A Type of Hunger No Food Can Satisfy

I'm a binger. Yes, I'm a compulsive overeater, a food processor, a vacuum cleaner. When I'm in binging mode, put a morsel of food in front of me and it will disappear within seconds. But wait, that's not quite true: I am actually selective when it comes to overeating, I select mac & cheese, ice cream, chocolate, pastries, yummy, yummy, I'm getting hungry again. Why do I binge eat? I've asked myself (and other people) that question a thousand times. Ever since I turned 12 years old and sneaked out of my room at night to fill my mouth with m & m's that weren't bought for me. I binge-eat because I'm bored, because I'm sad, because I'm happy, because I'm fat, thin or in between, because I have big boobs and chubby knees, because I exercised today, because I didn't exercise today, because I'll exercise tomorrow. I binge eat because I have a type of hunger that no food can satisfy.

I can come up with a thousand reasons of why I've eaten compulsively the last couple of days: I have my doctoral exams in three weeks and I'm FREAKING OUT; I'm getting married in a few months and... yes, you guessed it, I'm FREAKING OUT! We got a new puppy and although she's awesome, well, she's a puppy, which can be a bitch sometimes (no pun intended). The thing is, it doesn't really matter WHY I binged these last couple of days; it probably matters more to try to find out why my reaction is to overeat when I'm under a lot of stress.

Geneen Roth, whom I deeply admire (but whose opinions I don't always agree with), says that we must forgive ourselves when we binge. That we need to look at binging as a savior, as opposed to our mortal enemy. Sometimes life is too hard, sometimes we're happy and feel we shouldn't be. Sometimes we just can't deal with what the day is putting in our way. Fine, it's okay to binge and forget the world for a few minutes. You should try to not do it every day. The idea, Geneen says, is to trust your body's signals. That reminds me of the Two Fit Chicks' podcast about intuitive eating and makes me think that this looking at eating as a way of nourishing myself and not as a path to self destruction is very new . At least it's extremely new for me. Until very recently I was counting calories, overexercising, restricting as much as I could, feeling miserable and weak and a loser if I overate. And there came a point, especially after my step-sister died of an anorexia-induced liver condition, when I was overeating ALL the time... And then over exercising. It was a bulimia of sorts.

After reading Geneen's work, as well as Valerie Frankel's, Shauna Reid's and Crystal Renn's memoirs, I vowed to never count calories again, to never diet again and to never weigh myself at home. I have been able to keep my promises for the most part; except the calorie counting, which I fall into in moments of desperation and which after a few days lead me straight to a raving binge. So yes, no more calorie counting for this binger. The food obsession seems to be diminishing for me. Now I exercise because I love it (my next blog post will be called "Boxing for the Soul." You know, like "chicken soup for the..." ok, you get the drill) and because it makes me feel like a million dollars despite (or, I would say, thanks to) the sore muscles and overall exhaustion.

So yes, dear reader (do you actually exist? I'm starting to think that I'm just talking to myself), I binged today. I'm not going to talk about "getting back on track tomorrow," because I should not be going back to anything except to listen to my body, take it easy, exercise, breath deeply and thank whomever is up there (and who has gotten me out of some horrid situations) that I'm healthy and not as disturbed as my step-sister was, and for having the introspection to be writing this today. I'm not looking for a cure because I'm not sick. I just need to scape the world for a few minutes every now and then.

You are beautiful, whomever you are.

Above the Knee

Hello, my beautiful readers... Are you out there? If so, here's a little story for you:

Today I bought a dress that falls slightly above the knee. No big deal: pretty dress, nice fit, nice colors, but oh goodness! I have to show my legs in order the wear it! I can't remember when was the last time that I actually showed my knees in public; five years? Eight years? I hate my knees with a passion! As a matter of fact, I don't think there are any knees to speak of, just two shapeless and chubby "squares" of skin above my calves and shins. You look at me from the side, all you see is a flat surface from the thigh to the knee... NO shape whatsoever. But wait a minute, perhaps there were a couple of times in which I did dare to wear something that showed a bit of leg in recent years; however, I've always felt that women were staring disapprovingly and men would check my face out, smile, but then look down, see my legs, and well... Just look away. Don't get me wrong, I do wear skirts and dresses, but never anything that show a single inch of skin above my shins.

