I just finished reading a biography/social commentary written by supermodel Crystal Renn, a.k.a. the most famous plus-sized model in the fashion world right now. As someone who has often struggled with personal body image and self-loathing, it was a poignant book for me to read. To read how Crystal starved and exercised herself to skeletal results, and later embraced health and happiness by accepting her body was an eye-opener. While her story skipped around and seemed like a jumbled autobiography and disordered eating commentary rolled into one, there were a lot of moments during my reading that I thought, “Why do I treat myself the way I do?”
For years, I was a competitive long distance runner. I could eat anything I wanted to. I was running so much mileage and burning so many calories, a plate full of spaghetti or an extra helping of dessert never bothered me. I hovered around 100 lbs. when I started high school, peaking at 115 lbs. when I showed up at West Point, after a 4-inch growth spurt over the previous couple of years. As a runner, all my friends were stick figures. Pretty stick figures that I wanted to emulate. But I never had a problem with my weight, I was happy with how I looked, and I never felt fat.
In college, the Freshman Fifteen arrived, and stuck around. I was suddenly miserable; my metabolism had finally caught up to me. I had curves I'd never had before, natural curves that I could have seen as feminine and beautiful, but I refused to embrace them. By the time I quit running (my junior year), graduated, and got married, I'd put on another fifteen pounds. (Been doing the math? We're up to 145 now.)
My wedding dress was a problem. I'd bought it after graduation, but gained weight during Jon's deployment to Iraq. I left the dress in Indiana, refusing to try it on again, in denial of the added pounds. A month before the wedding, my mother insisted that I try on the dress, and I did, though I could barely breathe in it. When she expressed concern, I shrugged it off, chalking it up to being bloated and saying I had a month to get slimmed down. The weight loss never happened.
Two days before my wedding, my mother again made me try on the dress again. As we struggled to zip it closed, she said, “I thought you were going to take care of this, Aubrey.” I lost it. I couldn't breathe in the dress that I was supposed to wear on the happiest day of my life. Bursting into tears, I left the dress in a pile on the floor.
Mom has always been conscious of my weight, but not in any way that is intentionally cruel. She does not want me to be unhealthy, and she wants me to be confident and happy with the way I look. That day, however, I felt I had failed her, and everyone else who was arriving for my wedding day.
The hero of that day was my father. Dad has struggled with his weight for years, and seeing his daughter so distraught sent him into action. He started calling any tailor in town who could alter wedding dresses, and one of them said they could fix my dress that same day, with an extra fee for express alterations, of course. Wiping my eyes, I gathered my dress and went to the seamstress, Margaret at The Tailored Fit, with Mom. Thankfully, the dress I had picked was not ornate, lacking lace and beading that would make any alterations difficult. Margaret was so kind, seeing how upset I was, and I left my dress in her hands. A few hours later, it was ready. In the end, the grand total of “letting out” needed? Less than an inch. All of the grief, tears, heartache, and misery were for LESS THAN AN INCH of fabric. In my head, I was imagining yards of fabric bridging the gap to cover my fatness. After all the trouble, the dress didn't look any different, I had a beautiful wedding day, and I couldn't have been more pleased with how everything went.
My wedding dress aside, I deployed to Iraq in December weighing more than I ever had before. I didn't want to exercise. I ate anything put in front of me. I always found a way to justify it, knowing I would be “deprived” living on military rations in a Third World, wartorn country. The first time I had to buy a dress or jeans in the double-digit sizes, I almost cried. How had I let it get this far? Was I FAT? To me, "ballooning" to a size 8 had been distressing enough. Double-digits made me think I was plus-size.
Crystal Renn fluctuates between a size 10 and 12, and is considered to be a plus-size model, despite being the same size as most "normal" women. Always a compulsive and perfectionistic person, she was a textbook case for anorexia. Now, she realizes so much of it was about control. Body dysmorphia and the pressure to be a stick-thin model took over her life, and she literally starving. Renn does not believe we should all be overweight; she wants us to be healthy and have a more realistic perception of what healthy and beautiful look like. Some people are meant to be skinny, others find their equilibrium at a higher weight. She quotes Linda Bacon, a nutritionist: “Don't change your body to fit your mind's perception of what it should look like. Change your mind to appreciate your real body.”
Through exercise and paying closer attention to what I eat (I won't call it a diet, I just cut out 5000-calorie binges), I have lost 10-15 lbs. this deployment, over seven months. To be honest, despite what the scales are telling me, I can't tell that I've lost weight. My body image is that messed up; I still see a tummy with love handles, thighs that won't get thinner. But the numbers don't lie like my imagination does, and that's what I have to keep telling myself.
For anyone who has ever struggled with weight, body dysmorphia, or even considered disordered eating behavior, this book is worth a look. It definitely gave me a reality check.