Dressing room fat-outreach

30th June 2007

posted in Eating Disorders, Health/Nutrition, Personal |

If there’s one common denominator I’ve seen on body- and fat-acceptance blogs, it’s the reclaiming of the word “fat” as the simple adjective it is. Not a pejorative. Not an insult. Not an indicator of one’s worth or intelligence level. But simply, as means to describe one who is larger than this relatively new and socially constructed definition of what is thin.

I’ve long used the word fat both in common speech and in academic papers. But now, in a sense, I’m doing the same with my eating disorder.

Trying on wedding dresses today, I was led back to the fitting room by Monica, a perky, bubbly girl about my age. Dressed in white capris, a black top and sporting perfectly manicured nails and styled hair, Monica imparted the aura of being one of those girls in whose genetic DNA was encoded fashion savvy chromosomes.

One quickly loses any sense of inhibition they might feel about streaking near-naked in front of perfect strangers when shopping for bridal gowns, I have found. Monica was only slightly smaller than I am (I wear a size 14/16) and so I soon found myself prancing around in my underwear and a corset and diving headfirst into a dress without nary a thought or care in my head of what she might be thinking of my body.

I tried on an absolutely beautiful, Elizabethan-inspired gown, which would perfectly match the boy’s cream-colored suit. I wanted it as soon as I saw my reflection in the full-length mirror. The problem? It was a size 14, but due to the manufacturer’s absolutely insane measuring guide, was more a true size 12.

Monica tried zipping it up but a gap of three inches obstinately refused to budge. The dress was a sample size, which had been discontinued, so ordering it in a larger size was out of the question.

“Well,” she said. “It looks like you’re losing a lot of weight so maybe it will fit you in time for the wedding.”

I looked at her quizzically. “I’m not losing weight.”

“Oh,” she explained. “It’s just that I saw the stretch marks on your arm…”

“Ahhh, those,” I said. “I lost 175 pounds years ago in a short amount of time and the elasticity in my skin couldn’t keep up. And, I’ve gained about 50 pounds back since.”

“Wow, ” Monica exclaimed. “That’s great!” And with a pensive sigh, she said, “I wish I could lose weight like that.”

I gave a kind of small laugh. “No, you don’t. I had an eating disorder.”

Monica’s eyes grew wide and her mouth formed a small “o.” “Ohhh,” she breathed. “Ohhh.”

“It’s okay,” I told her with a smile. “I’m okay now but I feel like I should explain whenever anyone congratulates me for it. I didn’t lose weight in a healthy way and I wouldn’t recommend my methods to anyone.”

The conversation soon shifted into our wedding destination - Mackinac Island - which Monica happens to visit frequently. I decided to get the dress (at $199 clearance, it was a steal!) and have it altered instead.

Monica is only the second stranger-type person I’ve admitted my eating disorder to in response to congratulatory remarks on my weight loss. Now that I’ve been in recovery for a while, and done a great deal of self-examination and analysis, as well as research into the psychology of eating disorders, I find that I am able to freely admit this disorder of which I used to be vastly ashamed. Eating disorders fester in isolation; they thrive in secrecy. By acknowledging the disorder and speaking about my experiences, I find the disordered thinking diminishes and loses its control. It’s one of the reasons I started this blog.

I find the reactions I’ve received from telling both people to be both amusing and interesting. As a society, we’re so accustomed to viewing weight loss as a personal triumph that we fail to see the hidden health dangers that might be lurking behind that loss.

Years ago, I received congratulations on my weight loss even as I went to the emergency room regularly because I was dehydrated and anemic. I received compliments for losing weight even as I developed a heart problem and every day felt like I was literally dying. People lauded me for every size lost even while malnutrition severely altered my brain chemicals to the point where I was severely depressed and suicidal. “You look great!,” they’d say, and then whisper, “What’s your secret?”

“Drink 120 fluid ounces of water a day, don’t eat, and only chew gum,” I wanted to tell them. But instead would mutter something about eating healthier and working out.

It feels liberating to empower myself positively, instead of via unhealthy means for once. Does anyone else have similar experiences of reclaiming one’s identity?

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This entry was posted on Saturday, June 30th, 2007 at 11:01 pm and is filed under Eating Disorders, Health/Nutrition, Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

1 On July 1st, 2007, kelly

said:

Just under 4 years ago I started having auto-immune and musculoskeletal problems. At this time I was about 100 pounds lighter than I ever was thanks to eating very well and mostly walking everywhere I went- more just how I lived in Chicago, not to mention no longer being on a med that helped with weight gain. Anyway after returning from 5 months medical leave and catching up with clients and co-workers, my weight and how I looked became the subject of much comment. Some of it was that people were unsure to say to someone who had no typical outward signs of disability, so why not say ‘but you look great.’ Sometimes I got asked how I felt from people who wanted more than a 1 word ‘fine’ answer or someone asking if I needed assistance with anything, but more often than not, the comment and feedback I would get was completely centered on weight and body shape.

The fact is that I felt like hell and had completely lost any semblance of muscle tone, which indeed make me look a bit thinner. That did not last for long when I started having more complications with this ‘invisible’ & now chronic illness- between not being able to move much and taking meds, like say steroids and anti-depressants (Rx primarily for pain management, but who couldn’t use a mood boost during all this too), not too mention I would barely eat then would one big ass crap meal a day - not surprisingly I gained a lot of weight - about 60 lbs in approx 2-3 months. Of course I gained more than that in the long run too. Weight gain was a secondary to tertiary symptom of my illness but of course the acquaintances. Clients and co-workers did not realize that, nor did I have the energy to constantly educate on this.

