The Bathing Suit Paradox

The other day, I was at the pool with my kids. I was naturally feeling very self-conscious, my concerns threefold: 1- That I looked like a beached whale, 2- That my bathing suit was somehow inappropriate for and offensive to the uber-conservative community pool, and 3- That my scars, over 80 of which are visible when I'm in swimwear, would call even more attention to me. My boys floated around on their own, not giving their old mom any mind whatsoever. My baby girl, all 26 lbs. of blonde hair and joy, was splashing at my side. Instead of relishing in the sweet heat of Summer, I was rehashing my pool worries, my brow furrowed.

Then I saw her. Across the pool was a tall woman of about 30, backstroking in the sun. She had on a black bikini, mature but stylish. She was at least four dress sizes bigger than me, but she looked stunning. I was caught completely off guard. How, when thinness is coveted and revered, could this woman look so gorgeous at her size? And in a bathing suit, no less? I couldn't help but stare. The black material hugged her body close, carressing her skin. Instead of angles, to which I have always aspired, she was full of curves. It occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, it was her attitude that was even more beautiful than her body. She was relaxed. She was confident. She was enjoying herself. In a swimsuit. How profound.

There I was, all thin and petrified, missing out on my children's fun. There she was, all full and wonderful, soaking up life. I learned something that day, and I hope I don't forget it.

Break it down, Sylvia Plath style

I stumbled upon this Sylvia Plath poem, "In Plaster," when I was in high school. I think it sums up the dichotomy of eating disorders very well. Here is the last stanza; I like to think this is the point I'm at in my own recovery. Read the entire poem sometime, if you get the chance. I wish Ms. Plath had stuck around to see what a difference her words made in other people's lives.

"I used to think we might make a go of it together -
After all, it was a kind of marriage, being so close.
Now I see it must be one or the other of us.
She may be a saint, and I may be ugly and hairy,
but she'll soon find out that that doesn't matter a bit.
I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her,
and she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me."

What is normal, anyway?

Today I didn't eat much, drank a little more wine than I should have. Normal people do that sometimes, right?

Last Saturday, I worked out so hard my muscles burned for days. Normal people do that sometimes, right?

Occasionally I step on the scale and stare at it for a good ten minutes, wondering if the numer will change. Normal people do that sometimes, right?

Every time I put on a pair of pants, I analyze the exact position at which they fall on my hips. Normal people do that sometimes, right?

What is normal, anyway? Am I someone recovering from an eating disorder? Am I a normal woman in 21st century America? Is there that much of a difference?

The Why

I have been thinking about starting a blog for years. Since the term "blog" still conjured up images of something nasty on the bottom of your shoe. Despite the desire, I have held back. My recovery, now six years on, didn't feel real enough yet. I didn't feel "well enough" to espouse my wisdom and clarity. Therein lied the problem.

I am not wise. I possess very little clarity. While I am much more "well" than I have been in a decade, I am still not cured. You see, there's something no one tells you when you're just starting out on the path to an eating disorder. It is this: you can never go back, not all the way. You will never be the same. As "recovered" as you may get, you will still remember. It's impossible to forget.

It is with this insight that I finally decided to start the blog. I cannot pass on any valuable pieces of advice or offer any inspired guidance. What I can do is relate. I know how hard it is to get better. I know how badly you want to go back sometimes. I know how distressing it is to remember vacations in terms of what you ate and where you threw up. I've been there. I made it out. I went from being absolutely convinced of my own demise to being absolutely awestruck by my future. I believe in change. I have been given a second chance.

Take my hand and climb with me, one step at a time, out of the rabbit hole.