had spent eight years in the restaurant business, I rarely sat down to a relaxing meal myself. My energy went toward feeding faceless multitudes, and I’d collapse at home with a yogurt, or pick at cheese and crackers because I was too tired for much else. I realized that I needed to spend time preparing regular, well-balanced meals for myself. My poor body needed to know where the next meal was coming from.
Whenever I stared into the cupboard or refrigerator searching for the right food to make me feel better, I asked myself, “What are you feeling or needing?” Sometimes I felt lonely, so I closed the refrigerator and called a friend for some company. If I was sad, I felt my feelings, wrote in my journal about them or talked with a buddy.
While eating, I noticed my hunger levels and emotional state. I also resigned from the clean plate club and left food on my plate. I chewed my food more slowly and enjoyed every bite.
Another crucial step was to overhaul my wardrobe. Ever since age nine, when I grew out of my clothes so quickly, I’d worn hand-me-downs. My parents couldn’t afford to keep me in clothes, so all the relatives pitched in their old clothes for me to wear. From then on I was Second Hand Rose. Now, I am beginning to construct a wardrobe which reflects my style, my sense of who I am.
Who I am is a beautiful woman, fully female in every fiber, a delight, totally irresistible. I now know how to properly nourish and nurture myself and appreciate my body’s strength, stamina and voluptuousness. I will never go on a diet again.
Mindy Sue Cohen
Burlington, Vermont
I have wanted to write for many years, but I had not found an opening until reading “Baby Fat” [Issue 135]. I was actually quite startled to see this editorial, since I have recently been having private conversations in absentia with the editor on this very subject. Before one of the editor’s marriages he lost a lot of weight so he would look slim and unburdened. I am getting married in August and I have been wondering if I should do the same.
This subject of fat and thinking fat is so painful that it has taken me a week to write about it. I don’t have any brilliant ideas such as macrobiotics, breaking-free therapy, eating from one bowl, chewing a lot, regarding food as the deity. I do have some reflections:
Our vibrancy and basic goodness as human beings are not related to our perceptions of our body. These perceptions come from nowhere, have no abiding resting place, nor do they go anywhere. They are inherently empty as well as vividly real.
Food can express the richness of the phenomenal world. This richness contains aspects of sanity and neurosis, both of which we can afford to give away. In the Vajrayana Buddhist tradition, ganchakra, or feast, is a formal practice in which desire and sense perceptions are made part of the path.
There is no possibility of expressing kindness to others if we hate ourselves or feel that we have been cheated. Depending on external phenomena for our happiness and brilliance is questionable.
If it’s not one thing it’s another . . . so if our state of mind is poverty-stricken and fixed, then this would undoubtedly manifest in other ways even if fat were not the issue. It would be a real kick to be reborn as blond and slim and find that we really hate our hair; it would be an even greater kick not to care about food.
If we are so fortunate to be able to reflect on our lives before we drop dead, I imagine our perception of this whole issue would be rather different.
I, too, was somewhat nervous writing about this subject and publicly admit to eating two Peek Freans shortbread biscuits before writing this letter and one during the course of this very paragraph.