As a recovered anorexic and a woman who lives with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, fat-talk--even if it isn't aimed at me--triggers my anxiety. I've been twitchy about fat-talk ever since my parents first sent me to Weight Watchers when I was in third grade. Someone mentions that they've decided to go full Paleo this year and I begin to feel the sting of bile belched up from my gut. It's even worse if fat-talk is directed at me. Like the time my co-worker told me I'd probably get more dates if I'd lose a little weight. That was before I met my amazing husband Will, who has taught me to quit giving such a shit. As my amazing husband Will says, "Other people's opinions of you are none of your business." I have better things to do with my time than worry if people are gossiping about the size of my ass. Like proving them wrong by living my life happily.
Do you know how effing big this is? It means I have finally achieved my weight-loss goal: to love my body as it is. It means I have succeeded in propagandizing the Health at Every Size philosophy to my family. Either that or I've worn them down with my incessant posts about the issue. Don't talk about dieting around Becky. She won't shut up about it!
Either way, it's been a blessing to experience a body shame-free festive holiday with my family. Which is why my first reaction to seeing one of my favorite author's posts with the word "diet" in it was to feel sick to my stomach. No!!! Not Anne Lamott, the Goddess of Grace. Please don't let her quip about her flabby thighs like she usually does. I began reading Lamott's post hesitatingly. Ready to scroll past it at any point. But the more I read, the more I could feel a big fat smile spread across my face. Wow, thanks, Anne Lamott. This is the New Year's diet talk I'm happy to hear.
May 2016 be the year we find peace with our bodies.