Early in our marriage, The Bloke told me a story from his early life. When he was in his twenties, he went to see a psychic. Amongst other things, the psychic told him that he would not see himself as a man until he was in his thirties.
He dismissed that and the other predictions. Later, in his thirties, he remembered the psychic’s words when he found himself in Queensland skin diving – something the psychic had predicted and he had laughed off as ‘never going to happen’. He then realised that the psychic had been correct about when he would regard himself as a man.
Ever since he told me that story, I have wondered when I would regard myself as a woman. I have a woman’s body, but I always thought of and referred to myself as a girl. “A girl has to do what a girl has to do.” I knew the process would come in its own time, but what would it take?
Now, it doesn’t take a genius to see that my weight stems from my mind. Normal four year olds don’t binge eat. Normal people don’t feel a loss of control around Toblerones and ice cream. Normal people don’t have to sift through childhood memories, piecing together the nightmares so to deal with them once and for all.
Last week we had our first guest at the new place – a barman we’d made quick friends with and had exchanged some law mowing for computer help. Friendly, wouldn’t harm a fly and the kind of person who would put himself in discomfort to make sure everyone else is okay. And yet, he and The Bloke were talking about how the overseas students he worked with were such beautiful women from places like India and China when I froze. Without warning, everything in me screamed in my mind, “I don’t want to be a pretty girl!”
While the voice in my mind screamed in protest, I immediately felt a sense of peace and relaxation. Like a puzzle piece finally sliding into place, I understood why I ate so much. I understood that I feared being thin because ‘pretty’ meant ‘unsafe’. I’d thought perhaps that issue hid beneath my issues, but at that moment I knew it in a way that you know your name or your dreams.
I must have looked like I’d gone off to Loopy Land, but they talked on.
I had a nightmare that night. A very real nightmare with clear images. I won’t go into the details, but it was an instance
The next morning, I knew it had happened. It wasn’t a sudden realisation so much as a settling of a feeling about my shoulders. I’d passed some sort of barrier that let me put my shoulders back and my chin up without thinking about it.
I waited for the feeling to go away, to revert to feeling like a little girl with too much to do, too many responsibilities and a general feeling that getting my health on track is ‘so hard’. But it didn’t happen. I feel settled into my body and my age.
I felt ready to move on with my life in a way I didn’t know needed…well, moving on. I took time to think about how unsafe it is to keep the weight on because of health, life and a less healthy pregnancy. The weight began to drop off. Not by leaps and bounds, but little bits steadily came off. I found it easier to add in more good habits like eating more fruit and vege.
The mind is a strange thing and I don’t even begin to understand it, but it has never been clearer to me that the mental component to getting healthier is so important to not only get healthy but staying that way.
