A Weighty Obsession Learning To Accept Your Body Isn’t Easy

I can’t remember a time I didn’t worry about my weight.

I’ve struggled with that obsession for many years, but I suddenly realized last year that it had become an inescapable pattern in my life. Every day I added up calories on my calculator and stared in the mirror. How did I get that way?

I remember vacationing with my dad. Once I drank two chocolate milks from the little refrigerator in our hotel room. He said, “Daughter, I love you, but don’t ever get fat.” I was 10 years old.

He might still have loved me at any weight, but that’s not how I felt. To my father, physical appearance carries much importance. Some of my most obsessive times are before a visit with my dad, who “shows me off” to people. He doesn’t say much, but I feel he expects me to look good. I want to look extra cute and thin. I want him to be proud.

Even so, I made a resolution this year to really examine the issue and rid myself of the fixation. I vowed to stop wasting time and spirit obsessing about my body.

In my English class, we discussed how girls often want to please their fathers. Men are dominant in our culture. They are elevated to a pedestal. God, the Supreme Being, is referred to as Our Father. It’s a cultural barricade erected from birth.

Even though I only visited my father twice a year, this message settled within me.

Of course, every problem has more than one contributing factor.

An easy target is the media, and they are plenty deserving. At a younger age, I saw models and thought they were glamorous. I figured long thin legs and a slender build led to a perfect life. By now. I’ve learned the tricks. Computers and special camera lenses enhance and slim the features of models.

But no kid knows this when they’re growing up. The media frame physical beauty as the key to happiness. I was sucked into a cultural vacuum.

The first week of my obsession kick, I did not try to change. I kept a journal and became more aware of my actions and feelings. I spent an average of five minutes in the morning examining my thighs, buttocks and stomach, and 10 to fifteen minutes doing the same before going to bed.

Total: about three hours a week! I am in college, and don’t have time to waste. I looked in the mirror at least 50 times a day and often caught my reflection in windows and glass doors. Every mirror and glass pane tells a different story.

I started realizing how emotionally draining this habit had become - I was either pleased or disturbed, up or down on my roller coaster obsession. Does this make me vain? Do I need to look that much? I felt insecure. A couple inches here … What happens if I eat this brownie? …I need to run off those lunch calories.

I told my running buddy I was working on my obsession. A big smile came over her face, one that said, “Good, you need to work on that and I’m proud of you for admitting your shortcoming.”

One of my biggest fears in coming to college was the “Freshman 15.” My aunt told me she gained 20 pounds. Other students said, “Oh, you’ll probably gain weight this winter, I sure did.” I did not want to hear this. They made it sound like no matter what, the weight would come.

As if food involuntarily jumped down your throat. This terrified me. Their predictions and experiences fed my obsession. I would not fall victim to fried foods. I would prove them wrong.

I stopped rewarding myself with a brownie every day and stuck to salads and bagels. However, the more I restricted myself, the more I wanted food. I had no energy to run. My stress level sky rocketed. My obsessiveness swelled.

I wondered, “Am I the only one who feels this way?” I conducted an even survey of males and females. Ninety percent said there was something they would like changed about their bodies.

Many women I talked to understood and were struggling with the same problems. No wonder I’d occasionally see a peer, grossly underweight, suffering from anorexia or bulimia. Although not as extreme, I had an eating disorder.

For the next three weeks, I searched for a balance. I allowed myself one brownie a day and diligently kept to my running program. The less I worried, the better I felt and looked. I passed by windows without a glance and cut mirror frequency to about 15 times a day. No more feeling down. Things were going well.

Then I had a relapse. Finals loomed around the corner. While running on the track, I said somewhat sarcastically to my friend, “I’m going to start fasting.” She stopped dead in her tracks.

“What?”

“I’m serious, I feel like a cow.”

“Chere, you’re crazy. You don’t need to lose weight.”

“Yes, I do. I think I’ve gained some pounds. Besides, you’re one to talk. You always obsess.”

“It’s because you’re not eating well.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. I had been eating a lot of junk food. At the most, I’d gained a pound.

Ironically, when we finished running, both of us started complaining. For 15 minutes we pulled at our legs and pointed to areas needing liposuction. Once, my friend almost broke into tears. Our muscle size increased from track running.

We made plans to start running outside again. Longer runs would thin out our legs. Yes, Operation Slimdown.

I returned to my room and gazed into the mirror. I laughed. Why was I being so silly? I consoled myself. “You look fine, but yes, you do need to eat better.” At least I recognized my ridiculousness.

After a couple of sulky days, I was back on track.

Moderation, exercise, acceptance. These are the threads I weave into my life for health and happiness. This is not to say I never have gloomy days.

My habit of obsessing is not resolved, it is toned down. I still go through “I’m a cow” phases, but I now handle them better. If I eat too much or skip a running day, I say “Oh well.” My attitude change eliminated much self-induced stress.

To those of you headed off to college in the fall, here’s my advice: Hakuna Matata. No worries. I attribute my feelings of increased body control to knowing and accepting myself. It has been almost six months since the beginning of my end to obsession. Now that I’m home for the summer, I have time to reflect. I learned looking inside to correct a problem does not require a mirror. I can see myself clearer and truer without one.

MEMO: Chere Lucas will be a sophomore at Dartmouth this fall. She’s a 1995 graduate from Mead High School.