What to Do When Someone You’re Dating Makes You Feel Fat
The person you date should never sit in judgment of your body!
I remember in high school, a boyfriend made a comment once about my hands being “crazy big.” He didn’t call me fatso, or tell me I was ugly, but in my tender 16-year-old state (and with a quickly developing binge eating disorder) that’s what I heard. Fat. Big. Ugly. Gross.
Another guy, this one when I was 19, told me he wished I didn’t “dress so old.” What he didn’t know was that the reason I wore button up blouses and avoided the trends is because I didn’t like my overweight body and couldn’t stand the idea of showing too much of it. What did I hear when he said that? Fat. Big. Ugly. Gross.
We are so sensitive to what the people we love romantically think about our bodies, so imagine what it might feel like if someone actually said the words: “You’re too fat”? That’s pretty much what happened to HealthyGirl contributor Trish. Here, she explains…
For 6 years, I was in a relationship with a guy who wasn’t interested in me for the way I was, but rather for what I could be. He continually put me on diets and forced me to exercise with him, and I had myself convinced that it was just because he cared. I discovered after the relationship ended that he did this not because he cared about me and my health, but because he cared about how he looked with me. After our breakup—he cheated, obviously—he told me I was “too fat to love”, that no man would ever love me if I stayed this weight, and that when we went out together people looked at us because they wondered what a guy like him was doing with a girl like me (I just thought people saw us as a cute young couple).
After this, I spent two years in a downward spiral of bingeing and self-hatred to the point where I stopped going out with friends or to see family. It was the hardest and longest two years of my life.
One day I woke up and I realized that I was missing out on finding someone who appreciated me for who and what I was at that moment. I knew the only way to put myself back out there was to start walking around with some confidence. However, I had to be realistic. I knew I wasn’t going to climb out of the huge hole I dug for myself in one day, and I knew before I could bring anyone else into my life I had to fix myself first. I had to have patience.
I started by paying attention to the way I self-spoke—I vowed to say at least 3 good things to myself every day. I also started listing all the great things I had going for me: an amazing family, friends who pushed and pushed until I started believing in myself and who stuck by me even when I would blow plans with them because I was too depressed to go out, a college degree and a scholarship to law school. At the end of every day I threw out my list, and I made another one the next day until I finally started to understand that there was more to life than some guy who thought I was fat. I had to understand that I was more than my weight, regardless of what an ex-boyfriend or anyone else thought.
By having the patience to sit down and look at myself in the mirror and figure out what I needed and what I wanted, I opened myself up to the world again. I stayed single for 3 years after that breakup to just be me and do whatever it was I wanted to do. And guess what? I wanted to eat healthier, I wanted a better relationship with myself and with food, and I wanted to exercise. I wanted to stop bingeing. I wanted to do all of these things for myself, and not to please anyone else. So little by little I made my way out of that hole and got myself back on my feet and put myself back out into the eyes of the world without any apologies for my weight. While I was floating around New York City and Long Island being myself and actually enjoying my life, I was blindsided by someone really fantastic. He came out of nowhere, introduced himself to me with a goofy smile on his face, and we never looked back.
Seven months later I’m in the relationship I never thought I could have—the one with a man who actually loves me the way I am right now, right here in this moment and not the me that could be 15lbs lighter. I’m in the relationship where we can go out to eat and I don’t have to order a salad with no dressing because he’s not keeping a calorie count on me. I’m in the relationship where I feel desirable and sexy and I’m not having anxiety attacks when I take my clothes off.
