Just Say No

My office refrigerator is broken. Notwithstanding the fact that New York City (the land of delivery) is one of the only places where a major kitchen appliance could be broken for months without major repercussions, I realized this week that, in fact, there is some eating-related fall-out when the refrigerator goes kaput.

Take my recent lunch experience. I ordered (delivery, of course) a slice of pizza and a side of sautéed spinach. The order arrives, and it’s enough spinach to feed a family, certainly much more than I’d like for lunch, and unfortunately, storing leftovers is not an option. As I’m spooning the spinach from the take-out container onto my plate, I pass the amount that I want and add some extra, thinking to myself, “I better have a little more, since I’m going to have to throw it out.” I catch myself and pause. What????

There are plenty of reasons for me to have more spinach, but, at the time, none of them has anything to do with me and what I want. I should eat more spinach so that there’s less to throw out? What’s that going to do? I eye the trash container on the kitchen floor and, quite mercifully, notice a number of differences between it and me.

It’s funny how the notions of “clean your plate,” “finish your meal,” “starving children in [third-world country],” subtly, but tenaciously, cling to our collective unconscious. How even someone who’s built her personal and professional lives around intuitive eating so easily falls into a trap like this.

I’m not happy that I had to throw the spinach out (in an ideal world, I would have given it to someone else), but I am happy that I tossed my amateur trash-can impersonation and recognized that just because someone gives me more than what I want, doesn’t mean I have to take it.

Neuticle Rant

Think cosmetic surgery is just for humans? Think again. More and more, veterinarians are approached by pet owners, looking to put their pooches under the knife. While it seems that most canine surgeries are performed for actual medical reasons, some, surprisingly, are not. Take the case of neuticles: testicular implants for male dogs, designed by Dr. Gregg Miller, a vet from Missouri.

In an issue of Animal Fair magazine, Dr. Miller explains that neuticles “are for ‘neuter-resistant pet owners’ who want their dogs to retain their masculinity and self-esteem.” Um. . . who, exactly, are we talking about here? The dogs? Can anyone point me in the direction of a female pet owner who insisted on installing a pair of neuticles in her pet?

Dr. Miller reports that the procedure has allowed for a reduction in the pet population (because neuter-reluctant pet owners are now willing to succumb to surgery). That’s fantastic, but is an artificially-stuffed sac really what it takes?

(And because my writing is about women and body image), is there any parallel between dogs undergoing surgery to please their (male) owners and women undergoing surgery to please their (or attract some) men? Neuticles are a hit because male pet owners use their dogs as narcissistic extensions of themselves. Sure, they may not be feeling as manly as the next guy, but their neuticle-sporting pets may help them negotiate the difference. Is it possible that a husband who encourages his wife to get breast implants, or a man who supports his already-thin partner’s decision to get liposuction, is doing just the same? Because a man with a (unnaturally) thin, large-breasted woman on his arm can advertise his masculinity (especially to other men) and compensate for a lack of self-esteem in much the same way as an extra pair of testicles for all the world to see.

Terri Schiavo

If I asked you to free-associate to the name, Terri Schiavo, you’d probably come up with something like the following: right-to-die, brain damage, family conflict, court order.

But, especially if you’re attuned to these matters, you may recall the eating-disorder speculation surrounding Schiavo's deterioration. The family battle central to Schiavo’s right-to-die case took center stage, shadowing what very possibly caused Schiavo to slip into a persistent vegetative state in the first place, an eating disorder. Reports indicate that the 5’3” Shiavo, who weighed 220 pounds at her heaviest, but who had lost 65 pounds, continued to struggle with her weight for years.

In 1990, Schiavo collapsed and her heart stopped beating temporarily. A malpractice suit against Schiavo’s doctor, brought on by her and her husband’s lawyer, Michael Fox, suggests that Schiavo collapsed as a result of an eating-disorder induced potassium imbalance. A 2003 article in The St. Petersburg Times written by Fox states: “One night, Terri purged, which caused her potassium level to drop low enough to cause a heart attack. Before fire rescue arrived and took her to the hospital, Terri's brain had been deprived of oxygen for long enough to produce catastrophic brain damage.”

