Saturday, January 12, 2013

The cost of my weight.

Please note that this is the first time I have ever spoken publicly and honestly about my weight. I am not expecting sympathy or advice. I encourage discussion, as long as participants are respectful.

For the majority of my life, I have been overweight. At 5'6", I am considered "overweight" by body mass index standards at a weight of 155 pounds or higher. At 26, I believe I have been under 155 pounds for a total of approximately five months in my adult life. I was also not overweight as a junior in high school or as a seventh grader. Otherwise, since roughly the second or third grade, I have weighed more than what doctors considered healthy.

Recent events have caused me to consider very seriously the impact of being overweight. From my experience, carrying around extra poundage costs one something in several ways:
1. Financially: When you are overweight, you typically consume more calories than the average person. Generally, this means that you spend more on food for yourself than most people spend for themselves over the same span of time. More recently, as organic and gourmet foods have become more popular and accessible, the cost of eating healthy has also risen; however, when you compare costs on a meal-by-meal basis, the diet of someone who consumes more calories costs more. Overweight and obese people also experience a financial cost related to health problems that arise from the excessive weight they carry, the poor diet choices they make, or the lack of exercise in their lives.
2. Socially: Friends, with the best of intents, may exclude their heavier counterparts for a variety of reasons - they recognize that a certain physical activity may be too trying, a particular scene may require too little clothing (a beach, a club...), or a specific outing may be intended for those they are confident they can match up with someone of the opposite sex. Those who are overweight often also experience a shortage of confidence, though this does not happen in all cases. With less confidence, overweight people are less likely to be socially appealing and accepted.
3. Romantically: Everyone has heard the common phrases that deride overweight people - especially overweight women. With the standards set by society today, fat has become something that causes one to recoil. Thinness has been rated as more important than the independent beauty of facial features. Again, lessened confidence contributes to a less effective effort in this area. Some men or women may avoid dating their overweight potential matches because they are concerned with what society may think of them. Even if a person who is overweight is on the road to being physically fit and (probably) more attractive to members of the opposite sex, they will be passed over in favor of those who are already fit.
4. Professionally: It is especially true for women that a more attractive appearance means a higher paycheck. Thinner, prettier women are selected more frequently for promotions or special assignments, even in fields in which a woman's attractiveness does not contribute to the execution of the job itself. This is not to say that favors are traded by more attractive women - rather, attractive women are seen by superiors - male and female alike - as being more successful than overweight women regardless of individual achievements. Society values thin women, and so do employers.

I'm sure there are other costs. These are the ones I have personally observed.

I began overeating as a child. When I didn't feel accepted by my schoolmates, or was depressed by what was happening at home, I ate foods I enjoyed because it made me feel good - if even for a moment. As I got older, I was occasionally ridiculed by my older sister for what was then only moderately excessive weight. When this occurred, I ate more to avoid the pain that came with being seen as unacceptable by my family. The more overweight I became, the less I liked myself. I argued with my parents when purchasing clothes, convinced I could fit in a smaller size because the size label on the ones that fit me made me feel like an outcast. Further pressure from another family member, my grandmother, emphasized that my weight was something that should cause me to feel constant shame, until I rid my body of the excess. Once I felt that pressure, I began to convince myself that any other family members also saw me as shameful or ugly.

When I reached junior high school, I was wearing a size 6. My sister - who is four years older - was wearing a size 2 or 4 at the time. I sometimes stole her jeans, wearing them to prove to myself that I was thin enough to be accepted by my suddenly very appearance-conscious peers. That year, seventh grade, I made it onto the girls' basketball team for my grade. I played almost exclusively in the zero period, not having the skills of the other girls - many of whom had played club sports as kids. I had been in gymnastics most of my childhood, which did not encourage much extra physical activity - not nearly enough running. After basketball season, I participated in cross country running, which inspired a love of running which still lives inside me today.

After seventh grade, I was unable to make it onto a sports team. This made me sad, but I took up other activities - choir, various clubs, and, as was required by my parents, band. I occasionally went running after school, which ended when one of my classmates anonymously messaged me online that he had seen my efforts and proceeded to relentlessly ridicule me for being fat. Ashamed beyond belief that I had paraded what was obviously a disgusting body around my neighborhood by going for runs, I resolved never to run in daylight (I still don't run when the sun is up). In my sophomore year, band became marching band, which meant two things: more physical activity from August through December, and the embarrassment of being fitted for a uniform. By this time, I had gained more weight and was a size 10 or 12. What size I actually was isn't completely clear - I was still shoving myself into sizes that were too small for me. By this time, I had also dabbled in eating disorders, sometimes forcing myself to throw up after meals, other times going days without eating much, if anything. I was unable to sustain either for long enough to support substantial weight loss.

