Tag: body issues | A Banana Peeled

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High risk; higher reward

Posted on April 27, 2023 by Minna Hong • 0 Comments

I want to write a self-help book because I have found one easy trick to curing depression, anxiety, and body dysphoria. It’s called dying, and I cannot recommend it enough. Twice is even better, to thoroughly cement the teaching. I jest, but not really.

Ever since dying twice, I’ve mulled over how to talk about this. I know it sounds like a humblebrag to say that I suffered walking non-COVID-related pneumonia, two cardiac arrests, and an ischemic stroke within twenty minutes without a scratch, but it’s basically true.

There is no way for people to relate to what I went through. I know that. It’s why I rarely mention it. In addition, I know how it sounds when someone peddles something that isn’t relevant. I know how impatient I used to get when people said to look at the bright side of life or that life was precious or that we only had one life to live. I hated that bullshit because it sounded so sanctimonious. “You don’t know me or my life. Don’t tell me to be grateful!” That was me whenever I heard anything of that ilk.

But. Here’s the thing.

They weren’t wrong.

Here me out. The one thing that I’ve learned from my medical crisis–well, the biggest thing. I’ve learned plenty–is that life is really fucking short. I can’t say we only have one life to live because I’m on my third, but in terms of relative time, 50 years is a blink of an eye.

Before I had my medical crisis, I suffered from depression, anxiety, and body dysphoria. I had an almost-crippling depression that made it dififcult to get out of bed in the morning. I had anxiety that made me almost paralyzed with indecision. And, I hated my body with an intensity of a thousand suns. It started with my mother putting me on a diet when I was seven and nagging me all my life for being a fat cow.

Taiji helped with all three of these to a certain extent. Before I started it, I could not be in a crowd of people for many reasons. Too many emotions pouring into me; too much physical contact; too much noise. My depression told me that everyone hated me, and my anxiety told me that no matter how I talked to people, I would get it wrong.

As for the body hatred–I refused to look in a mirror. Even when I was doing my grooming, I would studiously ignore it. I hated my face and my body, and I refused to let people take pictures. My mom used to complain about that, too. That I would not let her take pictures. Well, geez, Mom. Youv’e told me in not so many words that I am hideous and grotesque because I’m fat. You’ve done this my entire life. I can’t imagine why you would be shocked and surprised that I don’t (didn’t) want my picutre taken.

I detested my body and face. I thought I was just too disgusting to live. Fifteen years of studying Taiji (at the time of my medical emergency) got me to studiously neutral. Meaning, I would say I was neutral about my body and face, but I didn’t really mean it.

How to be body positive

Posted on July 4, 2022 by Minna Hong • 0 Comments

When I was seven, my mom put me on a diet. She used to tell me that I would be so pretty if I just lost weight. For context, my parents are old-school Taiwanese who are greatly invested in gender roles–except when they’re not. For example, they believe that a woman should work outside the home–at least my father does. My mother might not because she’s said more than once that she would have loved to stay at home fulltime and be a mother. Given that she gave in to my father at every turn, it’s not wonder she ended up working.

In addition, she played sports. That’s the thing I never understood–many of the women in our church (Taiwanese church) played sports. Tennis, softball, ping-pong, to be more specific. That’s not usual in societies with rigid gender roles, but whatever. It’s just proves that no one is perfectly consistent, but I do appreciate the fact that I was not restricted sports-wise because of my perceived gender. Every other way, yes, but not in that specific way.

While my mother was putting me on diets and scolding me for being fat, she was also insisting that I clean my plate and that I eat everything before me. To be fair, that was rarely dessert, but it still did not make for healthy habits. It didn’t matter if I was hungry or not–I had to eat whatever was in front of me.

My parents also took us to a fast food restaurant once a week after church. It was the best part of my Sundays, if I’m to be honest. Getting a Big Mac, large fries, large DK, and hot fudge sundae from Mickey D or a chicken parm, large fries, large Diet Pepsi from BK, or a cheddar beef sandwich with the trimmings from Arby’s was the highlight of the day, if not the week, foodwise. My mother was not a good cook. She told me when I was an adult that she did not like to cook.

I do not blame her because I do not like to cook, either. I don’t take any joy in it, especially when it’s just for myself. I don’t mind doing it when I’m with someone else. But chopping up a bunch of stuff is no fun when it’s me on my own. And, yes, I know I can freeze things and unfreeze them later, but that’s a lot of work for something I don’t enjoy in the first place.

Because of my mother’s constant harping on my weight, I grew up believing that I was incredibly fat–and not only that, that I was ugly because of it. I mean, how else was I supposed to take her constant criticism of my weight and her statements about how I would be so pretty if I would only lose weight?