In a 2005 Associated Press article appearing in USA Today, a reporter writes: “Medical records from the hospital where Schiavo was treated after her collapse note that ‘she apparently has been trying to keep her weight down with dieting by herself, drinking liquids most of the time during the day and drinking about 10-15 glasses of iced tea.’” The article also suggests that Schiavo had stopped menstruating, and that when Schiavo sought medical attention, her doctor was negligent in not inquiring about eating-disordered activity.

Of course, whether or not Schiavo suffered from an eating disorder is still debated. As other aspects of the case revealed, it seems to boil down to one person’s word against another’s. Unfortunately, even an autopsy report doesn’t provide definitive data on an eating disorder diagnosis. But, given the serious speculation, I think some interesting points arise. The USA Today article, published while Schiavo was still alive, notes: “It is a cruel twist lost on no one close to the case: A woman who is said to have struggled with an eating disorder is now in the middle of a court battle over whether her feeding tube should be removed so that she can starve to death.”

Moreover, if Schiavo did, in fact, suffer from an eating disorder, typified by concerns with body-image, self-presentation, and others’ judgment, it seems pretty clear to me that she would not have wanted the media attention she garnered during her final moments and even clearer that she would not have wanted to persist in a state that was largely unreflective of whom she hoped to be.

How Far Back Do You Have To Go?

I think it’s helpful to ask the question: How far back do you have to go to arrive at a time when you weren’t aware of your body? 12 years old? 10? 4? One woman I asked this question to once said, "I can’t even remember a time."

If you can recall a time, can you remember how it felt? To be naked, or in a swimsuit (or even clothed, for that matter), and to NOT be aware of your body. . . to have built a sandcastle on the beach and focused on the sand and the tide and not your body. . . to have run through the sprinklers and focused on zipping through the wet grass and your friends and the heat and the drench, but not your body. . . to have showered or bathed and focused on the scent of the soap or the sensation of the water striking your body, but not your body.

And, have there been any recent moments (even fleeting) when you recaptured this unawareness and reveled in the experience, without a thought of the size of your stomach or the width your hips or the dimples on your thighs? What variables contribute to your ability to ignore your body (or its appearance) in these moments? I’d guess it has something to do with being fully in the moment, absorbed by a connection, or a feeling, and that it’s impossible to be completely focused on this and your body at the exact same time.

Slink Away

Ever heard of a brand of jeans called “Slink”? A friend alerted me to them, after a frustrating clothes-shopping experience. It seems that Slink jeans run about three sizes too small. Said friend is pretty tiny and typically wears a Size 4/6. During this particular dressing-room encounter, she tried on a Size 10 which was, surprisingly, too tight.

What awful marketing, I thought, at first—clearly the Slink execs haven’t consulted with the marketing folk over at Banana Republic (who know that women love to buy clothes a size smaller than they usually are). But, perhaps this is strategic marketing at its best—to size out even normal-size (read: thinner than average) women ups the ante, placing the brand in a prized, elusive category only meant for a select few. I bet Nicole Richie can fit into Slink jeans. Keira Knightley, too. If only we can diet ourselves down, starve ourselves, purge ourselves of anything unnecessary, then, perhaps we, too, can fit into a pair of Slinks.

Cartoon of the Day

This appears in the current issue of The New Yorker, from a cartoonist named Weyant.

Thoughts? Captions?

What Constitutes a Binge. . . Disorder? (Part II)

In its proposed criteria set for Binge Eating Disorder (i.e., the disorder, not just the binge), the APA's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (IV-TR), includes, in addition to the features of a binge (described earlier), the following points:

A. The binge-eating episodes are associated with three (or more) of the following:
1) eating much more rapidly than normal
2) eating until feeling uncomfortably full
3) eating large amounts of food when not feeling physically hungry
4) eating alone because of being embarrassed by how much one is eating
5) feeling disgusted with oneself, depressed, or very guilty after overeating

B. Marked distress regarding binge eating is present.

C. The binge eating occurs, on average, at least 2 days a week for 6 months.

D. The binge eating is not associated with the regular use of inappropriate compensatory behaviors (e.g., purging, fasting, excessive exercise) and does not occur exclusively during the course of Anorexia Nervosa or Bulimia Nervosa.

