Gaining weight and recovering has been SO hard. I feel like I’ve gone too far, and I think a lot of people would agree. But this seems to be what my body wants, and I’m trying to listen. I’ve ignored it for so long.
I try to remember the good things:
- I have the endurance to do things I love with people I love.
- I have the strength to help others physically.
- When my 8-year-old snuggled contentedly on my lap and said, “You’re comfy,” I could tell she felt so safe. I know she feels that safety and physical comfort when we’re close.
- I’m setting a good example with food and with body neutrality for my kids and for others.
- I can spend more time interacting with others and less time focused on berating my body or on how hungry I am.
- I can go out to eat with a friend and not force myself to choose the lowest-calorie meal I can eat.
I’m noticing all of those are focused on other people, though. That’s easier. But there’s more:
- I’m not watching the scale constantly and basing my feelings for the day on what the numbers are doing.
- I’m not constantly seeking reassurance about my body, though there are times when I still ask for it (and receive it). Sometimes I can even give that to myself.
- I can more easily see myself as an adult. I don’t have to try to stay in a child’s body.
- I can better accept when I need larger clothes. I don’t feel like I must be in the smallest size available or at the lowest weight possible.
- I can handle size and weight fluctuations more easily. Bodies are supposed to change over time. I don’t have to fight it.
- Mobility devices take strength and endurance to use—I can use my cane and my “peg leg” knee crutch when I need to.
- Having more fat (and yes, that’s still hard to hear) means that I’m in less pain. Bruises from my knee crutch would be SO much worse if I were still too thin. Having less weight on my leg wouldn’t make up for having less protection from things outside my body—hey, I guess “protection” is a good way to think of it.
- I get fewer headaches.
- I don’t need to focus on how to compensate for each meal.
- I can focus on what I’m really afraid of and work towards feeling comfortable with that, instead of using my body as a scapegoat and ignoring my real issues.
- I feel more masculine.
- Noticing my body is less traumatic—though I still have a very long way to go in terms of not avoiding my body, and then of not panicking when I do see or feel my body.
Nourishing my body is an act of self-love and strength; it’s not “giving in” in a moment of weakness.
What has been my biggest fear in many ways has been realized. And it’s not that bad. I can do hard things. And sometimes, those difficult things come with unexpected rewards.