By having the patience to take care of myself, I was able to finally let someone else back in. I gave myself the time not only to heal from the heartbreak but to get down to the nitty gritty of myself and learn what I was all about. It made me appreciate the things I have already and to work hard to keep my life happy and full. I got out of the mindset that I need someone else to be the source of my happiness—I should be the source of my own happiness, right?! Getting through those years and putting myself proudly on my own two feet gave me the opportunity to have a relationship that is actually healthy and normal—and the ability to appreciate that relationship and enjoy it. —Trish
Wow, right? (We love Trish here at HealthyGirl—she’s awesome!) Now, have you ever dated someone who made you feel you weren’t good enough, because of your body, weight, or anything else? How did you deal? How did it effect your relationship with food or your body image? xo…Sunny
I got a long letter from HealthyGirl.org reader Ingrid, 23, in which she told me a bit of her story with food and her body (read it here). But something toward the end of her note struck me, and I wanted to share it with all of you. She said that she feels like her eating (and purging) is almost an addiction. The addictive properties of food are fiercely debated among researchers, and we haven’t talked about food and bingeing in terms of addiction here on the site yet. But it’s important, and it can inform the way people approach their own recovery. So, after I answer Ingrid’s main question I’d love to hear what you think about whether food can be addictive. xo…Sunny
Q: I’ve suffered from different types of eating disorder for some years. When I started bingeing and purging in college, I contacted my doctor, and she recommended therapy. I thought my therapist was stupid, but slowly, I started opening to people, and talking a bit to my best friends about my problems. I didn’t tell them about the bingeing and purging, because I was so ashamed. But just showing some feelings was a great improvement.
I kept fighting, and I found a lot of useful stuff on the internet. Especially things about improving my self esteem helped me a lot. Now, I’m feeling so much better. I’m still a bit overweight, but it doesn’t bother me so much anymore. I don’t obsess over what people might think of me. And it’s so liberating. But I still overeat and throw up. Not so often, but it’s still a problem. It’s like an addiction. I’m telling myself that it’s not a problem, and that I can quit any time I like, but of course I can’t. I’m not sure on what to do. And I’m leaving for Canada soon, where I’m going to be a exchange student for a year. I’m scared that leaving my friends and family and having to get new friends will affect my eating problems, and maybe make them worse. I think I need some ideas on how to cope on my own. Do you have any suggestions? —Ingrid, 23
A: Yes, I do have suggestions! They might not be exactly what you want to hear, though. You asked for ideas on how to cope on your own. My advice: Stop trying to. Listen, I relate to the desire to do it on your own—I used to feel that way, too. I used to feel like I should be smart and strong enough to kick this binge eating thing all by myself. I mean, c’mon, it’s just food! Some people (I believe those with more minor issues) may be able to self-help and read their way back to good health. But that’s not the way eating disorders work for those of us with longstanding or more serious problems. And believe me: Bingeing and purging—even occasionally—is a serious problem. Purging is even more dangerous and disrupting to your body and mind than bingeing alone—it dehyrates you, breaks blood vessels, drags corrosive stomach acid over the sensitive tissues of your throat and your tooth enamel, and some experts have suggested that it also causes a release of chemicals in the brain that cause a sense of euphoria. Like a drug, perhaps?
Anyhow, you said it best: You feel like you’re in control, but you’re not. You feel like you can stop anytime, but then you find that you can’t. You said it feels like an addiction.
Well, here’s the good news, there are totally free groups based on addiction treatment principals that you can go to for food problems. And they’re all over the world, including Canada, where you will be headed soon! There are several types of these groups, many of which are based on the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous: Eating Disorders Anonymous; Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous; Overeaters Anonymous; Anorexics and Bulimics Anonymous. I went to a similar type of group once or twice a week for three years and it helped me move so much further along in my recovery. The structure and support was key in helping me get better and become a normal eater, and I encourage anyone who’s suffering to walk into a meeting and just see what might happen. (And if you don’t like the idea of any of those groups above, check out the National Eating Disorder Information Centre of Canada for referrals to other groups.)
And, don’t write off therapy forever, Ingrid. I know you had a bad experience with your therapist—there are some rotten (or stupid) eggs out there—but that doesn’t mean you might not find someone else who is a better fit for you, or someone who has more experience with eating disorders. I’ve used therapy as part of my recovery, too, and as you said, learning to open up and deal with emotions is so important. Therapy didn’t cure my eating issues, but it helped me build strong self-esteem and learn coping tools for life so that I could slowly but surely let go of the food.
In the meantime, there are some really good books that helped me—and tons of other people I know—move forward in recovery. Just don’t feel like you should or have to go it alone. You’ll get better faster if you keep reaching out for help. Please let me know how you’re doing when you get to your exchange program!
