Balancing the Scale: A Healthy Weight and State of Mind
Growing up I was told by my parents and my doctors that I could only gain, at most, three pounds a year. This sounds insane, and it was, but it was also necessary. Being an achondroplastic dwarf, I have shorter arms and legs supporting an average-sized body. If I wanted to walk without the use of a scooter or other assistive devices then I had to keep my weight in check.
What did that mean? We never had junk food or soda in the house, at parties I was allowed only the smallest sliver of cake or one piece of dessert. That’s not to say my parents never let me indulge, but it was all carefully monitored. Every year at a check-up with my orthopedic surgeon, I would know how well I did based on his reaction- a smile if I was right on track, a frown if I screwed up. This was fine, normal to me, until middle school.
At the beginning of sixth grade I started complaining of ankle pain. It was constant and intense enough to force me to sit out of gym class and stop dancing (something I had done since I was three). Finally, after eighteen months, three doctors and one surgery later, the pain was gone. But the prolonged inactivity combined with puberty and normal, healthy eating caused me to gain about 18 pounds. I'll never forget the looks on my everyone's face. My doctor was disappointed, my dad was baffled, and my mom...on her face was a mixture of disappointment, guilt, and anger.
The car ride home was one of the longest of my life. My mom ranted, and for good reason. All she has ever wanted for me was to live a happy, healthy, and normal life and now that was in jeopardy. Sitting there it felt like she was blaming me (considering it’s my body I would be the only one at fault) and that I gained those 18 pounds on purpose. It seemed everyone forgot that over the past 18 months I had to give up my main form of physical exercise, was still eating normally and went through puberty. Looking back on that time now, I realize my mom was just scared. Like all moms, she always wants to fix my problems and this time she did not know how.
So, I did what any other teenager would do, I rebelled. I bought candy in the morning and hid it in my bag, ordered chips and two cookies at lunch, and indulged in forbidden (aka junk) food when hanging out with friends. This went on for two-ish years. My mom and I would constantly argue and she would continually make me feel bad and the worse I felt, the more I ate because in my mind it was my way of getting back at her. It didn't help that at the time my friends were encouraging my behavior- taking me out to restaurants and saying what I wanted to hear.
Eventually, and finally, I snapped at the beginning of my junior year. I had a full-on breakdown in the cafeteria and realized that I had to lose those eighteen pounds plus whatever else I gained since... in about two weeks because that was when I was seeing my doctor again. Around the same time I had to find a dress for my brother’s bar mitzvah. Shopping has always been a major struggle, finding a special outfit for a special occasion is ten times more painful. I spent hours trying on dresses and arguing with my mom because nothing fit. Eventually my mom found a beautiful grey dress that I loved on the hanger but protested putting on after seeing the number on the tag, refusing to accept that I was that size. Not long after, I started watching what I ate, discovered Zumba and would play World of Dance on my brother's xbox. Yet, as my weight dropped and I no longer felt like I was disappointing my parents, my relationship with myself and food worsened. No matter what the number on the scale said (and I did reach a point where I had to stop checking), no matter the size of the clothes, the more progress I made I couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment. I couldn’t see the progress I was making. I was more focused on trying to be perfect, fearing one little slip would ruin everything. My workouts became more intense and my food rules more strict. I denied myself the small indulgences my parents permitted and was praised for my discipline and dedication. The more praise I received from my parents, family members, doctors, friends and strangers, the more afraid I got of failure.
After my high school graduation, things slowly started to change for the better. During my college years I experienced my highest highs and lowest lows and my weight and self image reflected that. Even now, while at a healthy weight (at least that’s what my doctor tells me) and the proud owner of three pairs of jeans for the first time in a long time (see the post Blue Jean Baby), I struggle with being happy with the progress I’ve made. And what’s frustrating is that I’m in the best place I’ve ever been- I graduated college, started a new job in the city, started this blog, and have a stronger relationship with my mom. Despite our struggles I’ve always known she will always be in my corner. She is my best friend and I would not be the woman I am today without her. But no matter how confident I feel, I can’t silence the voice that says “If you gain weight, you won’t walk”, although it’s much quieter and easier to ignore. However, that’s not going to stop me from trying.
