Beautifully Made ME

The outside world looked upon me with jealous eyes, as I had no need to jump on a scale, nor a worry when I ate a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream for dinner. They assumed I enjoyed my size 0, and that I must have worked hard for it. They assumed I had no issues dating at my size, or finding clothes that fit me correctly. What they didn’t know is for the life of me I couldn’t hide, or dress, that giant sized demon of vulnerability.

To often I felt bare boned raw when walking out of my apartment in New York City. When you have been a victim of abuse in the past, particularly one that involves your body being the enemy, a size zero is the very last thing you want to be.

My number one coping skill as a young person was emotional eating. It seemed like a luxury of mine to many, as I ate everything and gained nothing. Little did I know this was also setting me up for a life long struggle of seeking comfort more in food then in people. Food seemed to love me to the depths and the lengths, that I always loved people. The difference being, food never let me down then.

When I got married and moved to the suburbs, I noticed quickly that I had actually exercised in the city without a gym membership. Walking miles everywhere in heels while dragging groceries was surprisingly an easy way to stay fit. Here I thought my body was betraying me for not gaining, when really I practically fast paced walked a marathon daily. Suddenly, my eating hadn’t changed, but my habits did. I was driving instead of walking, and then my body started to show it.

When I got pregnant soon after, I assumed it was a free for all since I was eating for two. I also assumed, I would leave the hospital my pre-baby weight without a struggle. It sounds pretty naive of me at age twenty nine, but I truly thought this. Well, my first baby gave me close to seventy pounds extra. Honestly, ten of it was probably him, and the other sixty my massive food tween (because lets be honest I can’t call that a baby).

I sat there one day thinking about the fact that in a matter of two years I went from a size  0 not able to gain weight, to a postpartum size 22 body that wouldn’t stop gaining weight. This was maddening. Now I suddenly was the girl that nobody paid any mind to. Secretly, I sorta of enjoyed this, and felt protected. However, as I ran into so many people from my past so many started to either give me passive aggressive diet tips, or bluntly say “finally you are the bigger one”. I had lived my entire life of people wishing this upon me, with little understanding that I felt unsafe in that body they had envied.

Size 22 didn’t feel like me either. I quickly found myself lost in motherhood, and wearing yoga pants everyday. OH… and eating. I never forgot my ultimate love of my life, food. I started to not want to be in pictures, and avoiding seeing people that may think less of me now that I was, at society’s standards, obese.

I tried weight watchers and failed. This bummed me out because I was such an Oprah lover, I was always convinced if she could, I could. I tried Zumba, and taking walks. Yet, each and every time I went to the doctor she smiled and said, “You are still obese. What are you doing about it?” What was once easy to obtain in weight, was now seemingly impossible.

So I decided to be radical in bringing back the Aimee everyone felt comfortable around and loved the most. The first time I went to hypnosis I lost eighty pounds. Skinny Aimee made others refer to me as the “old me” and “looking so much better”. I’ll admit I loved being able to wear a bikini top again and that I could easily pick up a size and it fit without worrying about the brand. I’ll admit that I loved the compliments, and people seeing me again. What I didn’t love was starving myself to be that person.

You see, I had horrendous body dysmorphia. The world could see me look one way, and I would look in the mirror and couldn’t see it. I trusted the size 10 clothes and people to tell me. Yet, I could only see fat. As a therapist, I knew this wasn’t a good sign, and often is a tipping point for a simple diet into a full blown eating disorder.

I went in and out of hypnosis for years. It worked, even with body dysmorphia. I would gladly go through cycles of famine of only meat and veggies for four to six months, into the ability to eat a potatoes for a few months with it, and then back to famine. This past time I heard myself self to a friend, “Oh I can eat that in two years”. This triggered me. TWO YEARS. Why on earth am I ok with not enjoying a cone of ice cream for two years, JUST to be skinny. Why am I not choosing my body to be enough as is? Why am I not choosing living my life loving food, not in an addictive or controlled way, but in a joyful one? Would I even be alive in two years to enjoy the damn ice cream cone I had been waiting for?

I sat in prayer next to a friend of mine in October and decided it was time to unravel. I had done four months of famine (which by the way why on earth would anyone wanting to live life fully and present sign onto anything resembling that), and had’t had a lick of chocolate. My friend turned to me and offered me a mint chocolate pretzel, and I decided to take a chance on me.

You know who has control over her body? Self. Can I just go out on a limb and decide I know when enough is enough with food? Can I dare to love my size 12/14, without wishing I was made any different at this age? For God sakes, I turn forty-three next week, and somehow I let society dictate to me that my worth is that I stay a certain look as I once did at twenty two. Can I work out for strength and resilience, and not for body image issues? Can I just trust that if God has made my heart perfect, He has also made the vessel in which it is carried, perfect too?

So I ate that mint chocolate pretzel. I prayed away the need for me to be anyone other than thy self. I quickly learned, the best parts of me have never, and will never be, at surface value. The people that think this, had never been my people to begin with.

I let it go. In just one moment, I renowned myself, and trusted her. She can be a size 0-22, I do not care, as long as she has lived life fully loved.

The beautiful thing at this age is I have learned to be loved by people over food. I have learned how to feel safe. I have learned to be vulnerable with those that love me deep and wide. I have learned that I am no longer an image, but uniquely, and beautifully made ME.

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