Now, to the whole HealthyGirl.org audience: The research on whether food (especially sugar and fat) may be addictive is mixed, but I know that thinking of my bingeing issues as an addiction did help me for a few years while I was in the thick of things. Have you ever considered an addiction-style model of support or therapy for your eating issues? Do you believe food is addictive for you? xo…Sunny
Has the Number on the Scale Ever Ruined Your Whole Day?
Are you obsessed with your "numbers"?
HealthyGirl.org reader Carly, 20, is having some trouble with her scale—as in, the number she sees on it in the morning is dictating her moods. Sound familiar? Yep, I thought so. Please feel free to weigh in with your own experience and advice in the comments. xo…Sunny
Q: I have had a problem with overeating and binge eating for several years, but recently I have been exercising and improving my diet to lose weight. I recently bought a scale to track my weight loss. I thought it would be motivating for me to see the numbers on the scale go down, but I think I’ve taken it too far. I weigh myself every morning, and if I don’t like the number on the scale, it literally ruins my entire day. All day I base my food choices around what I think will help me weigh less the next morning. My doctor told me that weighing myself daily would be a good idea because it will help me monitor my progress and prevent my weight from creeping up without me knowing. I think about it all the time, and I feel like I’ve become obsessed. I know my focus should be on getting healthy, but I’m so desperate to lose weight that it seems impossible to not be obsessed with the numbers on the scale. Is there a way to weigh yourself everyday without becoming obsessed and to use the scale as something helpful instead of something evil?
A: Not when you’re desperate to lose weight, there’s not. At least not in my experience. When I was in my late teens, and even very early 20s, my body size and weight completely dictated my mood, too. It was awful, getting on the scale and stepping off feeling crestfallen, and ugly.
No offense to your doctor, but for anyone who’s even slightly weird about food or their body, weighing themselves daily is a prescription for Crazy! I know why he or she advised you to do it—the National Weight Loss Registry, this big survey of people who have lost significant amounts of weight and kept it off—showed that many of them weight themselves often, even daily. But as people with disordered eating issues, we can’t just directly apply info like that to ourselves.
At some point I was able to healthily use a scale, and even focus on losing weight. But it wasn’t until I was well on my way to recovery. Only after I dealt with the inner reasons for why I used food could I even begin to think about my body size. I had been a yo-yo dieter from the age of 15 through my early college years, but, because of the binge eating disorder, I always end up the same way: Heavier, more deep into the bingeing and more hopeless than I was when I started whatever diet it was.
So in my mid-20s, I completely quit dieting. I was in therapy, was reading books about emotional eating, and I had finally started to believe that what was on my inside was much more important than the outside. Being happy and healthy and sane finally meant more to me than being slim. While I didn’t always feel pretty or happy about my shape, I stopped obsessing about it. I started going to binge-eating support groups every week and even got a mentor from the group that I would call nearly every day.
I truly no longer cared much about my weight. I felt so much stronger and happier because I was no longer punishing myself and my body with piles of extra food. I literally worked to get to the point where I felt that if I never lost another pound again, I could live life and be happy. While I wasn’t focusing on weight loss, I had instituted some very healthy behaviors that I’d learned through therapy and from my support group, which just so happened to have the effect of at least stabilizing my weight.
After enough time like that passed, I actually was able to focus a little more directly on getting to a healthier weight. And I made friends with the scale. I weighed myself once a week for a few months, and then pushed it back to once a month. The numbers no longer defined my self-worth,they became information. If the number started going up, I could objectively look at what had been going on that month and see why. But I’m afraid that’s not where you are right now.
I’d suggest you check out support groups in your area and, if you haven’t already, pick up a book or two to help you move forward in your recovery. You might also look into therapy—it’s been a lifesaver for me, and really helped me focus on recovery. (You can contact the folks at the National Eating Disorders Association for a referral.) What I had to do was fully, completely focus on my inner health and sanity first. A healthy, more comfortable body weight came later. Maybe that’s what it’ll be like for you, too?
That was my experience, but now, to the rest of the HealthyGirl.org community: What has your experience with weight been as you’ve healed (or started to heal) your relationship with food?
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The "snack table" at work a couple of weeks ago.
