Going Hungry
September 20, 2008
The things we women do to ourselves to be beautiful.
I begin reading GOING HUNGRY -- just out in paperback -- and I feel panicky. The subtitle: WRITERS ON DESIRE, SELF-DENIAL, AND OVERCOMING ANOREXIA, edited by Kate Taylor.
Body image stuff. Petite, 5'4", 115, athletic build, I get compliments -- and harshly disbelieve every word. What do the offered words mean? Does the complimenter want sex? Does he remind me of my stepfather who told me that my lithe young body was beautiful? I am haunted now, as I recognize my stepfather's prelude to feeling me up. He gave me self-worth with one action and stripped it away with another. I weighed less than one-hundred pounds until I left for college. I was five feet, one and a half inches when I married a few years later, and about 107. In my early thirties, I grew to five-four. In my thirties! I once read a study about stress and childhood. Growth is inhibited by stress. Is getting kissed on and felt up and raped by my stepfather stress? Was it a blessing -- or not -- that I didn't get my period until I was nearly fifteen?
I flip through the pages of GOING HUNGRY, looking for a story like mine. Anorexia. Bulimia. I didn't do anything deliberate in those teen years -- many of these writers grew big, or so they thought, and began the bingeing until they got too skinny. By then, their eyes saw their bigger bodies, no matter their bones poke out everywhere.
The things we women do to ourselves to be beautiful.
One woman writes how her brother's friend photographed her at age twelve, still a kid, but beautiful, and she decides that's how she wants to look again, so she peels off weight...and luster and sex drive and no one recognizes her as the girl in the picture.
Another writer talks of the new bingeing -- eating scantly, then exercising for hours.
Oh. Did that.
In my later thirties, I was doing therapy around this early trauma, and my kids were young. I started teaching jazzercise, working out as often as I could, got up at 2:50am, stayed up until the last PTA meeting was over and the last out on the Little League games. And, my period vanished. I gave away my pads and tampons. I felt like people were laughing at me for that. It wasn't menopause -- haven't been there yet -- it was anorexia. I found a nearly-nude picture from that era. I was skinny, bony, my face chiseled with sharp cheekbones, my ribcage and hips looking like weapons. I was voracious for sex, but not for food.
Now I dance. For me. And I dress. For me. And I reach to connect with the beauty some say they see. For me. Transcending the Trauma.
The things we women do to ourselves to be beautiful.
The things we women do to ourselves to be beautiful.
I begin reading GOING HUNGRY -- just out in paperback -- and I feel panicky. The subtitle: WRITERS ON DESIRE, SELF-DENIAL, AND OVERCOMING ANOREXIA, edited by Kate Taylor.
Body image stuff. Petite, 5'4", 115, athletic build, I get compliments -- and harshly disbelieve every word. What do the offered words mean? Does the complimenter want sex? Does he remind me of my stepfather who told me that my lithe young body was beautiful? I am haunted now, as I recognize my stepfather's prelude to feeling me up. He gave me self-worth with one action and stripped it away with another. I weighed less than one-hundred pounds until I left for college. I was five feet, one and a half inches when I married a few years later, and about 107. In my early thirties, I grew to five-four. In my thirties! I once read a study about stress and childhood. Growth is inhibited by stress. Is getting kissed on and felt up and raped by my stepfather stress? Was it a blessing -- or not -- that I didn't get my period until I was nearly fifteen?
I flip through the pages of GOING HUNGRY, looking for a story like mine. Anorexia. Bulimia. I didn't do anything deliberate in those teen years -- many of these writers grew big, or so they thought, and began the bingeing until they got too skinny. By then, their eyes saw their bigger bodies, no matter their bones poke out everywhere.
The things we women do to ourselves to be beautiful.
One woman writes how her brother's friend photographed her at age twelve, still a kid, but beautiful, and she decides that's how she wants to look again, so she peels off weight...and luster and sex drive and no one recognizes her as the girl in the picture.
Another writer talks of the new bingeing -- eating scantly, then exercising for hours.
Oh. Did that.
In my later thirties, I was doing therapy around this early trauma, and my kids were young. I started teaching jazzercise, working out as often as I could, got up at 2:50am, stayed up until the last PTA meeting was over and the last out on the Little League games. And, my period vanished. I gave away my pads and tampons. I felt like people were laughing at me for that. It wasn't menopause -- haven't been there yet -- it was anorexia. I found a nearly-nude picture from that era. I was skinny, bony, my face chiseled with sharp cheekbones, my ribcage and hips looking like weapons. I was voracious for sex, but not for food.
Now I dance. For me. And I dress. For me. And I reach to connect with the beauty some say they see. For me. Transcending the Trauma.
The things we women do to ourselves to be beautiful.
Labels: anorexia, bulimia, GOING HUNGRY, Kate Taylor, stress, transcending the trauma