I am only beginning to understand the fallacy of associating identity with the shape of my body. It recently occurred to me–because of a trip to the ocean–how foolish I was to make vanity my objective. As if being physically appealing to the masses was the most important thing I would ever accomplish in life. My desire to be thin and pretty sure doesn’t prop me up when the crushing blows of addiction rage against my soul.
So why does our society encourage judgment on our fellow human beings based on their physical appearance? It begins early in life—this prejudice of physical characteristics. For the girl in junior high with dark hair who has not yet begun to shave her legs. Her “friends” place razors and shaving cream in her locker under the guise of help. But why are hairy legs so offensive? Didn’t God give us body hair? Sure, some women, and men for that matter, tend to be hairier than others. My husband noted that many men at the beach had obviously been waxed and I was stunned. Why would a man do that? I know it must be a terribly painful procedure. Is it vanity or an innate desire to fit into a cultural norm? And who determines this cultural norm anyway? Because if it’s the people selling magazines, why are we listening to them? Why would we pay attention to people who only want to make money off of our guilt and shame?
If our follicles are a source of contention, how much more so the excess of our girth? Yesterday I had a conversation with a friend who is torturing herself to lose belly fat. As much as I love to exercise and am passionate about staying in shape, I will never have six pack abs. I told her, “You know, I have great abs but no one can see them under my excess skin. I can crunch my way to heaven and I’ll never have the perfect body. The reality is this: I am 40 years old. I have lost 140 pounds, and have had three children via cesarean section. I like my belly, but I think warm Jello is probably more firm. The focus of the fitness industry seems to be procuring a beach body but I am in the best shape of my life and I will never look like someone on the cover of shape magazine. But my friend insisted that she has a goal and she wants to reach it. I say that’s fantastic. Goals are awesome. But what happens after you achieve them? If she doesn’t maintain the exercise, it’s warm Jello time again.
Maybe it’s because I’m living on the other side of my goal. My perspective comes from having reshaped my body and my lifestyle. And while having a smaller body is absolutely fantastic(because I am not carrying around an extra person) losing weight didn’t solve all of my problems. I’m still addicted to sugar. I still compulsively overeat and have to course correct to maintain my weight. Even worse, losing weight and being “pretty” cannot fix the arthritis I’m developing, or my eczema or my crippling insecurities.
With all of this in mind, you may be asking, “so if it really doesn’t matter how much I weigh, why would I ever go through all the trouble to get in shape?” I’m glad you asked.
Self-Control is Empowering
Our culture has a “if it feels good do it” mentality. But what has this excess of pleasure really gleaned for us? One of the biggest lies of our generation is that pleasure will make us happy. I have discovered that pleasure for pleasures sake only deepens our longings. It is a fact of life that the more we have, the more we want, and the less satisfied we are in general. If my journey to better health has taught me anything, it is that learning to restrain my passions has made me more content, more joyful and less critical of my fellow human beings. When I restrain my tongue from speaking ill of others behind their backs, I offer grace to them—even when they have wounded me. When I practice patience, those around me who have lost control of their tempers find a safe place to calm themselves. When I hold back the torrent of caustic emotions from bubbling over and infecting my friends, I save them from untold agonies. I learned these things by exercising self-control and by forcing my body to do things I thought were impossible. But this journey to shrink my fat cells has been about so much more than losing weight. Not that I have arrived by any means! But I am learning that I don’t need to flail my way through life. I can make the choice to refrain from behaviors that hurt myself and others and, quite frankly, it is very empowering.
Identity is Tied to Image
I am so much more than my body, but my body affects every aspect of my life. How I care for my body affects me emotionally, spiritually, and physically. For good or ill, people generally come to know us by our physical presence. Fat or thin, able-bodied or disabled, young or old, small or big, our bodies are the temples that house our spirits. Living an unhealthy lifestyle is a lot like living in a condemned house. The walls are falling down and the plumbing doesn’t work. Good luck with the electricity—it doesn’t work anymore either. Even more bad news, I can’t move out of my body! I’m stuck!
Of course not everyone is able to change their body, and some of us are born with infirmities we have no control over. Those of us who have the luxury to make our bodies healthier are foolish to squander that precious gift. Identity is the sum of all our parts. I have learned through patience and perseverance that how I feel directly affects how I live my life. This may be stating the obvious, but as a heavy person, I struggled to climb stairs, sleep, breathe, or ride roller coasters. People also perceived me as a morbidly obese individual and it affected the jobs I was able to do.