First let me say, I am in no way looking a recovery horse in the mouth. I am so grateful to be recovered from binge eating disorder and am still amazed by what it is to live a life that’s not dictated by food. That said, I was thinking a couple of days ago that being normal about food isn’t always smiles and rainbows.
For one thing, you have to deal with choice. On a daily basis—actually multiple times a day. Because everything’s allowed, and nothing is “bad,” you actually have to make decisions about what you’re going to put in your mouth. When I was actively bingeing, I was out of control and never felt like I had a choice. I was being driven by the desperation and emotional need inside me and simply had to give it what it wanted, and as much as it wanted.
Then, farther along in my recovery when I started going to a support group that recommended having a “food plan” I had another force governing me. Rules that—although they were much more mentally healthy for me than the way I had lived before—were still not quite normal. (Did anyone see Huge last week? The camp director had this line where she said, “I don’t eat in motor vehicles,” and it reminded me of myself in those days.) Like, I had a rule that I didn’t eat free food at work. It made things easier, because I didn’t have to wonder, “Is this emotional eating if I have a cupcake at So-and-So’s birthday party? Is it real hunger that’s making me grab a handful of these chips?” I just didn’t ever eat any of it. I also avoided most trigger foods, so there were a lot of things I didn’t eat: Crackers, cookies, chocolate candy, donuts, fried stuff. The rules I had were very helpful to me at the time, but they were pretty black and white.
It was like the pendulum swung from one end which was absolute anarchy and primal need to the other, which was too much control.
Now, I really feel like I am a normal eater. I am not afraid of any food, nothing is off limits, I tune in to see what my body needs, then try to give it to myself. But other than that, I pretty much don’t have any rules. The freedom is sort of miraculous. But at the same time, I now have to deal with things—like normal body changes, weight fluctuations, and making decisions about nutrition—that I’ve never had to before.
I was talking with some coworkers the other day about how crazy our snacks table is in the office. How it’s really, truly, insane how many edibles are just lying around here, and how easy it is to just mindlessly grab a taste of this or handful of that. We were all kind of laughing about how everyone gains weight when they first start working here and I realized how…normal and mundane it all was. It struck me how candy dishes and mindless eating are something that 100 percent normal eaters deal with, and that I was truly one of them.
I will gladly take these kinds of “difficulties” over the ones I had before. But, just like you learn in recovery that being thin doesn’t make everything perfect, I’m realizing that being a normal eater doesn’t make everything—or me—perfect either. Oh, life lessons.
Have you learned any life lessons lately? About food, yourself, black and white thinking, perfectionism? Please share! xo…Sunny
I have been more body-conscious than usual lately. Not hateful, not loathing, not obsessive, but…conscious. You regular readers know why. As much as it hasn’t become pathological, part of me is a little frustrated—I’m recovered, God*(#*)t! I’ve DEALT with all of this. As in past tense. Done, over, g’bye.
But the other part of me, the grown up, more reasoned, and yes, more recovered part, knows that you’re never really done with this stuff. Just like our lives, our bodies change all of the time, and the way we feel about them does too. My God, when you’re pregnant, your body changes absolutely daily! In ways you really have no control over. (What a ride that’s gonna be!)
So, I wanted to have a little discussion about body talk today to sort of clear the air in my own mind—and perhaps help some of you do the same. My days of true body hate are over, but there are two mean words that have come into my head lately that I need to cleanse from my brain: squishy and lumpy. (Sounds like a couple of dwarves, huh? I’m Squishy, who are you? Lumpy!) The words bubbled up, I recognized them as unhelpful at the time and I let them go without obsessing, but this morning I woke up thinking it was time to address them directly for an even deeper exorcism.
The truth is, I’m not squishy and lumpy—but I am soft and my edges are most defintely rounded. Do I have more dimples on my hips and butt than I used to? Yes. Is that normal as you get older? Yes. And, the most important question: Is the way my butt looks truly that important to me? No, actually, it’s not.
See, my values have changed a lot along with recovery. My weight and my appearance are no longer the definition of what makes me valuable—sometimes I just have to remind myself of that! Old habits die hard.
Now it’s your turn—has some residual mean girl in your mind said something negative about your body lately that you’d like to get rid of? Share it, and let it go! xo…Sunny
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