It's interesting to me how important the "marked distress" feature is. In fact, if you're not feeling this level of distress, but you're still bingeing (even regularly), you wouldn't meet criteria for BED. And, in my interpretation, this includes distress before/during/after a binge, as well as distress about the overall pattern.

In the July issue of O magazine, writer Anne Lamott describes her experience with a a "classic" binge. Having been largely binge-free for 15 years, Lamott recently succumbed first to the allure of a Safeway apple fritter, triggering a no holds barred journey to binge-land. In my opinion, it's not really about her food choices or how much she consumes. I think it's the emotional report that she nails: "I was so lost, and I couldn't follow the bread crumbs back to the path of mental health, because I'd eaten them all. So I ended up eating junk, off and on, until bedtime. . . . It is hard to remember that you are a cherished spiritual being when you're burping up apple fritters and Cheetos."

Interestingly, Lamott describes a critical feature of a binge (beyond quantity and control) that seems, in my mind, just as relevant to the diagnosis: the aftermath. This is an aftermath filled with guilt, shame, self-hatred and sentencing, promises, punishment, and enough of an emotional charge to knock you (as you might want to be) flat-out unconscious. It's an aftermath so uncomfortable that it can, often, only be soothed by more eating, an irony that fuels the cycle and continues the pain.

What Constitutes a Binge? (Part I)

According to the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (IV-TR), a binge is characterized by the following:
1) Eating, in a discrete period of time (e.g., within any 2-hour period), an amount of food that is definitely larger than most people would eat in a similar period of time under similar circumstances.
2) A sense of lack of control over eating during the episode (e.g., a feeling that one cannot stop eating or control what or how much one is eating).

Binges may occur in isolation (and without any correlated behaviors) or may be a feature of Bulimia Nervosa, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, or Binge Eating Disorder (not yet a clinical disorder, but likely will become one.) They may occur at lightning speed or be longer-lasting, may include eating one food, or many. And, clearly, even the clinical criteria are quite ambiguous: What exactly is an amount of food “larger than most people would eat”? Who are these “most people?” Are they of our same gender, size, culture, and eating-disorder status? What are “similar circumstances”? Moreover, can you always detect when you’re feeling a “lack of control” and is there even any way to quantify control? You’d think that as a science and a practice, we’d be able to do better than this. . . .

With such ambiguity (and diversity) in a clinical presentation, how do you really know if it’s a binge? Justice Stewart’s definition of pornography comes to mind (“You know it when you see it”), yet introspective awareness may be somewhat limited during a binge (though possibly enhanced after one). I think the control factor is a big one—if you feel like the eating behavior is controlling you (rather than you, it), then that could be a binge, but of course, the quantity consumed cannot be ignored (uncontrollably stuffing back a bag of airline peanuts, for example, can’t really be labeled a binge). Just because you’ve eaten more than you wanted, eaten past the point of fullness, or eaten when you weren’t even hungry doesn’t make it a binge.

I return to my old-standby, the continuum, when confronted with ambiguous topics like this. It seems it’s clear when it’s not a binge, and even pretty clear when it is a binge, but for all the shades of grey in between (particularly the darker greys, toward the binge-end of the continuum), I’d say this is a highly idiographic enterprise—I’d want to know from you as an individual—did it feel like you wanted/needed to binge? Did it feel like a binge during the binge? How about after? Because, especially when the science is so vague, the person is expert and the subjective experience quite diagnostic.

What makes it a binge for you?

BMI Tables

The Body Mass Index (BMI) is a simple measure, based on height and weight, commonly used to determine if someone is overweight. When policy makers and public health officials talk about the obesity crisis in America, they’re usually referring to BMI data, which, when considering the host of variables that should be taken into account when determining the health consequences of weight (i.e., muscle weight), emerge as overly simplistic. In The Diet Myth, writer Paul Campos offers a few examples of "fat" celebrities, according to BMI definitions (over 25 = overweight, over 30 = obese). Coming in as overweight are: Brad Pitt, Michael Jordan, and Mel Gibson. Obese celebrities include: Russell Crowe, George Clooney, and Sammy Sosa.