At the end of my sophomore year, certain things in my life changed, and I spent that summer making a more intense effort to lose weight. I often went days without eating more than a couple of crackers. By the end of the summer, I was a size 6 or 8, and everyone from my friends to my band director commented on how amazing I looked. My band director tied this into his belief that I would march better and be a generally better high school student.

The summer after junior year, I went to a pre-college program at Duke University, in Durham, NC. It was there that I was introduced to Ben & Jerry's ice cream. I gained weight back. Without the supervision of my parents, I was suddenly able to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I left one size bigger.

This movement back and forth between mock anorexia and binge eating continued through my senior year of high school and freshman and sophomore years of college. The summer after sophomore year, I visited my grandmother. She didn't have to say anything to make me hate myself the instant I saw the pictures of me from our excursions on that trip. One picture stands out in my memory: I was wearing jeans and a polo. I looked like a soft-edged rectangle - no real waist. I was standing next to my father in the picture. I remember thinking, "I will always be his 'fat daughter.'"

I returned from the trip to where I was staying for the summer - an MIT frat house - and continued to party. One night, I was so angry with my roommate that I drank extremely excessively. I ended up vomiting at least a dozen times that night, damaging the lining of my stomach in the process. I used this as an excellent excuse to be anorexic for the rest of the summer. Over a month, I dropped quite a bit of weight. I didn't have access to a scale, but I would guess I lost about 40-50 pounds, ending up about 130 pounds. For the first time in a long while, I loved my body. My friends commented constantly on how good I looked. This is the only time I was not overweight. I developed a very strong love of running on the Charles River in Boston over this summer.

I then took a job which took me all over the US. Without any sort of social support, as I never saw the same people day-to-day, I began to eat emotionally again. Needless to say, I gained the weight back, and eventually weighed in around 180 pounds when I returned to Dallas to spend the rest of my year off from school working. I was 20.

I am now 26. Except for a period when I was 24, when I ate a perfect diet and ran constantly for about four months (during which I was, at my lowest weight, 156 pounds - still overweight), I have been ashamed of my appearance and generally lack confidence in this area. Most times I go for a run, I still hope no one sees me - and if anyone does, that they are not someone I know who will belittle me.

I am now in a phase of my life where I look to my future: I want to have a career, get married, have children, be happy. I am rejected by men regularly because of my weight. Some do it in kind ways; others are not so tactful. Each time, it destroys my hope for having those ideals, and nothing hurts like the vacuum that is left by evaporated hope. I have tried countless diets and exercise regimens. I have starved myself into misery (and then eaten my way out of that misery). I am about 190 pounds, and I wear a size 12 or 14. My doctor when I was a teenager told me I somehow carried extra weight that didn't appear to be there, but that doesn't explain this discrepancy: the average American woman is 5'4", weighs 140-150 pounds, and wears a size 12 or 14. I don't know where my extra 40 pounds is going, but I guess I'm relieved to be roughly the average when it comes to clothing sizes. At least I have company. Even when I weighed around 150 pounds, I was incredibly ashamed of myself because I was not 120 pounds.

My goal here is not to inspire sympathy. I think we need to take a realistic look at how society views weight, and what it costs each of us who is overweight. Fresh off of my latest rejection this week, I am feeling that cost in a very intense way. Even worse, the hate for my own body rarely - if ever - is quiet. Every time I look at my flabby arms, every time I try on a pair of jeans in a store, every time I put on my apron at work and wonder how much of my belly causes an awkward shadow, I feel ashamed.

I am finishing this at 2:26 AM. Surely no one is awake to see my disgustingly fat ass run down the street.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Dear Diana,
This is my first time reading your blog, and I am blown away by how good your writing is. Your blog is very relatable and personal, and it makes me feel like I am standing in your shoes. I don't know how to respond to this post or even if you are going to read this, but all I can say to you is to persevere and remember that you aren't alone. Thank you for your writings; they are truly wonderful.

Anonymous said...

Dear Diana,
This is my first time reading your blog, and I am blown away by how good your writing is. Your blog is very relatable and personal, and it makes me feel like I am standing in your shoes. I don't know how to respond to this post or even if you are going to read this, but all I can say to you is to persevere and remember that you aren't alone. Thank you for your writings; they are truly wonderful.

Anonymous said...

Thank you, that means so much to me! Please feel free to email me at thesavorylife@gmail.com.