Lured by the seductive appeal of weight loss, I made the mistake of not skipping the ad on YouTube. Transfixed, I couldn’t pull myself away from the spell weaving around me. A diagnosed anorexic, who’s struggled with weight gain the last few years, the promise of easy weight loss was too difficult to turn away from.
A woman was armed with scientific research, and her peppy voice was alluring. Her story resembling mine, I felt the tug keeping me glued to the screen. Once thin, energetic, now, over 40, a mom, and nothing taking off the ever-growing pounds. I felt seen.
As the thin, wicked-bitch living deep inside of me pushed her urges up, I found myself caving into desires. If I were thin again, I could be… I could be… I could be… That wicked-bitch’ses voice whispering to me, saying I’m not loveable, I’m not worthy; Nothing good will happen, until I’m thin. Thin, Thin, Thin, Thin.
As I found myself sinking into the muck, the woman shifted her story. My body momentarily paused, and a sliver of me pushed, starting to resist.
Tears well up as the woman shares how her best friend asked her to be a bridesmaid. The woman didn’t know what to do. The bride and other bridesmaids were thin. The woman would stick out. She wanted to celebrate with her friend, but she didn’t want to be the lone fat girl standing with the wedding party. Instead of getting a dress in her size, she chose a smaller size, then spent months trying to fit in it. The woman cries as she tells her harrowing story. Months of relentless exercising, and restrictive eating, and she still didn’t fit the dress. More pushing her body, less eating, and finally, she could just squeeze into it.
My eyes are wide, resistance kicking in, the spell starts to break. I also recognize this part of the story. It’s a story that loops in my head, an never-ending labyrinth.
I bite into a cheeseburger and feel immediate guilt. It’s a vegan burger, but the guilt saturates. I can feel myself expanding with each bite. But I haven’t eaten all day. I’ve only had coffee. My brain tells me I need to eat. I know I need to eat. But the guilt picks at me.
At my lowest weight, I was 90 lbs. On my 5’6”, long-limbed frame, I was skeletal. Now, I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been, weighing in at 180. Writing this number gives me anxiety, and I know I need to do it.
We live in a culture obsessed with weight and body types. And we disguise it as health. More people die from being under-weight than they do from being overweight, but we only focus on the overweight numbers. The number of intelligent, accomplished women in my life who say they don’t feel like themself unless they are a certain dress size is depressing. We dress all this up as health, not wanting that big-bad overweight health issue, we are told to scare us into dieting and exercising, to get us.
The woman in the video shivers as she speaks of this big-bad. Tears stream as she chokes up. Her health is a concern, and she wants to be healthy and vital for her kids. But the woman doesn’t have health problems.
Resistance shrieks as I untangle myself. This is a thread we all follow. It’s a narrative woven in ribbon, and choking us into submission.
I’m 180 lbs. And I’m healthy. I developed my chronic pain when I was still thin. Despite being fat now, I’m healthy, no demons clutching organs, ready to steal me in the night. The woman is also healthy. Most overweight people I know are healthy.
But we are told we only get to live if we weigh a certain number, fit a certain dress size, appear with a certain body. We cast our own lots by buying into this.
And what does vital mean? So, if our body doesn’t move in specific ways, what? We’re not deemed vital? Does this mean my friend with no legs and arms can no longer be a mom? Does this mean my friend in a wheelchair should stop setting goals? Does this mean my blind friend should never leave the house? Our ideas of health and fitness are predicated upon ableism. We select the worthy based on body type, the implication is that most disabled bodies are not worthy.
Worthy is a lofty word. The woman wants to be thin and fit, so, she can be around for her kids. But how much time was spent with them while she killed herself, to fit into a dress for a single day? What made her worthy?
I spent a decade shrinking myself towards heaven. I wanted to be loved; I wanted a life, and being thin were the only bread-crumbs I could follow. I almost died along this journey. I was dying. I’m blind, because of this curse.
I brought myself out of the coffin. I found a new story to tell. The curse lingers, but I resist its pull every day. No one can love me. I’ve done nothing with my life. It’s exhausting, but I draw the sword and slay the dragon. Slashing. My husband and kids love me and show it in a million ways. Slash. My writing lives in the world. Slash. An essay of mine was selected for a best-of anthology this year. Slash. I wrote and directed a play that was successful last year. Slash.
We are worthy, and our body type has no bearing on our ability to live. Release the destructive stories, open the door and step out into the Technicolor world.
By Imperfection
Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter is a mom and writer from Omaha, Nebraska but recently relocated to Urbandale, IA. When she’s not chasing children, picking up messes or reorganizing the house, she enjoys yoga or reading to relax. In her spare time (A.K.A. her dreams) she’s a Broadway star. Kuenning-Pollpeter is a freelance marketer during the day, a creative writer at night. Her work has appeared in the Brevity blog, The Omaha World Herald, 13th Floor, Misbehaving Nebraskans, Hippocampus, Emerging Nebraska Writers and Random Sample Review. She has her BFA and MFA in writing from the University of Nebraska Omaha. Her essay “The Body” was a McKenna Fellowship finalist, and her essay “Imperfection” was a 2020 Best of the Net Nominee. She is blind and writes frequently about disability. She’s working on a memoir about the disabled feminine experience. With the kids though, expect it in stores in about a decade.