A couple years later I am finally losing weight, thanks in part to really working at getting at least some muscle tone back, and doing a restricted/rotation diet to kick out any foods that may be aggravating my symptoms. Of course most people only see the weight loss and constant body change. It is aggravating, esp when people try to be encouraging but they are missing everything behind it and only think it ‘is great you are finally losing weight.’ Yes it is great I am losing weight, of that I will not complain, but it is extremely frustrating when people use that as your only marker of success and health. Plus weight loss is not my current goal, getting my body to a much healthier place is. But how do you convey that without being on the defensive all the time about it? Now when people comment on my weight loss, I usually say thank you to them but usually add a line that weight is not my focus and this is a result of me concentrating on getting my body health and trying to reduce pain and symptoms. I figure if they ask questions I will continue speaking about it, if I have the energy that day of course, but if they don’t ask at least I put it out there.

I have a friend with similar problems, and she lost about 60lbs very quickly because her particular meds made her to nauseated to eat. Of course she gets the great job comments and she struggles with the same thing- for her this excessive weight loss is not a good thing, much less she will gain much of it back if she can eat more than one very light meal, or crackers and toast, for the day. She sometimes will use a one line qualifier like I do. Admittedly there are other times when we both just let it slide.

Anyway great blog and I appreciate where you are in dealing with the issue in this particular entry!

posted on July 1st, 2007 at 1:24 am

2 On July 1st, 2007, Dreamboat

I tell people all the time, quite matter of factly, that I have ADD. I don’t do it to shock people, but there’s always a moment when they stare at me and blink and try to wrap their head around the concept that a middle aged (41 year old) woman has a neurological disorder that supposedly only affects elementary school aged boys. Except they don’t know it’s a neurological disorder, they just think its behavioral. If I had a nickel for every time someone said “But you’re not hyperactive!” Um, no, I’m not. Attentional disorders come in both hyperactive and non-hyperactive variants. There’s no “H” in my ADD.

Once they get past that, they’re embarrassed that I just told them I have some sort of psycho-behavioral problem. They can’t believe that I would say that out loud, to people I barely know. It’s actually a biological neurological disorder. Biological. You don’t grow out of it. It’s not just a badly behaved child.

But I’ve decided that I people need to hear these things in normal conversation. I say it like I would say “Yeah, I have a thyroid imbalance.” People have this. Lots of people. Of all ages. And genders. And most of them are pretty damned intelligent according to the data, though no one quite understands that correlation. We are irresponsible, stupid or incompetent.

It does effect who you are and how you function. Being diagnosed gave me so much more insight to why I do things the way I do, or the way I do them — or can’t do them at all. Claiming this thing out loud, this disorder in my brain, has made me much more self-confident. I’m not really different from before the diagnosis, but now it has a name. It’s possibly now, instead of being embarrassed by my forgetfulness, klutziness, and irresponsibility, to own it as part of me.

I just blogged the other day about the connection my ADD has to my weight. How it’s helped make me fat, and how easing some of the symptoms may help me get un-fat.

posted on July 1st, 2007 at 4:05 am

3 On July 1st, 2007, Charlynn

I’ve been open about my eating disorder pretty much from the time I admitted to myself I had an eating disorder. The reactions I got from when I was still sick were a lot more varied than they are now. These days, when I tell people about my eating disorder and get to the “but I’m doing better now” part, people mostly nod their heads and say something on the lines of “good for you.” When it was physically obvious that I was sick, I got a lot more questions, mostly medical on how my body was functioning (or not). I think a part of it was trying to determine just how dangerous eating disorders are, thinking, “Well, even though she looks like crap, she’s still working and going to school, so it can’t be that bad…at least she’s still functioning…and she’s thin…” I got every question from the worst of ignorance to the medically and psychologically informed.

posted on July 1st, 2007 at 4:27 am

4 On July 1st, 2007, Rachel

Thanks everyone for sharing their experiences.

Dreamboat - I too have ADD but I’ve never really gotten any cross-eyed looks when I tell people I have it. Most of them already know me so maybe it just makes sense - since they already know how scatterbrained I am and of my short attention span.

I read several years ago about a connection with ADD and eating disorders, ranging from anorexia to compulsive over-eating. I’ll do a little more research and post another blog entry about it in the next day or so.

posted on July 1st, 2007 at 4:01 pm

5 On July 3rd, 2007, Angela

I have also found that being open about an eating disorder really helps. When I was having problems, mostly I wanted to keep it a secret so I could keep losing. But luckily there was a tiny part of me that wanted to tell everyone what was going on- that way, I couldn’t keep it a secret and let it get out of hand. Even today I just want to eat like I used to- aka, not enough- because it makes me feel so much better about myself. But everyday I wake up and eat what I’m supposed to, because I know that everyone else knows, and that they want me to get better.

posted on July 3rd, 2007 at 12:13 am

6 On July 3rd, 2007, Crisoi

I have, I think–no, I know I do–an eating disorder recurring. I admitted to it a while back, but now that I was supposed to be ‘cured’ (through no formal treatment, though), I find that it’s very difficult to ‘break’ the trust of the people who thought that was in the past–ostensibly, my husband. It’s horrible.

posted on July 3rd, 2007 at 8:53 pm

7 On July 4th, 2007, Rachel

I know the feeling Crisoi. Everyone in my family just thinks I had a “little problem with food” for a while but everything is all better now. I think it’s the classic head-in-sand approach - if you believe one is “cured” then you don’t have to worry about it. But there is no cure to an eating disorder - just lifetime maintenance.

posted on July 4th, 2007 at 1:15 am