Flawed and Fabulous

When I was younger and heavier, my weight felt like a constant advertisement of how flawed I was. After all, everything I had heard and been told indicated that the problem was with me. I just didn’t have enough willpower. If I only had more self-control, I’d be thin. And, of course, being fat was, in and of itself, a flaw, one that I meant I would never be fabulous.

I recognize that none of us are perfect. That is, after all, part of what makes us human, and also what makes us lovable and interesting. (If you think about it, how much time would you really want to spend around someone who’s always perfect?)

But it’s one thing to make mistakes, or have a bit of a temper, or be socially awkward. It’s another to believe that you’re broken all the time simply by virtue of your size and what you ate.

This sort of thinking is probably why I reacted as I did when I read this message in a recent Dove chocolate wrapper: “It’s OK to be flawed and fabulous.”

Given where I found this, I immediately took it to mean that my eating was flawed – why else would I be going for a piece of chocolate? Then, based on my past experiences, my brain made the leap to assuming this also meant that my body was still flawed because of what I was eating.

To say I was annoyed would be an understatement. The message nagged at me over a couple of days, and after more thought than it probably deserved, I figured out why.

It made me feel like I had to apologize for myself and my eating and my body.

It was as if I had to say, “Well, yes, I know I’ve got a lot of things wrong with me, but just overlook that for now, because really I’m fabulous despite that.”

I suspect I was reading more into this than most people, and I realized that the reason this bothered me so much is because some part of me does still feel that way, that I have to justify myself and the way I look and eat.

I was also jumping to conclusions about what qualifies as a flaw. After all, who gets to decide that? Why do I have to believe what other people say is wrong with me – especially when many times they might be saying it because of their own insecurities?

So, I’m choosing to think about it a different way. In this new version, my flaws don’t have anything to do with weight or food, and under the right circumstances they can even be strengths. But either way, those flaws are part of who I am, and I choose to embrace and accept them, because they are, truly, part of what makes me fabulous.

Befriend Yourself

Note: For information about the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program, visit www.AmIHungry.com or visit my website.

After I wrote last week about “tending yourself” instead of eating as a response to stress, I started thinking about the other newer response option, befriending. According to the article I read, women might look to friends for support more than men.

But what if we also befriend ourselves?

In the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program, we talk about the fact that many of us are much harsher with ourselves than with other people, becoming our own worst critics and judges. This can apply to our eating decisions and bodies, where we might chastise ourselves for having that cookie or cake or eating so much ice cream, or focus on how flawed our bodies are.

But those aren’t things I would typically say to a friend. I might notice how much they were eating, but that’s it. I wouldn’t tie it to an automatic negative judgment. Similarly, if someone asked me how they looked, I would focus on the good things – unless they had something unbuttoned or unzipped that would be embarrassing. If asked, I might offer advice about ways to learn from the experience and make a different decision next time. And if they’re really upset about it, I would simply listen and try to comfort them, perhaps with a hug or sharing something humorous.

If this is how I would react with a friend, why do I treat myself differently? More importantly, what if I try to change that, so if I’m stressed about something negative that’s happened, I tried befriending myself?

This idea made me imagine an alternate universe version of me walking over and enveloping me in a big hug. This other me simply listened, accepting me as I was no matter what mistakes I’d made, making soothing noises and reminding me that I’m only human, and even if I didn’t like how things had gone, it didn’t mean that I’m a terrible person, or that I couldn’t make a different choice in the future.

It felt a little silly at first, and then it felt wonderful. How freeing to give myself the benefit of the doubt, to be my own friend!

I realized that while I can’t expect a parallel dimension to open up like that, nothing prevents me from the mental image, or from changing the chiding, berating and deriding voice to one that’s gentle, comforting, and supportive. So that’s what I’ll try, and I suspect that it will certainly be less stressful.

Tend Yourself

Growing up, I remember learning that the primary responses to stress were “fight or flight”, and possibly “freeze”, but those always seemed to be the only options. I was therefore very excited to recently hear about another approach, which is to “tend or befriend”.

