Will it Ever be Enough?
The question can apply to anything including love, money, success, and the two that dominated my thoughts for far too long: food and weight. Were there ever enough treats to truly satisfy me and, on the opposite end of the spectrum, could I ever lose enough weight to consider myself done? Both of these were emotional questions as objectively I could tell when I had enough to eat based on how full I might feel or when I was thin enough based on my weight or clothing size.
But until I resolved my extremely complicated relationship with my body and myself, there really wasn’t ever a point where it was enough. Even if I had to sleep off a sugar-induced coma because of the amount of food I consumed, while I was conscious, there was no end to how much I could eat and still not feel satisfied. Because it was never about hunger. And that’s true for a lot of people who struggle with food. Hunger rarely enters the equation. The need to eat is purely emotional, as evidenced by what we choose. When I’m truly hungry, healthy food is satisfying. When I just want to eat cookies, candy and cake, it’s about something else entirely.
Same for my weight. Although I’ve lost and maintained 100 pounds for 15 years, my mental state dictates how I feel about my body and the way it looks. The last time (hooray!) I had to lose a huge amount of weight I did it slower than ever before and lost approximately 35 pounds a year for three years. I drifted up or down 10 pounds or so, but I largely maintained it. The beauty of losing it slower than I had in the past was that I developed a lot of great habits that stayed with me. I started exercising and made it a non-negotiable part of my day, no excuses. The first year it was a chore, the second year I didn’t mind it and by the third year, I genuinely enjoyed it. Really. It’s become such an ingrained habit that it is part and parcel of who I am.
From the diet side of it, even though I was no stranger to Weight Watchers, the last time I joined (possibly my eighth) I followed the plan and really learned how to eat in a healthful way. That meant being able to incorporate foods I loved, or close facsimiles, into my daily life. I finally was able to let go of my all or nothing mentality and believe me, it took work.
Finally, because I lost the weight slower and had success maintaining it while learning to apply these newfound skills, I got used to what I looked like. It was gradual. The first two years of my weight loss journey was when I felt the best about myself. I vividly remember weighing about 30 pounds more than I do now and thinking I looked great. I was toned and strong and felt healthy in every way. The closer I got to my goal, the harder it became.
It seemed in spite of my success, the more I had to wrestle with my desire to binge and continually found fault with the way I looked. Because those issues were deeper than a diet and exercise routine. They struck at the core of how I saw and felt about myself. And I hated myself. So, it didn’t matter how relentlessly I worked out or how much weight I lost, I still wanted more because I thought if I were thinner or never binged, I wouldn’t hate myself so much.
Because my feelings about my body and myself were so complicated, whenever I did feel good, there was an inevitable backlash. If I thought I looked acceptable – and to me that meant thin enough –I could theoretically have a relationship with a man. If I thought I was fat, meeting someone was off the table. Not because a potential love interest might find me unacceptable, but because I felt unacceptable. As long as I was heavy, even if only in my mind, I didn’t have to deal with men or sex. Much as I hated gaining and losing weight or worse, waging the same struggle even if no one else saw it, it served a purpose. It kept me out of the dating pool. It didn’t matter how many people told me I was thin or how healthfully I ate 90 percent of the time; it wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t done.
What I most wanted was an intimate relationship. Yet it was also what I most feared, even though it was largely unconscious. It took a lot of therapy for me to identify what the fear was about and then believe I could set the boundaries I needed with men to feel safe. That even if someone found me desirable, I could say no. The choice was mine, nobody else’s. More importantly, the only feelings that mattered were mine. I no longer had to put someone else’s needs and wants before my own, particularly someone I barely knew.
Resolving our deepest battles, particularly when they are not readily apparent, takes time and effort to unpack. The experiences and traumas that make us who we are, for better or worse, are often years in the making and are not magically undone. But if you can persevere, it is possible to get to the heart of what they represent. And, in my case, if not putting them to rest entirely, understanding what they’re about and giving myself a measure of grace.
Like everyone, I see pictures of women that look amazing, and their bodies are out of reach. I will never be that thin or beautiful, but I can still take pride in how I look and feel. I’m strong and healthy and get to enjoy my favorite treats on a daily basis. And if I eat more than I think I should or gain a few pounds, I don’t find myself unacceptable. Because I’ve learned that those things are merely a symptom of deeper issues I need to explore. I’m not unworthy or bad or less than. I’m acceptable, always, and it is enough.
