Body image -- too fat, too skinny, never "perfect"

1971

Even before being diagnosed with MS I had problems with my body. I didn't like it as a teenager and I don't really like it now. But the difference is, now I try not to think about it. When I was a teenager I thought about it a lot.  Back in the 70s, I actively hated my body. I know this because journals that I recently had my husband bring up from the basement recount in livid detail my musings from that time. Overweight with frizzy hair, I was sure that nobody would date me. I wrote endlessly about all the guys I had crushes on but nobody had a crush on me. I could hardly wait to get out of my hometown.

In the course of my life recently, I ran across an article called

1972

"Revisiting My Teenage Anorexia at 63." For 2 years in college, I too was anorexic and I was interested to see how this woman, only 3 years older than me, thought about her dive into that horror. My first impression was that she was brave because she had included a photo showing an obviously bony younger self. I see pictures of myself during this time and wince in disgust.

The oldest of five children, 30 years ago I was on a mission that I could never complete -- that of attaining perfection. Exhilarated by the freedom of college, I decided to take control of my body. Never one to do anything halfway, I pretty much quit eating. I was determined never ever to be overweight again. So it was cereal for breakfast, bouillion for lunch, no dinner, beer with friends every night. Also, I walked everywhere – 10 miles to the mall? No problem. Think of the calories I’d burn!

1976

Diet and exercise had the desired effect at first: All my friends complimented me on my newly svelte self.  However, the routine soon turned on me. After attaining semi-perfection (never quite there), I couldn't stop losing and couldn't start eating. Each time I decided to indulge, I regretted the bulging stomach that I had the next day. There was no moderation, no in between, it was feast or famine and I decided that famine was better.

The author of the article, Sara Ferris, wrote that two caring authority figures

1976

finally helped her out of her anorexia. That was my experience too. My college counselor, seeing my emaciated frame, suggested I visit the student counseling service because "they helped my son" who had been pretty messed up in other ways.  I hesitated -- Did I dare risk eating again? Wouldn't I just end up fat? Then one night I decided that, try as I might, I could not correctly control my life and I had nearly botched it to death.  I was down to 85 lbs. God said, "Well, why don't you give me a try? I love you, you know, and I thought you'd never ask." The next day I visited the counseling center.

1977

By the time I graduated the next year, I was back up to 110 pounds where I stayed until I became confined to a wheelchair a couple of years ago. I've gained 10 more pounds since then and am not happy with myself, but the weight gain doesn't have its former power over me. As I gradually lose my physical capabilities, the essential me seems even more important. And, oddly enough, it isn't connected to my body.

I have been extremely afraid that my daughters would repeat my anorexic experience. So as a result I have overcompensated: I continually reinforced the dangers of dieting and the need to love their bodies. I made many mistakes in mothering but this was not one of them -- I have not passed my anorexia on my children. Perhaps this was the best lesson I learned from what could have been a fatal experience.

Chelsea, me and Emily 2014