Monday 18 July 2011

The Fatness Barometer

(Or That Post about How we Drag Ourselves Down by Thinking 'Fat')

My eating disorder inevitably made me super-sensitive to the notion of 'fat'. 'Fat' was the word I used to describe a particular body size and shape (with this becoming notably smaller as the anorexia grew) and a way of being (namely lazy, unattractive and sweaty). I’m saying this and cringing; however it's pretty much accepted as fact in our society and so it's hardly surprising that in the midst of my eating disorder, I too accepted this as truth.

I spent so much of my time looking for proof of my ‘fatness’. In my anorexic state, it was in the numbers my anore recorded in my little book of what I ate; it was in the tags inside my clothes; it was in the amount of exercise I'd done that day or how much I'd sweated at the gym. When I was bingeing, it was obvious as my clothes no longer fit; it was in the depression that seemed to grow as my body did; it was in every bite I took, rebelling against the restrictive months prior. Evidence of my 'fatness' was in everything I did, said or felt. Fatness and 'feeling fat' eventually became so common-place, it ultimately became synonymous with anything I didn't like about myself.

Despite moving forward with my life and not actively considering myself to have an eating disorder, this whole 'fatness' thing hasn't quite disappered. I am still struggling to break the ties from those things that I’d use as measuring sticks as proof of my fatness. Hence the Fatness Barometer.

So how does it look? Well, here's a perfect example I took from this morning that, in the spirit of raising awareness, I'd like to share:

Monday mornings and I don't have a great relationship. It's my anxiety peak of the week. So this morning's arrival at work, already hot, flustered and generally angry at the world for the very existance of Mondays, was not unusual. It started off fairly well for a Monday. I had packed my lunch (and enough snacks so that my snack drawer runneth over) and got out the door only slightly late.

And here's where it went wrong. Realising at the last minute I'd neglected to put on a wash before racing out of the door, after already consciously deciding that no, there was no time to take out the rubbish, I felt like a failure.A knot formed in my stomach.

I locked my door, checking, re-checking and checking again that it was indeed locked. I clocked the OCD-like behaviour and the anxiety kicked up a gear. I spent the whole journey fumbling in my handbag, checking I hadn't forgotten random items (mostly those I could have lived without for the day. I clung to my bag, worrying about what may become of my beautiful new uninsured (as-of-yet) Netbook nestled inside its wrapper. The knot in my stomach just multiplied.

I arrived at work to the realisation that I'd forgotten my work key. I kind of thought I knew where it was (on the kitchen top, possibly now on the floor if it had been on top of the tea towel I'd grabbed to dry my hands). I just couldn't be sure... The knots tighten again.

My hair's stuck to the back of my neck, and what’s not stuck starts to frizz. So much for that blow-dry before I left the house. What's the point in trying to look nice?! I feel the heat rise to my ears and forehead. Sweat prickles at my hair-line.

A colleague has to open the door for me, as I've forgotten my key. What an idiot I am!?! I am (self-)conscious of the redness that surely must be visible. How embarrassing... If I wasn't red before, I am now as I blush, furiously, ashamed of myself and of my body for giving me away... Knotty stomach again.

The make-up I so carefully applied this morning; it might as well never have happened, I think despondently, as it slides down my face. I stick my desk fan on, hoping to perform some kind of damage control. But what’s the point?! I must look pretty awful once I get to work.

I gulp at the air when aware of the tight feeling across my chest, as if I’d purposefully been holding my breath. I know I never stopped breathing, yet it feels as if I can’t get enough air in! I am careful to try and breathe as quietly as possible, thankful for the fan muffling my laboured breath. Anyone would think I'd done some actual exercise! Yeah right... The shame slaps me across the face.


I feel fat.

Pretty ugly, right? The feelings of self-hatred, shame and frustration that wash over me whenever I experience intense anxiety (or panic attacks, in the worst case) suggest to me that the Fatness Barometer is still hanging around.

So how can I look to move forward and break this?

First, I can acknowledge its existance here and I can acknowledge to myself that certain situations seem to trigger this negative reaction in me. For example, I struggle to disassociate exercise from anxiety; a hang-over from its role in my eating disorder. I notice it most when I am rushing to get to work in the morning. The walk to the tram stop is always rushed and then walking to work, up an incline, brings me out in a fluster that can sometimes lead to a 'mild' kind of panic attack.

Next, I can make myself a promise: I will use the tools that helped me with critical thinking in therapy to stop the fatness barometer from taking readings. Using something called subpersonalities, in therapy-speak, I learnt to seperate myself from the critical voice within. I can then choose how I want to look at things, which allows me to choose the path of least anxiety. I can choose to be realistic; even positive.

Finally, I can remind myself that in my moving forward, I can choose not to participate in anything that is detrimental to my physical and mental health.
I have chosen not to participate in the dieting culture. This has been crucial to moving forward and away from disordered eating. I don't join in with dieting (or diet-based conversations) because I don't believe that my whole worth, as a person, is tied into my body and how I look. I am more than that. The whole concept of 'fatness' is just another way we're pushed into thinking, talking and behaving according to the dieting scene's rules. I don't want a part in it.

You are worth far more, too, than what your "fatness barometer" tells you.


What do you use as your "fatness barometer"? What steps do you take, or think you might take, to break free from it?

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