A shift in perspective

My dietitian is really great—not only has she worked on food with me, but she’s also helped me to find disordered thinking, work through body image issues, and so much more.  The other day, she suggested that it might be time to be more aware of my body.

I’ve blocked my body out for a long time.  I try to avoid mirrors, I hate seeing my reflection, and the idea of feeling my body, both how it feels to be in it and how it feels to touch it, is terrifying.  I argued months ago that I wanted to wait until after top surgery to focus more on my body, and my dietitian agreed.  However, she didn’t go for my argument the other day that I should wait until I’d lost “enough” weight.  Yeah, I didn’t think it would fly with her—and honestly, I didn’t think waiting was the right way for me to go about things, either.  It’ll never be enough, so why not start being more comfortable in my body now?

I mentioned to a good friend that I have always been comfortable lying down, folding my hands, and resting them at the bottom of my ribcage.  That’s a “safe” place that hasn’t changed nearly as much as other places with this previously unexplained weight gain.  My weight is going back down (not sure by how much, but even I can tell it is going down somewhat), but I still don’t have a good sense of where I am in terms of weight or size or any of that.

After top surgery, I’ve also been comfortable resting my hands on my chest while I’m lying down.  That feels really great—it feels how it’s “supposed to”.

I felt that I should at some point be comfortable resting my hands on my stomach, but the idea was beyond terrifying.  I considered it, but I just couldn’t.  I knew what I’d find and I couldn’t handle it. I also knew that if anyone else knew how “bad” it was, they wouldn’t be able to handle it, either.  My automatic thought that they’d hate me was one I could logic away, but anyone knowing… they’d be so disappointed in me, and frankly, they’d be traumatized if they knew, or even just if they considered that area of me at all.

I shared those ideas with my friend, who’s always been good at helping me counter thoughts like that.  I do what I can first, but it’s nice to have a little help with the connections I’m not quite making.  He mentioned that a little belly fat wasn’t going to stop anyone from accepting anyone else.

I was really proud of myself, to be honest.  Yeah, that really threw me and I had some panicked thoughts, but I managed to stay somewhat calm. Both of those words terrify me, and seeing them together and directed towards everyone, but including myself… it was really, really hard. Even typing them is hard.  Reading them as I proofread this is hard.

I know fat is not a bad word, whether it’s describing someone or just talking about it as a noun. That’s still an idea that I’m working on feeling, though.  I know it, but do I believe it?

I told him I was relatively calm, but that I needed to say what I was thinking so that I didn’t obsess over it.  I said that I thought he was agreeing with me that I was fat, and that while he was right, it was still hard to hear.  And honestly, that disordered part of me thought that, but part of me knew better. It was still hard to hear the logical side over the disordered side, though.

He said everyone is supposed to have body fat, and that stomachs are supposed to have some fat to protect the organs, and that he didn’t think I was fat.  And again, I kind of knew he’d think all those things. Sometimes I can think I’ll know what other people will say, but it still helps to hear it.

Thinking about how other people would hate me for being soft, I remembered an incident several years ago, where I poked that same friend’s arm to get his attention.  He’s a lot bigger than I am, and his arm was softer than I expected.  And even at the time, before I knew him super well and before I had learned a lot about body image and size diversity and so on, it wasn’t something that was bad.  I didn’t judge him for it, and it wasn’t wrong.  It was just how he was, with no judgment or morality or any of those things attached to it.

A few years later, now that I know him much better, the fact that his arm was soft felt even more “right” instead of just “not wrong”, I guess.  It’s how he is—not something I have to accept, but something that is just an attribute of someone I care about.

I mentioned that incident to him, and then I was able to apply that to myself, which is something I often struggle with.  Maybe others won’t just tolerate me, but they’ll accept me without judgment, regardless of how my body looks or feels.  And maybe I can live with myself, too.

I told him that, and he pointed out that maybe I could realize “that being soft or having someone realize you are soft isn’t a bad thing”.

It seems obvious in retrospect, but it was a statement that just made things click for me.  Being soft wasn’t something I could put up with in myself, but something that could just be true without it being wrong at all.  I could do that when I thought about him, and I felt like he felt that way about himself.  I knew that mentioning his arm being soft wasn’t going to bother him, because he doesn’t have the same issues I have.  It’s just how he is, so it can be how I am.

And having other people know about that softness—also not something to be ashamed of.  I don’t have to hide it, and I don’t have to be ashamed of inadvertently hiding it.

I also realized that I had assumed back then that he was ashamed of his softness. While I didn’t judge him, or at least didn’t feel like I was, I remember feeling bad after poking him, like I had accidentally uncovered something that he must feel bad about and must want to keep secret. That’s why I even remember the event. I felt like I had invaded his privacy in a way that I wouldn’t have felt with someone thinner. (Wow, that’s hard to admit, but I’m really glad I’m seeing all these assumptions and beliefs, even if it has taken years to get there!)

A year and a half ago, when I was much smaller than I am now, I pinched my stomach through my t-shirt to show him how “bad” I was.  To see if he could still care about me if he really knew.  He normalized it with, “everyone has that.” He didn’t say that I was completely wrong about myself having some fat, but just that it’s normal to have softness there.

At the time, I thought he was saying that everyone has that “flaw” of being soft.  That I didn’t have to be ashamed, because it was a normal part of life.  And it was comforting, though back then, I still wanted to be “better” and have less there.

I realized last night, though, that he wasn’t saying that at all back then.  He was saying other people had that, but while I essentially heard, “Other people are bad, too, so it’s okay for you to be bad,” he was actually saying that it’s just how people are.  No judgment.

It was really interesting seeing that incident in a new light, and it gave me some confidence.  Maybe I could actually try resting my hands on my stomach. Maybe I could tolerate it and not hate myself for the softness I felt.  Really knowing that the softness wasn’t bad, not just for him but for everyone, kind of opened my eyes.

I’m not saying that my body image issues are all evaporating.  But it’s a real shift in how I view things.

I went to bed and was almost excited to try. This was a huge step for me, and I was actually ready.  Nervous, but it felt like the right thing to do.

And I laid down and tried, really feeling ready for the softness I knew I’d feel. The funny thing was, my stomach wasn’t nearly as soft as I had thought it would be.  I think I could have handled more, and while I was relieved that I wasn’t as soft as I thought I was, I was also in a very strange way disappointed.  Accepting myself when I’m soft, but not to the extent that I expected, felt like less of an accomplishment than if I’d felt what I had expected to feel.  Definitely not something I wanted to go differently, and I’m very glad that I’m not as soft as I expected, but that reaction was an interesting and surprising thought.

I thought I’d feel my stomach and then instantly move away, once I knew and started to accept how bad it was.  That I could process that little tiny bit, and then maybe try again with less trepidation.  But I managed more than that.  I was almost comfortable with the feeling.  I guess I’ll always have more softness there than I want, but I also didn’t feel like it mattered, even to me.

I worry a little about sharing this.  About other people hearing what I did and thinking I’m bad for kind of accepting my stomach, for feeling my stomach, or for mentioning my stomach to begin with.  And maybe that does make some people uncomfortable.  But I wonder if it needs to, or if maybe that’s even an idea others might want to grapple with, too. I’m really not sure. How do “normal” people feel? How do others with eating disorders feel? I guess it’s really all individual. I hope that whoever you are, you find this helpful and thought-provoking. It has helped me to write it!