brightlotusmoon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brightlotusmoon) wrote2012-07-04 03:37 pm
brightlotusmoon) wrote2012-07-04 03:37 pm
Entry tags:
First Rule: Love Yourself.
Cut for currently uncharacteristic whining and grumping about menstrual weight gain, bloating, body measurements, and numbers. Because damn it, I need to let this out somehow.
See, I was skinny all my life. My mother made sure I never weighed more than 95 lbs, at 4'10". Which makes sense, because I was, like, 4'10". but I had inherited more Capello and Pulari stuff than Lenkowsky and Troihoff. That meant that no matter how skinny I looked, my hips were meant to be wide and curved and my short body was genetically built to be a pin-up centerfold female, like Betty and Marilyn.
Imagine how my mind began twisting when I became anorexic and my hip measurements stubbornly refused to drop below 35 inches. My waist? Oh, that got down to 22. My chest? 32. My hips? Screw social conventions, I was hippy as fuck and that was that.
This week is my Shark Week. Which means bloating, weight gain, fluid retention, and bloating. I can't wear any of my jeans or slacks without wanting to cry, because suddenly I've gained two inches of hip and waist that are starting to warp me. 37 inches of hip I can handle. 39? Fuck no. A 27 inch waist? Not at my height. Am I fat now? I mean, for my height? Oh gods, is this me now? It's going to be like this forever, isn't it? I'm going to have to buy a load of pants in a bigger size, aren't I? This is going to last forever, isn't it?
This is ridiculous, isn't it? I am being ridiculous and insane, aren't I? This is just the anorexia scars making me crazy, right? I'll feel better after Shark Week, right? Just because I can't button my jeans or slacks now doesn't mean I won't be able to in a few days, right? I'm just pouty and grumpy and grouchy. It's okay. I'll be fine.
While I was digging through my slacks drawers yesterday to toss smaller pants in the closet, I found pants labeled Size Zero. My gods, those are so many years old. I remember when fitting into a pair of Size 2 pants was impossible because I was too skinny for a fucking size 2.
Augh.
Every time I hear a short petite woman over 5'0" whine and freak out about being over 110 lbs, I bite my tongue very hard, unless said woman is anorexic or in ED recovery. I need to restrain myself from snapping "Really? How would you feel about 125 lbs, huh? Be happy with what you have. You're fine." Because 110 is where I want to be, anywhere between 101 and 111. And it's hard right now. Working on it, of course.
Body health and muscle health doesn't happen overnight. I'm over 30; my body is changing. And I am not helping myself by mentally snarling at people who whine about their perceived imperfect weight issues when they have absolutely none. I am also not helping myself by imagining my mother telling me that I was becoming overweight because I weighed more than 110. She essentially wants me to be as thin as I can because for her, thin means healthy. I love her so so much, but I really do think she has a mild eating disorder of some kind.
I am fine. My health is fine. My doctors say I'm fine. I eat small portions of healthy food daily with occasional small portions of junk food. Nobody can force me to eat or exercise a certain way.
And that's what I tell myself during my mental bitchslaps to myself.
I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm also stressing too much about next week's hearing.
Dear Joanna: BREATHE. FUCKING RELAX ALREADY, GODS ABOVE AND AROUND, JUST BREATHE.
See, I was skinny all my life. My mother made sure I never weighed more than 95 lbs, at 4'10". Which makes sense, because I was, like, 4'10". but I had inherited more Capello and Pulari stuff than Lenkowsky and Troihoff. That meant that no matter how skinny I looked, my hips were meant to be wide and curved and my short body was genetically built to be a pin-up centerfold female, like Betty and Marilyn.
Imagine how my mind began twisting when I became anorexic and my hip measurements stubbornly refused to drop below 35 inches. My waist? Oh, that got down to 22. My chest? 32. My hips? Screw social conventions, I was hippy as fuck and that was that.