When I worked at the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, we were struggling financially. I was also very heavy. One night there was an abundance of sandwiches left over from a meeting, and we didn’t have food for dinner. I took the sandwiches home for my family to eat. The next day there was a big hubbub over who “stole the sandwiches.” I told my co-worker that I had taken the sandwiches home to my family because we were hungry. The next day, my supervisor sat me down and accused me of lying about my home situation. She said that obviously my family had plenty to eat and I was just “trying to make the people I work with feel sorry for me.” I was deeply wounded by her comments. Whether I liked it or not, my identity was connected to my size. Because I have lived most of my life as a heavy person I have first-hand knowledge of what it feels like to be considered less than a human being because of how my body is shaped. My size affected not only my heart but my thought processes. Whether I liked it or not, my identity was tied to my body, even though my body wasn’t who I was inside. Losing weight gave me a new identity, one I am much more comfortable with, even though it did not fundamentally change who I am inside.
Self-Analysis is a Catalyst for Personal Growth
If I had not undertaken the journey to improve my health, I would have missed out on the opportunity to learn and grow. Self-help books are very popular. They imply that there are easy steps one can take to improve their lives. Nothing about my journey has been easy. And while I have read many books on how to lose weight and get in shape, they have never inspired me as much as the personal stories of others who have struggled and won difficult battles by overcoming inscrutable odds. The crucible of pain that accompanies self-examination will either drive us toward or in direct opposition to permanent change.
We have all met people in our lives that refuse to “grow up.” They wallow in undesirable circumstances and blame their problems on everyone else. They refuse to acknowledge their blessings and take every happiness for granted. Everything is okay when times are good, but when life takes a bad turn, they fall to pieces. Those types of people are miserable and they certainly aren’t very pleasant to be around. I know. I used to be one of them. But the moment I began to ask myself hard questions about myself that I knew could affect my future on this planet, I began to change. My questions were simple even if the answers were more complicated. Why do I eat? Why can’t I stop eating? How do I live a fulfilled life without sugar? Why should I exercise? But one question in particular, “Who am I?” led to the most important question of all, “Who do I want to be?”
I recently sat on the beach and watched my children play in the ocean. People of all shapes and sizes cruised up and down the beach, but my eyes were unintentionally drawn to the obese family who floated on top of the waves like a cluster of fishing bobbers. They looked so happy. They seemed so completely self-assured and happy to be enjoying each other’s company. I wondered if they felt comfortable in the knowledge that all of them were overweight, unlike how I used to feel as the only heavy person in a family of 5. I remember how wonderful it felt to float in the ocean as an overweight individual. It was the one place I felt comfortable…floating…un-weighted…free. Now my awkward attempts at floating have me holding my breath. A distinct disadvantage of having more lean muscle mass than flubber is that I don’t have nearly enough natural flotation to keep me near the surface. I have to paddle and kick and wear myself out so I don’t sink to the bottom.
As I watched them playing in the surf I remembered how self-conscious I used to be about going to the ocean and wearing a swimsuit in front of strangers. What would people think when they looked at me? Would they think I was ugly, or worse, just gross? My thoughts were consumed with worry and fear. I was plagued with insecurity. I can honestly say that this was my first trip to the beach where I honestly didn’t care what I looked like. But when I saw that family I remembered the pain. As the boys struggled in and out of the water I remembered how challenging it was to pull myself from weightlessness to crushing gravity. As their ill-fitting swimsuits revealed things I wasn’t keen to see, I pried my eyes away. It was too painful, too fresh. Like lemon juice to a days-old paper cut. I thought the shame and regret were gone, but they aren’t. They lurk beneath the surface of my skin and make me feel like I am only wearing a mask. The mask of good health hides the fearful, food-addicted child who is rejected and ridiculed because she doesn’t fit the societal norm. Who am I to judge this family so mercilessly? Who am I to think they need saving when I can barely save myself?
I am thankful I have lost the weight. I am actively working to keep my demons at bay. And I am one choice away from failure. But, I am so glad I was willing to undertake this difficult journey. I look different on the outside and I feel different on the inside. My physical identity is no longer tied to that of a morbidly obese person, and even though I will always identify with obese individuals, I am so glad I am not one anymore. Every day I pray that I will never stop telling unhealthy people that life without the extra weight is worth the work to take it off. The pain that accompanies a life less full is nothing compared to the joy of living a life more free. And even though I now know that “thin and pretty” is a lie, I do love my new identity. Because even though I am basically the same, I am profoundly changed, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
