The Voice

It’s always there.  Always.  A constant, low-level judging Voice in my head assessing my body.  I wish I could make it go away, but it’s ingrained.

From my childhood, when I watched my mom diet and gripe about her weight (She wasn’t fat.  Of course.), to the age of 11, when I was first introduced to that 1972 literary gem “Cellulite:  Those Lumps, Bumps and Bulges you Couldn’t Lose Before”, by Nicole Ronsard, a book that introduced the concept and special name for ripply fat to the American psyche, to teenager-hood where the popular girls were always thin, everyone thought they were fat and drinking a pink can of Tab instead of a regular Coke was seen as a badge of honor, the pathway in my brain that constantly thinks about body has been worn deeper and deeper and deeper until it has become a permanent part of my day to day internal life. 

The Voice has changed focus over the years.  From the coy criticism of the teenage years (you should lose 5 pounds!)  to the despair of pregnancy weight gain (not to mention postpartum anguish at the strangely loose belly skin) to the late 20’s exercise and fat gram obsession.  I went to Weight Watchers when I weighed 125.  Good grief!   The ladies behind me in line at the weigh-in actually asked why I was there!     

I could go on and on, but I won’t.  I think about the times I refused to go swimming or out to eat because I was “fat”.  Silly girl!

And I could write an entire post (and probably will) about the constant, invidious comparisons that women’s minds make between their and other women’s bodies  “Butt Mind” is the wonderful term that writer Anne Lamott uses to define this awful but automatic comparison Voice that occurs all the time.  “Is her butt bigger than mine?”  is the best way to sum up Butt Mind, unless its “Is my butt bigger than hers?”

Well, even though now I am actually fat, the Voice continues.  But now its different.  Yes, the body judgment is always there, but in a different form.  It’s more like, yes, you’re fat but it’s okay.  You’re almost 50.  The only way you can lose weight at this age is via major dietary restriction.  Dieting makes your hair fall out (it really does!).   Just settle into obesity, into a nice easy middle age.  You don’t have to exercise hard.  You’re not in plus sizes yet.  Look at her, you don’t look as bad as she does!    Do you really want to go through the pain of eating less?

It’s a struggle.  The only way I can reliably lose weight and keep it off is through continuous dietary restriction, which creates an auxiliary Voice of its own.  “Can you eat that?  Won’t that start cravings?  Have you eaten too much already?” with a competing yet gentler Voice that says “Don’t be doctrinaire!”  “Listen to your body” “you really want it, eat it—life is short!”

I lost a significant amount of weight two years ago by cutting out white sugar and flour, and after-dinner snacking (except for a small amount of raisins right before bed).  It was a struggle, but I certainly enjoyed wearing my normal size six and eight clothes again (remember, I’m just short, not particularly tiny).  I got used to the restricted diet after a while, and kept it up for about 8 months until my birthday when my boss’s secretary (who I am terrified of) made me a birthday cake and then I was off to the races again.  It started slowly, a sweet here and there, “this is the last day I’m going to eat this and I’ll get back on track” Voice until I found myself back to eating large amounts of junk, which seems to be my default mode. 

The Voice is a constant companion.  It can be critical, judgmental, it can hold me to high standards or let me off the hook for not meeting them.  But it’s always there, and I bet there are other people, probably female, who also have the Voice.  I wish the Voice wasn’t there.   

But its been there, for almost 40 years.  And it will take a lot to make it go away.