Campos goes on to say that current BMI definitions are not intended “to apply to people in ‘good shape.’” However, since one of the primary goals of public health initiatives (and the weight-loss industry) is exactly that, for people to be in “good shape,” then why wouldn’t current BMI criteria apply to them?

The Rape Scene

I recently learned that child actress, Dakota Fanning, has signed on to a role in the movie Hounddog. According to reports, the film takes place in the south and has Fanning’s character raped in one scene and appearing nude in others.

Any cinematographic rape scene is disturbing. But, a 12-year-old girl? Reports indicate that Fanning’s mother and agent are supportive of her casting, believing that this role could have Oscar potential. But, at what cost? Should Fanning have taken the role? True, women (even girls) are raped at alarming rates, and to deny this fact just because we’re at the movies might not seem that honest. And, true, any woman (or person, for that matter) can choose (especially with this knowledge) whether or not she’d like to see the film. But what about the people who choose to see the film because of this, who are excited and aroused witnessing the sexualized Fanning’s attack? And what about Fanning, who’s not just baring her body (a la a young Brooke Shields), but who’s vicariously victimized, who consciously knows that “we’re just playing,” but who may somehow still internalize the violence and disempowerment of the scene?

When we value a woman for her body (or, on the other hand, condemn her for it), we’re setting the stage for objectification. There’s a fine line between exposing a female body (as a commodity) and aggressing upon it, and the consequences are even more disturbing when the body is that of a little girl.

Triple Play

This past week, three of the most widely circulated celebrity magazines hit the newsstands, covers beckoning with variations on a theme:

In Touch: “Body Confessions”
US Weekly: “Extreme Diets: Inside Hollywood’s Dangerous Obsession with Being Thin”
Star: “The New Lipo: New Procedure Melts Fat & Tightens Skin in Minutes!—& It’s Affordable!”

I suppose this is more a question than an actual post: In your view, has coverage of eating and body image issues amongst celebrities skyrocketed as of late? I’ve noticed an incredible increase in the amount of attention (on television, in magazines, on the web) devoted to shrinking stars. However, I’m, as you might imagine, more attuned to these now, as part of my research and writing, so I’m willing to accept my hypervigilance as a possible confound. By asking you, I’m hoping to get some clarity—has such coverage increased, or am I just on the look-out?

Jail Time

Rapper Lil’ Kim (Kimberly Jones) recently completed a 10-month prison sentence, and as you may have noticed, the media seems most concerned with the 25 pounds (or so) she gained while in a Philadelphia jail. In Star magazine’s feature, “Not So Lil’ Kim,” Federal Bureau of Prisons’ Traci Billingsley describes generic prison meals, “‘Dinner might consist of baked chicken, a vegetable, a potato and dessert, like pie or cookies.’”

My reactions, in the order they occurred: 1) What a well balanced meal! 2) They get dessert? 3) Congratulations to Lil’ Kim for providing one of the media’s most intelligent decoys, yet. Her weight gain puts the focus on her body instead of her incarceration, leaving us little time to ponder her alleged guilt (something about perjury?), or other experiences that may have befallen her in jail. This is a woman who found her niche amongst a group of east-coast rappers [her battle cry, “Only female in my crew,” is heard in “It’s All About the Benjamins (Remix)]. This is a woman who, at the 1999 Video Music Awards, wore a sequined pasty get-up (and was consequently fondled by Diana Ross). This is a woman who understands precisely the power of the media’s focus on women’s bodies. And this is a woman whose additional 25 pounds seems to be the most compelling and noteworthy part of a two-year-long legal ordeal. That, as you may know, is called “working the system.”

Book Club

In writing her memoir, Fat Girl, Judith Moore makes clear her agenda: “I am not a fat activist. This is not about the need for acceptance of fat people, although I would prefer that thinner people not find me disgusting.” She goes on to say:

I know, from being thin and listening to thin people talk about fat people, that thin people often denigrate fat people. At best, they feel sorry for them. I know too that when a thin person looks at a fat person, the thin person considers the fat person less virtuous than he. The fat person lacks willpower, pride, this wretched attitude, “self-esteem,” and does not care about friends or family because if he or she did care about friends or family, he or she would not wander the earth looking like a repulsive sow, rhinoceros, hippo, elephant, general wide-mawed flesh-flopping flabby monster.

