minimizer

I remember watching Tricia do a cartwheel during recess in third grade.  I found a grassy spot and tried to do one and the results were not the same.

“You just do it like this!” She did another cartwheel. Hands up, arms straight, fling body to the side and throw legs over.  “Just watch me.  Just do it!”

I raised my hands over my head. I looked to my side and I tried to will my legs up and over but the moment my hands touched the ground my legs decided they did not want to cartwheel and I crumbled to the ground.  I remember sitting there for a moment to get my bearings, to see if anything hurt.

“That’s ok,” Tricia said, standing over me. “My mom’s fat too and she can’t do cartwheels either.”

Wait.  What.

This is my earliest memory of having a body.

It’s was surprisingly easy for me to stuff this memory away.It was also surprisingly easy to say “I’m not hungry anymore.” when I was definitely hungry but I didn’t want to finish a meal.I don’t know if I ever put two and two together.A set of rules I had not even been aware of entered my life and revealed themselves in these tiny actions.Don’t clean your plate.Don’t ask for seconds. Some foods were good and some were bad and if you wanted the bad stuff you have to eat that in the bathroom or at night when everyone is asleep, where no one can see you. If you can get away with it, don’t tuck your shirt in because then people can see the shape of your belly and how it poofs out.

And then one morning I woke up with boobs and every inch of my body was uncomfortable, like my skin wasn’t big enough, stretchy enough, to keep all of me in.My breasts were so big that I skipped training bras and went straight to minimizers.The word Minimizer in italics on the box.Clothes became items that told me to stuff it back in, all of you, you’re clearly too much.

**

Currently, as I am writing this I’m hungry.I need lunch but this need to keep going compels me to ignore everything.My body is tired of this argument.We have this argument every day.My brain thinks it knows what is best for me.My body begs to differ and has found it’s voice ever since I started to entertain the idea that my body is not a creature that can adhere to rules that go against her own survival. She will no longer be ignored.

“Remember what happened when you decided not to listen to me?” she says.

Two knee surgeries. Mountains of anxiety and unhappiness spawned by so much internal fatphobia, fear and self -loathing.It was never ending and I was sure this was the rest of my life.

She is right.I need to feed her.When I don’t, bad things happen and they spiral very quickly.