On Body Dysmorphia and Motherhood
YOU HAVE SUCH A PRETTY FACE.
Binging on cookie dough was my most passionate college project. My roommate and I would "celebrate" two weeks of dieting and excessive exercising by eating raw cookie dough and a whole Little Caesars pizza. Each. (Hello, Pizza! Pizza!)
But college wasn't where I learned to hate my body. I developed that special talent in High School when I moved in with my dad and stepmom — which meant a new state, new town, and new school. The situation was awkward. I was a newly minted teen, which also meant I was awkward. I had no idea how to process my new life situation. Instead of talking things over and coming to a better understanding of my place in this home, I turned to food. It was easier, often delicious, but mostly reliable.
Over the next two years, I put on 10 pounds and felt increasingly unhappy. I had a group of friends and was social, but inside I was always comparing myself to other girls in high school. With no one to talk to about my struggles, my sadness continued. Feeling alone with no reliable parents to confide in (or Google to scour), I continued down my unhealthy path, unaware of the damage I was causing.
On winning the diet war, finding balance and embracing body dysmorphia
Today, much of my push to be a better person is fueled by being a better parent. I need to be there for them. I need to help them overcome obstacles when they first fail. I need them to be better equipped for this life than I was.
But back then, when I was waiting on the wooden gym bleachers for our yearbook photos, a goofy boy told me I was "chubby, but cute." I thought he was a dork ("nice, but a dork"), so I paid no mind.
And when a wildly popular boy told me I had "such a pretty face," I died a little inside. I knew what that meant. At that moment, a desire to lose weight and feel "normal" was born.
Having no idea how to lose weight, I dabbled in working out with my stepmom's Jane Fonda tapes (do I need to explain what a VHS is to anyone? Good grief, please say no. This is hard enough as it is!). But that wasn't the quick fix I longed for. Somehow, I knew about bulimia and that throwing up was a way to turn back the eating clock. What I didn't know is how utterly gross it is and, for me, difficult to execute.
After two more years of yo-yo dieting and perpetual self-loathing, I discovered I could drop weight quickly by avoiding food. What a revelation! I lost 15 pounds in a matter of weeks and was elated. I was finally free of the fat burden. Only I wasn't fat. I was a hormonal teenager who hadn't settled into her body yet. But by this point, my body dysmorphia was in full effect, and I had no idea how powerful it could be.
Body dysmorphia can blossom at any time, but generally, it's early teen years. And most often, it blooms from an evil seed planted when we are far too young even to notice it. Words muttered by relatives, insulted hurled by grade-schoolers, and "helpful" comments made by friends.
From 4th grade to 40, I heard passive and not so passive comments about my body (as nearly every single woman I've spoken to has).
The most challenging part of losing weight was managing the praise I received. If you've ever lost weight, you know what I mean. People start noticing you, and it feels so good to be seen. To be appreciated for looks rather than my humor (yes, I was staggeringly funny back then, too). Fearful of missing out on this new attention, we will often double down on our weight loss efforts creating a vicious, unhealthy cycle.
My early college years are marked by binge eating and starvation—and my dear friend Codi (right).
By the time college rolled around, I was hitting the gym seven days a week, allowing myself to eat on odd days only, and stoking my body dysmorphia at an alarming rate. During a health fair, the kinesiology students provided an assortment of fitness and body composition testing. Proud of my "fit" body and ready to have evidence of my hard work, I lined up to have a body comp done.
The oh-so-adorable boy holding the calipers nearly dropped them after calculating my fat percentage. He asked to do it again because it was "dangerously low." When the results came back at 11% twice, he verified that I wasn't an elite athlete and then suggested I "talk to someone." So I did. But not for several years.
I'm not going to pretend I wasn't proud of that unhealthy body fat percentage; I practically bounced back to the dorms. But his alarm stayed with me. Eventually, I did talk to someone. With time and therapy, I began to change my relationship with food and the mirror. But, as with all addictions, my eating disorder and body dysmorphia will be with me for life.
Twenty-five years later, I still struggle to remain sane when standing in front of a full-length mirror. The internal conversation is a little like a game of ping pong (read more about that here). One side says something degrading and the other counters with positive. Back and forth, it goes until the positive wins. Most days, it's a rapid conversation with myself, but some days it's difficult to not cave to the negative. These days I choose to let it go and accept my lack of "perfection." I'm learning to allow the thoughts to float in and out rather than allowing them to sink in.
