Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Twiggy and Me

In these last 22 years, two months and twenty days, I’ve learned to cherish compliments. For me, compliments have always been few and far between. I’m not brilliant, so I’m rarely told that I’m smart. I’m not stunning, so I’m very infrequently told that I’m pretty (and only then, of course, by family members). I’m not a stellar athlete; I’m not told that I’m gifted. I’m not outgoing, I’m not hilarious, I’m not a strong leader; I don’t hear that I’m bubbly, funny, talented. I’m largely unremarkable.

All of my life, however, I’ve been hearing about my body. So tiny. So thin. So petite. Oh, what I would do for a body like yours. And you eat all that you like? Oh, my.

I’ve heard it over and over and over and over. Somewhere in between when my younger sister grew too big to fit into my clothes and the thousandth time a high school friend commented on the firmness of my abs, I put a great deal of my self worth into the size stitched into the back of my jeans.

And I do know that’s not healthy.

And I will admit that, despite that knowledge, I continue to think that way.

I’m very active. I’m active because I like to be active; it has nothing to do with my weight or my body. Between figure skating, boxing, hockey, soccer and yoga, I know that I have a healthy body. My weight is fine. My body is fine.

I know this. I just don’t know if I believe it.

Here’s the snag: I’m all about food.

You guys have probably realized that I absolutely adore eating; three of my last four entries have mentioned food. I like to eat. I do eat. End of story.

I constantly think about food. Five, six times per hour. Trailing my thoughts about food is the worry about my weight. It’s a constant guilt trip. It’s a relentless nag. It’s annoying as hell. And I swear it’s increasing in frequency. I’m making myself crazy.

And I’m doing it so that someone can admire how thin I am.

Someone always does.


Plantation said...

Twiggs, Food rules. How can one *not* be passionate about food? When I go out, if 'she' isn't passionate about the food, she's outta here. In my book, passion for food is an attraction. Now, would you please pass the Timbits?

A said...

HA! You do make a good point: if you don't like food, it's likely that I think you're a freak.

The time and effort I put into thinking about it? I'll maintain that it's unhealthy.

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