What to do with chubby knees? Actually, what to do with chubby legs? There have been a least numerous people who have commented, in playful tones, that my legs are chubby (one of them was an former boyfriend of mine... I can't tell you how many times he had to hear me complain about that particular occasion in which he DARED comment on my legs). I just don't think they're pretty legs, despite what other boyfriends (and my current fiancee) say. Experts argue that you can't actually change the shape of a specific body part by just by losing weight. In other words, it doesn't matter how many crunches you're willing to endure, your stomach will still be bulgy even if your ab muscles are super strong... Yes, you might lose weight by exercising (and eating properly), but you will never be able to shed inches exactly where you would like them off. I know I'm not the only one with this problem... Go online, google "fat knees," see how many entries you get.

There's something else I need to say about my legs: they might not be pretty, but they do beautiful things. First of all, they take me places... Hello! How terrible would it be to not be able to use my legs? I am most thankful that I can. Second of all, they allow me to dance! Yes! I dance. I do this cool Mexican folk style that not only entails wearing long skirts (phew! what a relief!), but that also requires A LOT of leg strength: there's much stomping and turning and making noise. I love it and I love that my legs allow me to do it. Plus, my two chubby friends jump and run and kick and stretch at the gym. Third, my thighs and knees and calves and feet allow me to give my future husband lots of love. I can embrace him entirely, with my whole body; and that's the best feeling there is.

In sum, yes, I hate how my legs look, but in this process of beginning to love my body just the way it looks, I have to start showing them off. You don't like them? Well, you're entitled to look away... I will not. Not anymore. Late-summer short dresses, here I come!

Which mirror do I trust?

Hello beautiful readers,

This is a post to ask you all if you've had this experience: you wake up in the morning, exercise perhaps, eat a healthy breakfast, feel good and energized (perhaps you neither exercise nor eat a healthy breakfasts, but you still feel good). You go to your closet, carefully (or not so much) choose an outfit, you put it on (everything fits, thank goodness) and look at yourself in your full mirror...

You analyze every little detail of your ensemble: pants look good, perhaps a bit snug, perhaps they fit perfectly, but they definitely make your butt look fine; the shirt makes your neck and cleavage lean and sexy; the colors highlight your skin; your skin itself glows; your shoes match and feel comfortable. You are ready for a day's work, you feel great....

Fast forward to a couple of hours later: you've been sitting at your desk, or in the library, or you have been walking around feeling good about how you look; perhaps you haven't really thought about how you look because you were certain everything was "in order" in the morning. You go out on the street to buy coffee, or you go to the ladies' room and suddenly, WHAM! You catch a glimpse of yourself in one of those huge bathroom mirrors, or store windows, and suddenly don't look so good anymore.

Your legs seem to have grown two full inches in circumference from the moment you left the house; your stomach is bulging from the top of your jeans, and your shirt is doing nothing for your neck anymore. In fact, you suddenly feel that all you need is a pair of screws on each side of your head to look exactly like Frankenstein...WHAT HAPPENED????

A few hours later, however, you go back home and look at yourself in the mirror again. Everything looks good again. You might be a bit tired from work, but nothing more: jeans look fine, shirt in place, un-sagging neck, shoes to match... Hmm... Who (or which mirror) do I believe?

Perhaps this difference in perceptions (or reflections) has to do with the spaces where the mirrors are: do you feel safe and loved at home? Does your appearance matter so much (as it matters to you) to the people who care about you? Do you feel that you're being "watched" on the street or at work, being judged by what you're wearing or how you look? Or is it the other way around?