Despite the dichotomy created here (i.e., “fat person” vs. “thin person,”) Moore generally steers clear of politicizing the issue of weight. This is, more than anything, a personal story about one woman’s struggle with her emotions, her experiences, and her weight. But, Moore’s writing above provides a window into the socio-political context of fat: Why would thin people ascribe low willpower/self-esteem/pride to their heftier counterparts when, oftentimes, these are the very issues they’re struggling with themselves? It seems that projection is sometimes easier than introspection.

Moore continues:

I am on a diet. I am almost always on a diet. I am trying to get rid of pounds of my waddling self. I am always trying to get rid of pounds of myself. . . . I hate myself. I have almost always hated myself, but it’s not for bad things I’ve done. I do not hate myself for betrayals, for going behind the back of someone who trusted me. I hate myself because I am not beautiful. I hate myself because I am fat.

Yes, Moore happens to be fat, but it wasn’t until I read this quote a second time (out of the context of the story itself), that I realized it could apply to anyone at any size. It really doesn’t matter what Moore weighs. This could be the lament of the fat or the thin, the grossly overweight or frighteningly underweight (whatever those terms mean, exactly). It could also be written by someone with a beautiful figure, because as you know, just as it’s not about someone else’s body, it’s also really not about yours.

The Why of It All

Part of the purpose of this blog/book is to bring to light the personal struggles with food and weight that we all have in common. Psychologists use the word “normalize,” which Mirriam-Webster defines as: “to make conform to or reduce to a norm or standard.” To me, having something normalized is that phenomenon when you find out someone has had an experience similar to you, causing you to exclaim, “Oh, you do that, too?” The process of normalization is what makes support groups (and group therapy, for that matter) so effective. We realize that others are in a similar boat, and there’s a certain comfort in that. In a related way, writing (and speaking) about disordered eating/body image concerns illuminates just how common these struggles are, which hopefully provides a kind of individual solace. It also, in my opinion, weakens the grip of the issues themselves.

A metaphor I like is a storm out at sea—before hitting land, the storm has plenty of time to fester, to build up strength. But upon landfall, the storm’s power/speed/damaging potential weakens, to the point where by the time it reaches you, it may not be so harrowing at all. Through open and honest discussion, we enervate the storm.

I’d like to normalize food fixation, body hatred, and other concepts we’ve been discussing here. As individuals we may feel “crazy” or “dysfunctional” for holding such “odd” beliefs or engaging in such behaviors (as some have commented recently, who would have thought that such violent images of fat removal were so common?), but if we realize that we’re not alone, we may be more prone to discuss/work with our thoughts and feelings, which, ultimately can free us of our obsessions.

Mothers & Daughters

Do our mothers have carte blanche to comment on our bodies?

On a radio morning talk show, a male deejay reported that his mother had told him he looked fat. He reasoned that, of course, his mother was free to share her opinion, and that if she wasn’t truthful with him, who would be? Agree? Would a daughter feel the same way?

And, if that is acceptable, when does a mother cross the line? There are mothers who weigh their daughters, restrict their food, buy them diet pills, comment incessantly on their weight and shape. There are mothers, like writer Pam Houston’s, who, as she ran out to the school bus each morning would shout, “Hold your tummy in!” for all the children to hear. There are mothers who will purchase a new wardrobe for their daughters following a significant weight loss, even if accomplished via an eating disorder.

If a daughter has “a face only a mother could love,” why doesn’t the same unconditional acceptance hold true for her body?

Have You Seen This Commercial?

A Yoplait Light yogurt television ad features a swimsuit-clad woman shimmying around a boardwalk and the beach, hiding her body with an inflatable raft. When she finally lifts the raft, we see 2006’s version of the “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini.”

But, don’t think the raft came off that easily.

At the same time, we’re introduced to the product, Yoplait Light yogurt. Our heroine would not have had the courage for this particular raft-ectomy had she not befriended the Yoplait product, marketed for its “weight-loss boost.” Fine-tuning a broader advertising campaign that focuses on the scale-savvy features of dairy, we’re exposed to the message that body acceptance will only occur if you're thin. And if you’re not, because you haven’t done your dairy, you better raft-wrap yourself again.

