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Trigger warning: This article includes discussion of weight, food, body image, body dysmorphia, and an eating disorder. Therefore, reader discretion is advised.
Further information on eating disorders and how to get help, should you or someone close to you need it, can be found on the NHS website.
I don’t consider myself a particularly vain person, though I do like to look nice. That said, I’ve been known to go out in socks and sandals (poorly toes…honest) and my friend used to claim that every time it rained, the fashion police would descend upon me to rip off my rain hat – she moaned that it resembled a badly crushed flower pot!
Generally, however, I keep my hair regularly cut and coloured, put my face on when appropriate, and always wear my pearls for that touch of je ne sais quoi. But, lately, I find myself in a new situation.
I’ve been a fat person since my mid-40s when my life evened out; I was happy in life and work, satisfied with my lot, and generally on top of things. This hasn’t always been the case, as I was really quite ill since being very young. I found myself with an eating disorder in my early 20s that continued for about 14 years. In my case, it was definitely a ‘side effect’ and not the main event. My food intake was the only thing that I had any control over and so I learned to exercise that control with a rod of iron.
Even in hospital, I recognised exactly where this came from and I never had body dysmorphia; I knew I was thin, really thin – but I enjoyed it. For me, it showed that I had power over at least one thing in my life. Eventually, with help and support, I began to sort myself out and take back control of my life and how I reacted to things. My world became better – even what might be described as ‘normal’ – and when I met my partner of 19 years, I found a true happiness that I’d never known.
I tell you this only because, unlike many people, when I began to gain weight in my 40s, I genuinely wasn’t bothered; my view was kind of: ‘fat and happy’ – ‘thin and ill’, so I accepted myself for who I was. On the rare occasions that I did try to lose weight, I found that the first stone was quite easy, but then unless I literally starved myself again, nothing more happened.
A dietician at the hospital explained to me once that because of my past eating disorder (dropping at my worst to just over five-and-a-half stone), my body, in a state of total panic, would simply go into fat store mode when I restricted food. So, losing weight for me would always be both difficult and take extreme measures. I confess, dieting made me utterly miserable and I just stopped bothering.
Now, this information is all background to the title of this piece. Though I hadn’t put two and two together, being a fat person meant that when I looked in the mirror, I prided myself on the fact that at 60-something, I genuinely had virtually no wrinkles. My jowls didn’t sag, my neck could’ve belonged to someone half my age, and the tiny lines which resemble an ordnance survey mapped out on the skin, simply didn’t exist. But that’s all changed (literally) overnight!
When I was diagnosed with spinal stenosis and needed a hip replacement, I recognised that there were things I had to do to improve my condition. And, one of those things was…lose weight!
This is always said so glibly by health professionals and those who don’t carry extra weight – like it’s easy. Like it’s a simple equation between food and the mouth, like one’s head, emotions, past experiences with food, loneliness, mental wellbeing, exercise, social pressures, TV etc. don’t all play a part. Add to that the ‘fat’ genes, hunger experienced in childhood, being told to always finish your plate, and a body that has a complete mind of its own, and you’re already experiencing a minefield before you’ve begun.
Anyway, as I write this sentence I can feel you all whooping for joy with me and metaphorically patting me on the back, when I tell you that I’ve lost almost three stone since I started six months ago – and, yes, you’re right, good job!
However, food has become boring and bland, the pleasure of a good dinner, a slice of cake, or lunch out with a friend, even my beloved cup of coffee…all gone! When friends say encouragingly, “How do you feel?”, my only response is: “Deprived!”
I know, I know…it’s true that it’s certainly improved my pain and mobility levels and it’s the right thing to have done, but it’s taken away the joy of life. And worse, much, much worse, is that when I look in the mirror in the mornings, what do I see looking back at me? I see a giant prune on top of a turtle neck!
OK, not the colour of a prune, I accept, but you get the picture. As I said, I’m generally not a particularly vain person, but the loss of plump, smooth skin around my eyes, mouth, and jawline is, to say the least, disheartening. And the neck! Well, if I laid myself down beside a giant tortoise, you’d be hard pressed to tell the difference between us. Suddenly my skin is a mass of tiny, puckered lines all merging together, holding hands, and congratulating each other as they take over every part of my face with unbridled joy.
Will it stop me on my quest (I’d like to lose another stone)? No, of course it won’t. But, I think I’m entitled to bemoan the loss of my previously more youthful appearance and so I share it here with you. Do I want some sympathy? Hell yes! I want you to feel my pain every time you eat those horrible, wrinkled, puckered prunes for breakfast or pop one in as a lunchtime snack. I want you to remember this piece and bite the prune in half with an enthusiasm fuelled by vengeance. Will I be joining you? Certainly not, I’ve always hated prunes and now that I look like one, I understand why!
(Picture off the internet – certainly not from my kitchen!)
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