This week is my Shark Week. Which means bloating, weight gain, fluid retention, and bloating. I can't wear any of my jeans or slacks without wanting to cry, because suddenly I've gained two inches of hip and waist that are starting to warp me. 37 inches of hip I can handle. 39? Fuck no. A 27 inch waist? Not at my height. Am I fat now? I mean, for my height? Oh gods, is this me now? It's going to be like this forever, isn't it? I'm going to have to buy a load of pants in a bigger size, aren't I? This is going to last forever, isn't it?
This is ridiculous, isn't it? I am being ridiculous and insane, aren't I? This is just the anorexia scars making me crazy, right? I'll feel better after Shark Week, right? Just because I can't button my jeans or slacks now doesn't mean I won't be able to in a few days, right? I'm just pouty and grumpy and grouchy. It's okay. I'll be fine.
While I was digging through my slacks drawers yesterday to toss smaller pants in the closet, I found pants labeled Size Zero. My gods, those are so many years old. I remember when fitting into a pair of Size 2 pants was impossible because I was too skinny for a fucking size 2.
Augh.
Every time I hear a short petite woman over 5'0" whine and freak out about being over 110 lbs, I bite my tongue very hard, unless said woman is anorexic or in ED recovery. I need to restrain myself from snapping "Really? How would you feel about 125 lbs, huh? Be happy with what you have. You're fine." Because 110 is where I want to be, anywhere between 101 and 111. And it's hard right now. Working on it, of course.
Body health and muscle health doesn't happen overnight. I'm over 30; my body is changing. And I am not helping myself by mentally snarling at people who whine about their perceived imperfect weight issues when they have absolutely none. I am also not helping myself by imagining my mother telling me that I was becoming overweight because I weighed more than 110. She essentially wants me to be as thin as I can because for her, thin means healthy. I love her so so much, but I really do think she has a mild eating disorder of some kind.
I am fine. My health is fine. My doctors say I'm fine. I eat small portions of healthy food daily with occasional small portions of junk food. Nobody can force me to eat or exercise a certain way.
And that's what I tell myself during my mental bitchslaps to myself.
I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm also stressing too much about next week's hearing.
Dear Joanna: BREATHE. FUCKING RELAX ALREADY, GODS ABOVE AND AROUND, JUST BREATHE.
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And it seems to me from reading your journal that knowing *why* something is happening helps you relax about it, I thought I'd make this observation [that may certainly be wrong, I don't live in your head, afterall] just in case you hadn't seen the possible connection.
*LOVE*
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Oh, don't worry. I'm doing so right now (not at you).
I didn't read all of this, because I couldn't, but I wanted to say you are YOU, not your weight. And you are not your mother and her preconceived notions of what should be. My guess is that anxiety is taking over many things right now, and when that happens - and I know this is true - the mind starts criticizing everything. You are stressed about the case next week, so you're attacking yourself. You've attacked your emotions, so why not your body, too? But don't. If everyone was supposed to be 5'0 and 90 pounds, or even 4'10 and 120 pounds, we'd find some new standard of what "perfect" was - probably something inane like being 5'4 and 80 pounds - and all aim to grow a few inches and lose 50 pounds. We can only be what we are.
I will say this: I was happy(ish) with how I looked when we saw each other during Halloween 2010. I haven't been happy with my body since then, but my body is damaging me in ways exercise and diet cannot control. I still appear pregnant and keep gaining weight because I am bleeding internally. I'm nowhere near 120 anymore, and at 5'2, that's where I'd like to be. BUT I'm working on health first. And I know you want to as well. And that's all I'll say about my sizes and/or weight issues, because this is about you, not me, and I'm not so self-absorbed as to tell you how small I was, am, or what you should be. Please ignore anyone who tells you about weight right now, or about size. Focus on physical and mental health, because THOSE matter most. People who know you, who don't make weight a competition, will understand that. <3
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I am working on health, not numbers, and that is what is so important. No matter what society tries to tell me.
<3
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I'm in the middle of menstruation, and everything looks and feels nasty. Never is there a worse time to judge one's body and mental state than right now. It's crappy (and for those of us who cannot have children, or do not want to have children, it seems highly unfair. But that's a different rant...)
Society is a fickle bitch. Listen to her and she'll just feed you lines of hatred. Nobody - and no body - needs that.