My ability to care for myself has always been there. Sidetracked by marriage and motherhood, I slowly lost the ground I gained in my 20s. Not long ago, I had a dramatic emotional crash.
Oh lordy! The 90s cosby sweaters!
Months before my 49th birthday, I wildly let my husband in on the depth of my anguish. I had been fit and fat so often over the past decade, and I felt I was going insane. I ate incredibly healthy and worked out as often as I could, but never felt quite right. Mentally or physically.
It seemed as if "well, this is it. You broke your body from years of abuse and malnourishment." But in my breakdown, I found determination. This wasn't my "forever battle," this was something else… I just didn't know what.
My guy is a researcher. Need a new dishwasher or audiobook? Turn to him. Naturally, he set to work digging into my symptoms and the internet. His research suggested something I wasn't ready to hear: I might be perimenopausal — a decade or so ahead of schedule.
Are you kidding me? So now I'm squishy AND old?
As annoyed as I was, I took his suggestion and sought out a personal trainer who specialized in women and menopause (turns out I'm pretty handy behind the keyboard, too). My research led me to Jade Teta, and if you've been with me on Instagram, you have seen my posts about metabolism and diets. Jade specializes in metabolic fitness and understands female hormones.
Within four weeks of devouring his podcasts and reading his IG posts. I changed my food habits and workouts.
Four lessons that changed how I relate to food and my body:
Most of us grew up learning the only way to lose weight was to eat less and exercise more (my entire life is grounded in this belief).
We train our metabolism to require what we are giving it (this is where I was when I found jade). If we eat 1200 a day and burn 500 on the elliptical for long periods, we are essentially training our body to live in that state.
Metabolisms are designed to be flexible. Our ancestors were hunters and gatherers and faced periods of near starvation, followed by an excess bounty. A low-fat turkey breakfast sandwich wasn't a mobile order away.
Allow yourself to experience similar seasonal changes in diet and exercise. For me, I choose winter to eat more and exercise less. Spring I eat less and exercise more mixed with eating more and exercising more. Summer and fall are a mix of whatever works for me at that time.
Mind. Blown.
The simplicity is staggering. But, it makes SO much sense. Of course, marketers want us to diet. They make money when we are confused.
There's always something new. A new workout, a new diet, a new drink. Protein is in. Carbs are out. Sugar is terrible, and so is fat. Eight and a half weeks later, I found I was in the best shape of my life. I felt fantastic! Healthy and vibrate.
That's the feeling I have been chasing my entire adult life — not a smaller pant size. I was chasing freedom.
Freedom from dysfunctional thoughts and food fear.
Freedom from judgment and emotional turmoil.
Freedom to be in the moment and not in my head.
With a lower body fat and increased muscle mass, I finally felt confident. Not strut down the street naked confident, good grief no, but enough to buy a full-length mirror (FYI, reflections are kryptonite to people with body dysmorphia).
I don't need to feel elated when I see myself in the mirror, but I do need to feel content, which is precisely the feeling I'm after. My goal in life isn't happiness; it's contentment. Satisfaction.
Massive amounts of motivation didn't help me get to contentment. It was determination. There's a difference. David Goggins will tell you motivation starts your off, but commitment keeps you going.
Yes, having a lifelong, mentally debilitating disease like body dysmorphia is awful, but it taught me to stand up for myself.
TO push harder for what I want. It forced me to DO something about it.
And here's my take-home point for you:
👉 If something is repeatedly tapping on your brain, it's time for a change.
That tapping, or sometimes banging, is your signal that something is amiss. Take action. Identify the problem and solve it. Today, when I hear that voice on repeat, I know it's an alert — something is off and must be attended to. You have the same warning system.
Maybe it's a whisper to put the phone down when your kid is in the room? A tug at your heart when you see your sleeping spouse and wish things were the way they used to be? Or a surge of fear when your boss requests a meeting because deep down, you know you've been distracted at work? Signals are different for all of us. Figure out what yours is by paying close attention to moments when you feel off. When you dive for the Pinot Noir or a pint of Ben and Jerry's half baked.
♡ If you struggle with an aspect of your life, as we all do (often multiple), I urge you to spend time thinking about why you have the problem so you can work on the solution. Don't worry that it exists. Find the excitement in figuring out how to change it.