In yesterday’s post, I was talking planning on talking about health in general, but I quickly derailed myself to talking about family dysfunction instead. It’s related to health, though, so I don’t feel completely bad about it. Let’s face it–family dysfunction is baked into so many things, I could unpack it forever. I’m also still ignoring *waves at the world around me* everything because I have to figure out how to deal with it in a not rage-inducing way.
In yesterday’s post, my intent was to talk about eating more healthily and doing things to better my health in general. That’s not the way it went, but that was my intent. Instead, I went on a rant about how my mother made me feel like shit about my body from thet time of seven and sent me down a very dark and painful path because of her obsession with how the ideal girl/woman should look like.
It got so bad that after my last visit to Taiwan (gotta update my passport ASAP, just a side thought), I had to put my foot down and tell my mother that she could not mention my health ever again. I had forbade her from talking about my weight at some point, which meant she just changed from talking about my weight to talking about my health–but she meant my weight.
How do I know? Well, first of all, I know her very well. Secondly, when I was in college and anorexic, my junior counselors called her in to talk to her about it. They did it out of good intentions, but it was not a good thing for them to do. Why? Because it embarrassed the hell out of her, and she gets nasty when she’s shown up. Not in the any typical way, but in underhanded, manipulative, guiltt-induucing ways.
I remember my mother sitting there with her face sour. I could tell she was upset–at me. Not for being anorexic and bulimic, but for making it look like she was a bad mother.
Did she have anything to say about me being anorexic and bulimic? No. Did she have any concern to show about my health? No. In fact, the only time she ever said anything about me when I was skinny was during my second dance with anorexia. She looked at me for several long seconds and then said, “Your waist is tinier than mine.” She said it with such hate and jealousy, I internally recoiled.
This is how I know that her concern abouut my health is bullshit. If she were really concerned about my health, she would be worried that my thighs didn’t touch, and I could not make it up a flight of stairs without gasping for breath. Do you want to know how distorted her thinking was on the subject? Before I went to college, I used to blast my boombox (yes, I’m that old) and dance on the living room floor for hours as my exercise. My mother once said, “Should you be doing that? I’m worried that the floor will collapse.”
The same floor that had two heavy recliners, a couch, a TV, a stereo system, a coffee table, two side tables, and a few other things on it. And had never shown any sign of collapsing. But big disgusting fat gross me dancing on the floor? Gotta worry about the floor collapsing then! It felt like a dig at me, but I know it’s more about her very distorted way of thinking about weight. And women.
Side note: My mother has accused me of trying to be the exact opposite of her. Of being a contrarian. I used to try to explain it to her that I was not doing it to be contrary, but it never sank in. She’s incapable of seeing things from other people’s points of view, so of course to her it was a jab at her.
Here’s the sticking point, though. One that I don’t often admit even to myself. She’s not completely wrong. Or rather, the outcome is correct–even if she has the wrong reason why it is the way it is.
Let me explain.
Watching her interact with my father made me realize that this was the last thing I wanted for myself. And that I had it in me to be like her. In addition, the more she hammered at me to get married and have children, the more I realized that it was not what I wanted. And it was in part because she was so miserable whilst doing it.
The biggest reason I did not have children was because I realized I did not want them, but I also did not want to replicate the family dysfunction or allow my mother the chance to fuck up my hypothetical children.
So, no, I did not become who I was out of spite or contrariness, but it was because of what I saw in my mother that turned me even more against a conventional life. So she’s not completely wrong that it was because of her–it just wasn’t in the way she thought it was.
All of that is the background to me wanting to lose weight now. I could couch it in terms of wanting to be healthier (and I do), but I cannot deny that some of it is the way I look. And that is culturally ingrained and so difficult to challenge. I don’t think it’s bad to do things that are healthier for me like eating more fruits and vegetables, even if I do have an ulterior motive in the back of my mind.
It’s a tricky road to travel, and I’m not sure I can navigate it any better this time than I have in the past.. At least I’m aware of the fact that it’s way too easy for me to slip into anorexic thinking, which is why I rebel against doing anything considered typical diet stuff (counting calories, weighing myself, etc..). Even though I have not engaged in–well, that’s not truue. I was going to say eating disordered thinking or behavior, that’s not exactly true. I have thrown up a few times, but we’re talking once a year or so, which, while nott great, isn’t what I’d call a crisis, either.
I’m going to do things like walkking every hour on the hour. I’m starting with 150 steps per hour (when I think of it) because I want to make it doable. I know better than to start with, say, a thousand steps per hour right off the bat because I won’t do it. It’s better to set it low and breeze past it than to feel like a constant failure.
I’m done for today. There will be more tomorrow. Er, later today.