The Glamour is a Lie

A few nights ago an acquaintance at church remarked to me, "You're so thin. Are you still losing weight?" I mumbled something about how I didn't think so. "I only say so," she went on, "because I'm jealous." Jealous? Really? Of me? Yes, I'm skinny. Yes, I can buy clothes off the rack and wear them as they were paraded on the runway. Yes, people often express their disbelief that I bore three children.

There's more to the story. I have a great deal of trouble opening the heavy door to my boss's office. I fight with that damn thing every morning, earning me pity from my coworkers. When I sit on a hard surface (by hard, I mean ANY), my protruding tailbone wails in complaint. I'm cold all. the. time. It's Phoenix and it's summer, and my fingers and toes are purple. Those awesome clothes? They looked more flattering on the hanger.

There is nothing - NOTHING - hot/sexy/attractive/appealing about anorexia. You know those paintings you learned about in junior high art class? The Botticellis, the Renoirs? Those ladies were curvy, and they were spectacular. Once upon a time a woman's flesh - that life-giving, health-sustaining signal of prosperity - was celebrated. Then came Calvin Klein and Kate Moss, and suddenly starvation was something to aspire to. I challenge you to travel to a third world country and ask a hungry person if they feel fashionable.

What's the deal? How can my body - the body of any eating disordered person - be considered an ideal? I am ill. I am at the doctor's office weekly... GP, cardiologist, whatever... just to maintain something like a functional existence. I work my ass off (pun not intended) to be the best mother, the best wife, the best teacher I can be. But the albatross is ever hanging from my neck; my choices, my thinness, come at a price.

I want to set the record straight to every person who has ever had a Thin Complex. GET THE FUCK OVER IT. So you're a little overweight. You think my malnutrition is a better alternative? News flash: science has proven that underweight is associated with fatal outcomes more than overweight is. "Thin" should never be a goal. "Strong" should be the goal. Strong. Open that freakin' heavy door without so much as a grunt.

You know what it takes to be as skinny as an anorexic person? Misery, pain, and crippling loneliness. So the next time you see a model-ish woman (or man), consider this: there's no satisfaction there. The starvation took it away.