"Am I Fat?"

"Am I fat?" I asked innocently. I was only 8 years old, but I had heard the question asked by many female characters in books, in movies, in television shows. I didn't really understand all the implications that came with that question. But what I did know was that — if the answer was yes — it meant there was something wrong with you. 

The answer came back: "You could stand to lose a few pounds." It was jarring in a way I didn't expect. But it became the first in a long line of body image and disordered eating dominoes that tumbled through my life for decades.  

During a fifth-grade class pizza party, a classmate criticized what was on my plate. Moments before I'd happily put three pieces of cheese pizza on my plate, relishing the privilege of eating real pizza at school. A boy (who — incidentally — was much bigger than I was) looked at me with disgust and said, "Dang. No wonder you're fat." My cheeks burned with shame as I sadly put two slices back. 

By the time I was in sixth grade, I had already been in dance for two years, but I decided I needed to have "Abs of Steel" as well. So I purchased that video and let Tamilee Webb whittle away at my non-existent 12-year-old waist. I was also skipping lunch at school most days. 

In junior high, I realized that it was getting harder to look the way my pretty friends looked while eating the way my friends ate, so purging became my coping mechanism. I was still dancing as well, so my weight dropped even more. One of my best friends had a naturally tiny frame, so I always seemed big compared to her. 

In high school, I continued studio dance but also joined the drill team. Dancing made me feel free in ways nothing else did back then. Despite being an introvert, performing was a huge rush. I remember being on stage or on the football field and wishing the music would never end. I was also heavily involved in my church youth group. Between drill team and youth group, every activity seemed to revolve around food. And we were teenagers; we could eat massive quantities of food. 

But the rise of the supermodel told girls that we all needed to have the body of a 6-foot-tall, 115-pound multi-millionaire — no matter our genetics or bank account. We were the target demographic for fat-free junk food. SnackWell's and rice cakes were the peak nutrition for teen girls trying to look like Elle Macpherson or Naomi Campbell. On our drill team competition trip to New Orleans, we eagerly visited Fashion Cafe without realizing the irony that a group of supermodels were trying to sell us cheeseburgers. Impossible standards were around every corner. No one wants to be the girl that everyone's snickering about in her field skirt or leotard. So I continued to obsess over every calorie, punish myself for overeating, and purge when I'd been too "bad". 

The transition to college was a rough one. I thought it would basically feel like 13th grade since I was living at home my first year and going to college in the same town I'd grown up in. But most of my friends had moved, and I no longer had dance. Most people who move away for college meet new friends in dorms or in new organizations. I didn't have any of that. I didn't even go to Fish Camp because my grandfather had just died, so I stayed home for the funeral. I felt a little lost. I started dating a guy who was in the Aggie Band and worked at a pizza place, so that became my whole social life. I went to football games and ate free pizza all the time. I was not in a healthy place. 

Things began to get better as I entered my sophomore year. I moved into my own place, I joined an organization, I started making new friends, and I walked everywhere. I dropped four sizes and wasn't even starving myself or purging. I was in a new relationship and he seemed to love everything about me. He told me I was perfect for him. He sent me hand-written letters and talked on the phone with me for hours. He made grand gestures and swept me off my feet. Gradually, though, he started to find flaws. Small at first ... the way I walked, that I dressed too modestly. But eventually, it became everything. Not tall enough. Not thin enough. Not blonde enough. Not successful enough. Not fun enough. Not ... enough. I scrambled trying to make myself enough. I bent and twisted myself in knots trying to fit into an impossible mold. My disordered eating patterns went off the rails a few times. Sometimes I was just too stressed and upset to eat, so I'd go days without food. After over a decade of trying, I never became enough. I was exhausted.

It was then I decided to go through a recovery program that really helped me find the root causes of this and other patterns I couldn't seem to escape. Finally, I was able to move forward and make real progress. This St. Patrick's Day marked the 12th anniversary of the last time I purged. Around this time, I started dating a guy I'd known since grade school. He had been admiring me from afar for years and never thought I was anything but beautiful — no matter what size or shape I'd been. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes.

Although I was thrilled when I got pregnant, I was also worried about how I'd react to my changing body. Gaining weight on purpose was so counterintuitive for me, and I didn't want to spiral into old patterns. I wanted to protect this little life I already loved so much. I prayed. A lot. I tried to focus on all the amazing things my body was capable of. It grew a new organ and an entire human that lived in me for the better part of a year and then fed said human for an additional six months. 

Once Roland was born, my body felt foreign. I didn't recognize myself. There's so much pressure for women to give birth and immediately look like nothing ever happened — even though EVERYTHING happened. I felt like a failure because my body held onto every calorie for dear life until Roland weaned cold turkey one random day. Only then, after my body stopped producing milk and I worked out seven days a week for months on end did I get all the “baby weight” off. While it felt good to be back in my old clothes, I did wonder why I felt the need to absolutely punish myself back into shape. No one in my life loved me any less with an extra 15 pounds on me.

Since then, I've been able to develop much healthier eating patterns. I work out regularly, but it's mostly so I can stay strong and feel good — a much more difficult task after forty. And I don't binge like I used to. Old me would eat like a competitive swimmer on the weekends and spend the week under-eating and working out for two hours a day to "repent". I generally eat healthy. If I want a cheeseburger, I'll eat one. But I also know my body is not a huge fan of gluten, so I feel much better when I don't eat junk.

I just wish I hadn't spent decades of my life striving for the impossible. Society's standard of beauty is a moving target. Body types go in and out of style. Now I'm struggling with the pressure to age backward. Another impossible standard. I earned each sparkle in my hair. Every wrinkle. Every inch of gravity. And I'm going to try my best to own my age and wear it gracefully.