Body Positivity

 My earliest memory of being shamed around eating and my body is from about the age of eleven. I would come home from school and have a big bowl of sugary cereal, the kind almost every American household had in the pantry if there were kids in the house. My mother, who I remember to be forever on this diet or the other in a yo-yo dance with its accompanying wardrobe of many sizes of clothing, admonished me that if I kept up this way, I would one day blow up like a balloon. I could tell from the way she said this that blowing up like a balloon would be THE. END. OF. THE. WORLD.

All around me Cosmo and other fashion magazine covers, staring at me when I stood in grocery check-out lines, told me what I needed to look like in order to be beautiful, acceptable, validated. With my pale skin, invisible eyelashes, freckles, and cellulite-ridden thighs, I knew I did not measure up. Then one year pale skin and freckles were all over the covers of Allure, Cosmo, Seventeen, and Elle. What? This phenomenon began to tip me off to the fickle and arbitrary nature of fashion trends and beauty standards.

I also became aware around the same time, age 15 or 16, that in some cultures my shape and complexion were considered to fit a beauty ideal. My Cuban boyfriend wanted me to eat MORE chocolate and stay out of the sun. Even though I relaxed a bit about my big butt, I still was letting others tell me how to feel about my body.

My second memory of body-shaming from my family of origin is from about the age of 21 or 22. I was headed out to take an eight-year-old to a local swimming pool while her parents were busy, and my mother commented that I should wear a one-piece because "you don't have a bikini body." By this time I had figured out that my mother was projecting her own body insecurities onto me and that wearing a two-piece was nobody's business but my own. I went out the door with a loose tunic temporarily covering the two-piece and had a wonderful day with little Amy. Success! I was learning to differentiate between my mother's worldview and my own. I could, if I tried, cast off her body complexes.

A (now recovering) serial monogamist for much of my adult life, I've found myself in partnership with some men who did not pressure me to exercise or eat a certain way and some men who did bring that particular socio-cultural toxin into our relationship. They are not entirely to blame, of course. With my codependency and low self-esteem, I tended to objectify myself, objectify him, and be drawn into transactional relationships.

One partner swooned when I fit into size 7 jeans, going on and on about my flat tummy, then lost interest in me when I gained five pounds. He pressured me to work out daily and even volunteered to be my personal trainer. Looking back, I'm embarrassed to admit that I went along with this and used the gifted hand weights each evening as he counted off my reps and sets. I was proud of my strength, proud of the fact that I could lift him from his electric wheelchair onto the bed. I could leg press 180, more than some of the big guys at the same fitness center could.

In theory I understood the concept of body positivity, especially after it entered the mainstream conversations on social media. I began following a sewist on IG who was actively working to get pattern companies to have more inclusive sizing. With concerted intention, I was trying to glean new data for my brain from her reels and words to replace the false data installed by those early interactions with my mother and society.

When I was in my early 40s, I started working with a naturopathic doctor in Ontario. I had huge ovarian fibroids that made me look five months pregnant, and this woman encouraged me to try an elimination diet whereby I would abstain from processed sugar, gluten, meat, and dairy for several months. After that, I would try adding back one of these at a time. The results were amazing. A lifetime case of eczema cleared up entirely. My allergy to pollen and to my cats disappeared. I suddenly had enough energy to ride my bike all around town on Saturdays. This taste of regimented eating was boosted years later when a friend told me about Dr. Fuhrman's nutritarian plan. I became obsessed with whole food plant-based eating, and thus spiraled a little farther down the orthorexia rabbit hole. My obsessive-compulsive and perfectionist parts hoovered up everything they could get their hands on to do with healthy eating and longevity. I became a (sometimes insufferable) foodie and nutritarian snob.

Today, I realize several things about my relationship with food and body image.

1. I still often feel like shit when I go through periods of unhealthy eating with the resulting difficulty buttoning my pants in the weeks thereafter.
2. I tend to tell myself I'll get back on track soon, that buying size i + 1 pants would be admission of failure, to be avoided at all cost.
3. My boyfriend acknowledges his own paunch and love affair with daily ice cream without beating himself up or feeling a need to hide his body. It is what it is; he knows it doesn't make him a bad person or less lovable.

I that know my system, speaking in IFS terms, includes both an orthorexic part with her organized batch prepping rituals and Vitamix attachments AND a lotus-eater part who loves warm camembert on chewy sourdough. Somewhere in my psyche exists, so I'm told, capital S Self, the compassionate, loving, curious, confident Head of the Board Room Table willing to hold space for these sub-personalities without being hijacked by either. I'm learning.

Since ditching American social media apps and hopping over to Xiaohongshu, I've discovered and have been following a man who posts an OOTD reel every day. According to his mostly younger-than-I-am following, this thing he has going on is called "drip," a slang term arising from Hip Hop culture that means you have style that comes off as effortlessly cool (or HOT), sexy, confident, with a dash of swagger. He has that in spades.

Aside from the fact that I look forward every morning as soon as I wake up to seeing the OOTD (The rings! The cologne! The glasses frames! The watchband! The scarf! The music that perfectly complements the reel! The matching of the hatband with the shoes, shirt with the socks!), his loving attitude toward his body has slowly been dripping--no pun intended--into my psyche. Don't I also deserve to wear clothes that fit comfortably instead of punishing myself with yesterday's size of undies whose waistbands keep rolling down all day long?

And so, with that, I finally gave in and took myself shopping for i + 1 sized clothes. Oh, and I allowed myself to shop the men's section, too. ;) Sometimes a gal's just gotta find those deep and plentiful pockets that are nowhere to be found in the women's section.

My OOTD: Size L men's linen shorts in a light mud color with deep pockets and extra phone-sized pockets on each side; size L Ivory Ella tie-dyed T-shirt because I love going braless, even to work; sunrise sorbet multicolored TEVA sport sandals; analog watch. No fragrance, no jewelry, no make-up, DIY bathroom mirror haircut.

How about you? I would love to hear how you deal with societal pressures to be or look or behave a certain way.