(Food is) Beautiful
I wish I wasn't so afraid of food.
There. I said it.
Upon deeper inspection, that statement can be elaborated in two ways: I am afraid of ingesting food that is nutritionally and fundamentally bad for me (ie: greasy and oily food, food doused in salt and sugar, "enhanced" and processed food. Processed foods are the devil's work; I am convinced that industry has a special place in hell) and I am afraid of gaining weight. The former is a genuine fear because I've cleared all junk from my diet that my body is incredibly sensitive to bullshit food. The latter is--take a deep breath, brace yourself for it--the pinnacle of most women and young girls' self-esteem issues thanks to all the bullshit marketing and sale-ability of sex. Unfortunately, despite being conscious of societal beauty standards I am not entirely able to pin myself above taking stock in those ideals. Throw in a sprinkle of strict maternal conditioning about body weight and image in my youth, an eating disorder that lasted about ten years of my life, and a constant influx of rigorously tailored photos of Instagram models and fitspos on my feed, can anyone blame my weird attitude towards food?
After a huge amount of self-control and mental training, my mentality has definitely become more flexible and overall better in recent years, but I still find myself worrying about the extra large meal I had at lunch or the extra macros I consumed yesterday. I know the reasons for this is purely vain because nowadays I maintain a clean diet and regular exercise regimen, so health is not really a question. My body isn't going to seize up or drop dead from consuming an extra few hundred calories. No, the problem is gaining weight.
I've always been a curvy girl with a soft body, especially since puberty hit (which, to my nine-year-old despair, was earlier than all the other girls in my school grade). The contours of my body were never an issue until other people taught me it was an issue. *ahem* Mom, despite your best intentions of making sure I would be beautiful enough to secure me a decent future husband, I'm looking at you. Media, Hollywood, stupid boys in my classes, I'm looking at all y'all. Thank you for teaching me that carrying any degree of fat around my midriff is a world-ending crisis. Thank you for teaching me that beauty is an image and status to be attained and not what it should be: a feeling.
I'd always wanted to feel beautiful, probably because I was a little chubby in my earlier years. Sure, I wasn't truly ugly but no one would do a double-take for me if they passed me on the street. No one told me I was beautiful, so I didn't feel it when every facet of society seemed dedicated to telling me there was something wrong with my body weight, my skin, my hair, the way I didn't dress sexily enough, etc. Honestly, I could write a textbook on how destructive social standards are on the self-esteem of women; I'm sure many books on this topic already exist thanks to all the women who learned to suffer the same problems before me.
ANYWAY, the point is: food is fantastic and I wish I could fully be okay with just enjoying it instead of worrying how I need to shift my calorie/macro intake or work out a little harder at the gym. I've eaten some really delicious things in the past little while, mostly thanks to my boyfriend (if you're reading this, sweetie, your latest batch of pancakes made my heart and stomach sing), but a stupid part of my brain is still stressing over the surplus in my diet. I suppose old pain never leaves. Maybe this entire post was written in vain anyway, since balance is key and there's no way around how my body reacts to certain foods or how my mind responds to how my body looks.
There. I said it.
Upon deeper inspection, that statement can be elaborated in two ways: I am afraid of ingesting food that is nutritionally and fundamentally bad for me (ie: greasy and oily food, food doused in salt and sugar, "enhanced" and processed food. Processed foods are the devil's work; I am convinced that industry has a special place in hell) and I am afraid of gaining weight. The former is a genuine fear because I've cleared all junk from my diet that my body is incredibly sensitive to bullshit food. The latter is--take a deep breath, brace yourself for it--the pinnacle of most women and young girls' self-esteem issues thanks to all the bullshit marketing and sale-ability of sex. Unfortunately, despite being conscious of societal beauty standards I am not entirely able to pin myself above taking stock in those ideals. Throw in a sprinkle of strict maternal conditioning about body weight and image in my youth, an eating disorder that lasted about ten years of my life, and a constant influx of rigorously tailored photos of Instagram models and fitspos on my feed, can anyone blame my weird attitude towards food?
After a huge amount of self-control and mental training, my mentality has definitely become more flexible and overall better in recent years, but I still find myself worrying about the extra large meal I had at lunch or the extra macros I consumed yesterday. I know the reasons for this is purely vain because nowadays I maintain a clean diet and regular exercise regimen, so health is not really a question. My body isn't going to seize up or drop dead from consuming an extra few hundred calories. No, the problem is gaining weight.
I've always been a curvy girl with a soft body, especially since puberty hit (which, to my nine-year-old despair, was earlier than all the other girls in my school grade). The contours of my body were never an issue until other people taught me it was an issue. *ahem* Mom, despite your best intentions of making sure I would be beautiful enough to secure me a decent future husband, I'm looking at you. Media, Hollywood, stupid boys in my classes, I'm looking at all y'all. Thank you for teaching me that carrying any degree of fat around my midriff is a world-ending crisis. Thank you for teaching me that beauty is an image and status to be attained and not what it should be: a feeling.
I'd always wanted to feel beautiful, probably because I was a little chubby in my earlier years. Sure, I wasn't truly ugly but no one would do a double-take for me if they passed me on the street. No one told me I was beautiful, so I didn't feel it when every facet of society seemed dedicated to telling me there was something wrong with my body weight, my skin, my hair, the way I didn't dress sexily enough, etc. Honestly, I could write a textbook on how destructive social standards are on the self-esteem of women; I'm sure many books on this topic already exist thanks to all the women who learned to suffer the same problems before me.
ANYWAY, the point is: food is fantastic and I wish I could fully be okay with just enjoying it instead of worrying how I need to shift my calorie/macro intake or work out a little harder at the gym. I've eaten some really delicious things in the past little while, mostly thanks to my boyfriend (if you're reading this, sweetie, your latest batch of pancakes made my heart and stomach sing), but a stupid part of my brain is still stressing over the surplus in my diet. I suppose old pain never leaves. Maybe this entire post was written in vain anyway, since balance is key and there's no way around how my body reacts to certain foods or how my mind responds to how my body looks.
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