I attended the first two writing webinars sponsored by NAAFA, the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance, and I’m excited to go to the third this weekend.
The most recent one was titled, “A Fat Body Sits at the Dinner Table”. We began by writing about a prompt related to actual memories, and we then received the following instructions:
- Rewrite the memory
- Change the experience on paper
- Write how you are enjoying delicious food without any guilt or uncomfortable feelings.
- Tell your child self, I will protect you, say your truth.
This part really spoke to me.
How can I even begin to rewrite this?
My 14-year-old self knows that I am not anorexic, after all– I eat dessert. I have a third of an Oreo and put the rest into a Ziploc bag for later. But that’s dessert. Anorexic people don’t eat dessert. To be strong, I should not eat dessert. To be good, I should not eat dessert. For people to like me, I should not eat dessert.
Could I have a whole Oreo? What would that be like?
What if I had two? Five? Twelve? What if I never stopped?
Pause. Breathe. Focus. Try again.
I can imagine my 14-year-old self having a whole Oreo. Three delicious bites– maybe even just two. I don’t need to prolong it. I don’t need to focus on every single bite, knowing that that’s all I can have.
This is hard. Can I really imagine that? I can’t.
I sit down with that self. I tell them it’s okay. I tell them they can have the food they deny themself. That starvation won’t get them what they want, what they need. There’s no reason to shrink. They can take up space. They don’t have to be “the good one”.
They tell me of their friend who says, “I wish I could wear those,” pointing at their size 0 pants. “You have so much discipline.”
I tell them the discipline is in focusing on their needs. On ignoring the compliments, on ignoring the need they feel for compliments.
We eat an Oreo together. I have a second one, and they reach for a second one of their own. They hesitate, draw their hand back. Look down at the table, away from my eyes. Look down in shame at even the thought of having a second one. Of even wanting a second one. Of having finished the first one.
I pause just a moment, letting them finish thinking their thought so they can hear mine, really hear it.
I reach over and gently lift their chin so they can meet my eyes.
“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to deny the needs you have. Nor the desires, but these are needs. Your body needs fuel, and it deserves that fuel. You deserve that fuel.
“You are you, no matter what you look like or what you weigh. And you are wonderful.”
I say this to my 14-year-old self. Can I say it to myself now?
You captured powerful feelings so vividly. Your memory is strong and rewriting must have felt difficult almost painful. Reading it I felt your honesty and bravery.
This entry was helpful to me too, as someone who is judgmental about myself but not as much of others.
I asked myself if could I rewrite an early memory?
I hope I could be as brave and honest as you have been.
Your journal is documenting your thoughts with bravery. The latest entry bravely gave your memory self grace as well. Something you do for others in the here and now.