On: Absolutes

I was sitting at my desk yesterday afternoon, a sunny Friday at the tail end of one helluva week.  In an effort to reset my brain and my sanity a little while waiting for the clock to tell me it was a not-inappropriate time to pour myself a glass of bourbon, I went down a little bit of an Instagram rabbit hole.  All week, Health Magazine has been publishing Instagram stories written by women about rejecting the cultural obsession with thinness and loving their bodies at a larger size.  Turns out, there’s a whole movement out there where people are trying to take back control of the narrative about weight and health; to turn the tables on our culture of fat-shaming, diet-obsession, and the association between having value as a human and being thin.

The essence of these articles boils down to the following salient points:

• Not all bodies are meant to be thin;
• “Thin” does not equal “healthy;” and “fat” does not equal “unhealthy;”
• We’ve all been conditioned over decades of American culture to believe fat is bad/ugly, and this association leads to all kinds of abuse, at the hands of others and at our own – bullying, eating disorders, self-loathing, self-harm, domestic violence, sexual dysfunction, even medical malpractice;
• As a result, a diet-obsession has blossomed as the prescription for all health woes in heavier people has boiled down to “lose weight.” This prescription forces us into eating processed nonsense foods, torturing our bodies with miserable hours on the treadmill, and obsessive counting (calories, fat grams, carbs, etc.), all implying that single-minded focus on reducing the number on the scale is all that’s required of us in order to be healthy;
• Our bodies should be accepted, respected, and loved irrespective of the number on the scale.

Every one of these articles with overweight women sharing their frustrations with our culture of fat-shaming and weight bias resonated with me.  Many of the authors, like me, experienced bullying and fat-shaming (both as a child and as an adult).  And believe me when I say I wish I’d known “body positivity” was a thing when I was 11 and faced a constant barrage of messaging about how I wasn’t good enough because I was fat.  And I totally agree that weight diversity and acceptance is a good thing, especially when it comes to the medical community, which should be helping us view our health holistically, and not just relying on a neat calculation of Body Mass Index as the one-size-fits-all solution to all health woes.

All of the authors of these stories cite statistics to support this “Health at Every Size” (HAES) movement.  For example, how the fear of judgment and the inevitable “you need to lose x pounds” as the prescription for everything from high blood pressure to diabetes to arthritis to dry eyes keeps overweight people away from doctors altogether.  And how diet programs and weight loss efforts are only 10% effective at correcting health issues.  And how only 5% of people are able to sustain long-term weight loss – meaning that large-scale weight loss over the long haul is effectively impossible for the vast majority of people.

As I read these articles, I found myself simultaneously happy for (and envious of) these writers’ “fat and happy” attitude, but also conflicted.  Because while I am philosophically in their corner, physically, I am not.  Not anymore, anyway.

The more I reflected on the articles I read, the more I found myself feeling like a traitor to these women.  Did I abandon my fat sisters by deciding to lose weight?   Did I just capitulate to the social pressures to be thin that have plagued me my entire life?  Shouldn’t I have joined the fight to turn the cultural Titanic instead of just taking the path of less resistance and losing a couple (dozen) pounds?  And am I no longer an ally to women in larger bodies because I actually did see health benefits when I lost weight?  Because I feel better in a thin(ish) body?  Because I like my body better now that it can do more stuff without complaint?  Because I actually like eating healthy foods and feel good about making good choices (most of the time)?  Am I guilty of weight bias now, myself, because I share healthy recipes and talk about my weight-loss journey online?

My Insta-feed is a reflection my internal conflict.  On the one hand are the curvy, pastel-colored graphics with the ubiquitous White Girl Farmhouse Chic font (y’all know the one I’m talking about; don’t act like you don’t…) that say things like, “No One’s Worth Comes From Their Pants Size!”, and pictures of yummy-looking waffles made from cinnamon roll dough, courtesy of the Food Network.  On the other hand, boomerang video clips of women with abs and expensive leggings executing a perfect kettlebell swing; finish-line photos captioned with badass-looking block letters that say things like, “I will run harder than my mascara.”  And for about the millionth time in my life, I feel like I don’t quite fit anywhere.  Which category do I want to be in:  the “love your body at any size/fat is fabulous!” camp, or the “be a badass fit girl who eats cauliflower rice” camp?

But maybe the real question is:  Why do I have to pick just one?  Why can’t I be part of both?

Here’s the thing about using statistics to support any position:  statistics don’t tell an individual’s story.  They’re trailing indicators; they only tell the story about what’s happening in the aggregate.  Individuals influence statistics, not the other way around.  My story is not about one absolute or the other.  Can’t I think fat women are beautiful and shouldn’t be shamed for their bodies while still understanding that the best choice for me is to work out and eat healthy (most of the time)?  Can’t I be proud of all the hard work it took for me to reach my goal without making people feel badly about themselves if they don’t have the same goals I do?  Can’t I simultaneously fight against weight bias while encouraging and educating people about how to make good food choices?  Can’t I both inspire people who want to lose weight and support people who are perfectly comfortable in overweight bodies?  And can’t I fight like hell to be in that 5% of people who can sustain long-term weight loss without developing an unhealthy obsession with the number on the scale?

Yes.  At least, I really hope I can. I’m sure going to try.

Too often, it’s only those at the extreme ends of the spectrum who are given a voice.  In a time when all of us seem to be hungering for elusive balance in our lives, maybe I can give a voice to those trying to find their peace somewhere in the middle.