This seems to apply more to women than men, although it’s still a relatively new idea that needs more study. The basic thought is that in times of stress, certain chemicals lead women to tend to children (or others), and also to bond together, more often than they fight or flee.

I find all of that fascinating in its own right, but just as interesting was thinking about this in relation to f eating. I wondered if the way many of us turn to food in times of stress is perhaps an attempt to “tend” to ourselves. After all, when someone is ill or has suffered a loss, one of our first instincts is to bring them food. (See my earlier blog post about Food and Grief.) Why not do the same for ourselves? And there’s a reason we have the term “comfort food”.

And yet, certain food choices do not, in fact, do a good job of taking care of ourselves. When we overeat, or eat food that makes us feel foggy and uncomfortable, we actually end up worse off. Eating mindlessly also doesn’t always seem very comforting, if we consume food so quickly that we scarcely even notice what it is or tastes like.

What, then, might be a better option, especially if we think of it as tending ourselves?

Here are some ideas based on what helps me take care of myself in stressful times:

• deep breathing
• stretching
• laughter
• natural beauty (even if I can’t get outside, I can look at a picture or form a mental image)
• talking to a friend
• drinking herbal tea

Depending on the situation, these are not always possible, but remembering that I have options helps. It’s actually quite refreshing after all these years to realize that I’m not wired only to freeze up and internalize that stress, or try to hide from it, or lash out.

If I can choose instead to tend to myself with compassion and gentleness, I suspect I’ll feel much better in general. Time will tell, but I’m certainly willing to give it a try.

Bowl Food

Picture this. An arctic winter day with sub-zero weather and snow steadily falling. You venture outside to shovel, and even though you’re dressed warmly, the wind almost immediately strips any heat from your body. The exercise warms you some, but your face is always icy. Eventually you come back inside, drained in many ways. You’re hungry, and you want something that will taste good and replenish you, but the last thing you want to do is spend much time cooking.

This has been some of my experience over the past week, with brutal cold and multiple storms hitting Maine. Coming in from that bitter chill, I want something warm and comforting that doesn’t require much of me. Which is why I’ve been thinking a lot about this quote from For the Love of Food by Denis Cotter, in the section on “Bowls”:

“As much as we all need to make the effort now and then to create what I’ve referred to elsewhere in this book as knife and fork food, there is a very modern need too for [a meal]… to sometimes be a simple bowl of delicious food…. I would go so far as to say that cradling a warm bowl in your hands, as you slurp some highly flavored vegetables and grains, is one of the most pleasurable ways to feed your body and soul. Primal is a word that comes to mind, in a good way.” (pp. 184-185)

Bowl food is exactly what I’ve needed lately. In the mornings, this often means oatmeal or some other warm grain (amaranth was another favorite this week). I’ve also been making lots of soups and stews, among them Thai Turkey and Cauliflower Soup, Potato Fennel Soup, and Inspiration Soup.

And I have to agree with Cotter that it fills a different sort of need. Bowl food can generally be eaten with a spoon, an implement that almost inevitably reminds us of childhood. We can also cradle a bowl, something impossible with a plate, and let the warmth of the food seep through to our hands before it makes its way to our bellies. And we can slurp, if we so choose, draining the dregs of broth with relish, an act that is definitely more primal than civilized (at least in this culture).

But what I also love is the simplicity. Cooking grains couldn’t be easier, particularly if you have a timer or rice cooker. Many soups don’t require much more than some initial chopping and occasional tending. The rest of the time it happily bubbles away on its own, filling the house with delicious aromas until you’re ready to eat. Using a crock-pot is even easier, and either method can make enough for multiple servings. That’s actually my favorite part – just reheating something that I know will fill and nourish and warm me, all the while tasting delicious.

I know that some people aren’t fans of soup, but certainly you can present other food in bowls. Beans and rice, for instance, or steamed veggies, any kind of lentil or porridge dish, and more.

Serving in bowls may not be the most elegant preparation, but I find it comforting, and some days, when I’m really stressed or its ridiculously cold out, that’s far more important.