Problem Areas

A derivative of liposuction, called micro liposuction, is becoming increasingly popular, as revealed in an article in The New York Times.* According to the article, Dr. Luiz Toledo, a Brazilian plastic surgeon, who brought the procedure to the U.S., calls it “liposuction for skinny people.” What we’re talking about here are little “tune-ups,” aimed at people who are already quite thin or at specific areas of the body not classically targeting during liposuction.

And what areas are we talking about? The Times cites a recent edition of the journal, Dermatologic Surgery, which in an article entitled "Lexicon of Areas Amenable to Liposuction," identifies: “the ‘buffalo hump’ (upper back), ‘wings’ (bulges around the bra area), the ‘doughnut’ (around the belly button), the ‘banana fold’ (below the buttocks), the ‘piano legs’ (calves) and the ‘chubb.’” In case you’re wondering, like I was, “chubb” is defined for us by Dr. William Coleman III, one of the articles authors, as a “. . . Southern term for the kneecap area."

And who is a classic micro liposuction patient? Dr. Howard Sobel, interviewed by the Times discusses a typical micro liposuction patient: “'Some of them are perfect 10's who want to be 10½'s.'" Sobel, who reportedly has treated models and personal trainers, goes on to say: “'These patients' before pictures are what patients in the past wished their after pictures looked like.'"

The article continues: “One of Dr. Sobel's patients is Judy Goss, a former Ford model who works as a model agent. ‘By normal standards, I'm pretty skinny,’ said Ms. Goss, 38. She is 5-foot-10 and weighs 126 pounds, she said. ‘But my arms were getting a little flappy. I could feel it wiggle every time I shook hands.’ Two years ago, Dr. Sobel performed liposuction on her upper arms.”

Micro liposuction carries similar risks to standard liposuction, with side effects ranging from scarring or infection at the site to the low-probability, but still real, and lethal, chance of an adverse reaction to anesthesia. In addition to any physical consequences, though, is the psychological impact of this procedure both for the individual and for our evolving zeitgeist around (largely) women, bodies, and self-esteem.

You may have seen the show Dr. 90210 on E, a reality show which follows people seeking plastic surgery from consultation to after-shots. The show’s promo begs the question, “Can you fix the inside by fixing the outside?”

I’m asking the question, too. Of course, my immediate reaction is “no,” but I’m willing to entertain the alternative—could there be a very circumscribed “problem” that operates more or less in a vacuum and that once removed, improves your body image and allows you to feel better about yourself?

I’m reminded of a fictional exchange I came across from the book Switcheroo, penned by Olivia Goldsmith in 1998. In it, Goldsmith’s character Sylvie Schiffer consults with a plastic surgeon regarding a face lift, in an attempt to mimic the appearance of her husband’s young mistress. When her doctor asks her what’s wrong, Sylvie replies:

“Everything. Bob’s cheating on me. And I saw her. She looks just like me but younger. Just like me, but no crow’s feet. Just like me, but without the second chin.

“Age crept up on me, John. I wasn’t watching. I didn’t know I looked so bad—”

“Are you insane? You need a psychiatrist, not a plastic surgeon.”

Is Goldsmith (via the surgeon’s character) right?

With micro liposuction, where do we draw the line? Most of us have seen the popular talk show guests who’ve had repeated plastic surgeries and speak of procedures in much the same way that an addict would describe a fix. It seems that doing it once opens the door for doing it again. . . and again.

And more, if patients are seeking surgery to remove a barely visible “problem area,” should doctors have an ethical responsibility to say, “I’m sorry, it’s just not worth the risks.” I can’t understand risking your life for a little bit of chubb.

As the Times indicates, medical ethicists are starting to pose these questions, as well as to understand the implications of the procedure. Dr. Sheila Rothman, a professor of sociomedical sciences at Columbia says, “‘Maybe liposuction will become like a gym membership where you pay a doctor $10,000 for the year and you can have as much surgery as you want.’”
*sent in by a dear reader

A Word of Kindness

Leslie Goldman, author of Locker Room Diaries: The Naked Truth about Women, Body Image and Re-Imagining the “Perfect" Body encourages women to write a letter to their most detested body part, offering an apology for the disdain they’ve habitually directed toward it. It seems that the letter-writing process allows you recognize how aggressive you’ve been toward yourself (there’s something about it that allows said body part to feel more “human”) and to stir up some self-compassion, which is a critical part of restoring a healthy body-image and overall self-esteem. The process calls to mind a famous Jungian quote: "We cannot change anything until we accept it. Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses.”