Unfortunately, I tend to believe more in what the "outside" mirrors tell me, which is usually negative. This leads me to another question: why do we tend to give more weight (no pun intended) to negative or hurtful comments than we do to loving ones? Why do we believe more in our outside mirrors than we do in our inside ones? Why is my home mirror lying to me, while the mirror in a dressing room at a store or at my mom's apartment are telling me "the truth," which is that I actually don't look as good as I thought. My goal for this week is to start believing in my inner (in-house) reflection... Wanna join the challenge?

You are beautiful, whomever you are...

Founding Statement

Good morning, beautiful readers, this is a blog about my path to accepting myself and loving my body just the way it looks. The name of the blog, Love My Body Love Myself might seem a bit self centered... Like I already love my body so much (and it's so irresistible), that I can't help but love myself. The truth is, this title is more wishful thinking than a reality, for now. Hopefully, in some time I will be able to really love my body and love myself. Let me make one thing clear: I don't think that the only way of loving myself is through being satisfied with my physical appearance, no way. I'm happy with the fact that I'm a fully-functional individual, with a great family, a loving boyfriend and several intellectual achievements; however, the nagging "body issue" is here, no matter what I weigh, what I'm wearing or who tells me that I look good... It just doesn't go away.

The battle with my body began when I was around 12, a time when a lot of girls develop issues with their appearance. I had just entered puberty, my parents were separating, a lived practically alone with two abusive older brothers (we're really close now and love one another to pieces) and well, I gained about 25 lbs in a period of 6 to 8 months. Keep in mind, beautiful reader, that I also grew about 15 inches during that period. Of course, I suddenly found myself with boobs, thighs and hips that had not been there a few months before. What the hell??? Like for many other people, my parents played a big role in making me incredibly self conscious of my body: they just didn't want a fat daughter... That was the end of it. My mom used to control my portions, put me on diets and make me exercise. My dad just looked at me disapprovingly... Don't get me wrong, I love my parents. They have been wonderful companions: always present in a discreet way; they've been supporting of all my endeavors and I couldn't have asked for a better family, in general. They were, when I was 12, going through their own issues and were suffering quite a bit. I don't blame them anymore; I'm just telling you what happened. Anyway, as stubborn and rebellious as I am, I just went against everything my parents told me about losing weight and I sneaked food all over the place, I ate three, four, five whole meals throughout the day; when I got a car at 16, I would go to the supermarket and spend my allowance on food, which I would eat inside the car, etc., etc., you know the drill.

By the time I turned 18, I was a bit overweight, not too much. I guess my guilt about my parents' preoccupations, and certainly about how I looked, got the best of my rebelliousness, and didn't allow me to become too terribly heavy, which I'm thankful for. I was never obese and I'm not obese now, but I have never felt good about how I look. Last year I lost about 20 lbs and I thought it was going to translate into incredible happiness. I've hardly ever been so miserable as during those days. I was eating 1,300 calories and exercising about 90 minutes a day. Oh! And I was vegan, mind you... Yes, lots of weight loss, lots of obsession, lots of suffering thinking that I would gain the weight back. Guess what happened? I did gain it back, of course I did! More misery ensued while I kept trying to "get back on track" unsuccessfully.

Now, I've realized that I'm healthy: still a vegetarian, but no longer a vegan (I have deep respect for veganism and for those who practice it. For me it is just too related to my food obsession, so I rather abstain from meat, while eating dairy and eggs), I haven't been able to really get back to exercising as much as I'd like, but I'm active and feel I have a better relationship with food, but not necessarily with my body. This is what this blog is for. I've recently realized how important it is to appreciate the diversity of bodies out there. They come in all sizes, weights and colors.

Enough for now... I didn't realize how difficult it would be to write a blog, so forgive me if this is not particularly entertaining or illuminating. It'll get better over time.

I think you're beautiful, whoever you are...