While it might be easy to identify which body part you’d address, is it clear to you what you would say? And, if you were to engage in this process, what types of feelings would you encounter?

As an example:

Dear Stomach/Butt/Outer Thighs/Upper Arms, Etc.:

I’m sorry for all the blame I’ve cast your way.

I’m sorry for even briefly, and wildly, entertaining the notion that I’d like to be rid of you. . . and, even more so, for imagining hacking you off with a circular saw.

I’m sorry that I look at you with such scorn, and that I’m not willing to accept you for who you are.

I have to admit that I sometimes think you’re cute—you’re dimply and cuddly, and, most important, I realize that if I can’t accept you, there’s really no way I can accept me.

Reverse Psychology

Many writers who address eating/weight concerns speak of “making peace with food.” I’ve always liked the premise, but I wasn’t quite sure what it would look like in practice, until I began to think about the distinction between the conscious versus unconscious mind. Many psychological theories propose that an important goal of therapy is to make what’s unconscious conscious—in other words, to bring feelings, experiences, memories of which you may be unaware into conscious awareness. I think that this goal holds with regard to eating concerns, particularly as we try to uncover reasons for disordered eating, such as emotional eating, restricting, and focusing obsessively on weight and shape—are we bored/lonely/angry/scared? What are we trying to avoid?

However, with regard to the process (and allowance) of eating itself, I wonder if the goal should be the exact opposite—to make the conscious unconscious—to return food/eating to the role of any other physiological process (sleep, breathing, urinating) and to NOT think about the whole experience so much. Imagine what it would feel like to NOT be thinking:

Have I had too much?
What else have I eaten today?
This has too many calories.
My stomach feels huge.

It seems to me that if you can arrive at a place where these thoughts and questions no longer occur to you, that is making peace with food. But, can we really accept eating as simply another physiological process? Imagine giving other biologically-driven processes the same airtime that we give food:

I really shouldn’t pee again—I went so much yesterday.
I know I’m tired, but I’m definitely not going to allow myself to sleep tonight.
Did I just take in too much oxygen? There was so much air in that last breath—my abdomen feels way too big!

Of course, these statements sound ridiculous, but substitute food/eating and you have an all-too-familiar way of thinking. As best we can, we sleep when we’re tired, go to the bathroom when we have to, breathe unconditionally—if only we could do the same with food.

Humor Me

I’m afraid I’ve lost my sense of humor. More and more, I see/hear jokes aimed at eating disorders (anorexia t-shirt). On an episode of Family Guy, a high school cheerleader says to another, “Wow, it sure is great being thin and popular. Let’s go throw-up.”

The New York Post reveals a report that the cast trailers for the filming of The Nanny Diaries (in Manhattan) are labeled according to the roles each star will play: “Glamour Mom,” “Charity Mom,” “Divorcing Mom,” “Eating Disorder Mom.” I’m not quite sure I see the parallel structure here.

In OK Weekly magazine, staff writers discuss a “beauty boo-boo” they call “blondorexia,” which is an “acute condition” that “happens when a young star aspires to the ‘more-is-more’ school of hair color.” True, some celebrities (and even we normal folk) might take hair coloring a bit too far. But, do we really have to equate this with a disease? (same goes for “tanorexia”)

On E’s 50 Most Shocking Celebrity Confessions, comedian Pat Dixon quips, “Bulimia isn’t a disease; it’s a decision.” On the same show, another commentator reports that Dennis Quaid, who after losing 40 pounds for the role of Doc Holliday in Wyatt Earp, developed “manorexia,” a term I’d describe as a cutesy bastardization of a serious illness (which, by the way, he admits to having). And, on 101 Incredible Celebrity Slimdowns, a comedienne says, “When I know I’m going to have to wear a bikini, I usually throw up everything I eat for about a week straight.”

This is supposed to be comedy.