Fat girl vs. Skinny chick

So I'm reading "Tales from the Scale" which is not really what I expected -- I expected more humor and less introspection. But it turns out to be a thought-provoking little tome about how women deal with a lifetime of weight problems. It's led me to do some thinking about my own inner fat girl and the skinny chick lurking around in there too -- because they do coexist, although badly.

The fat girl showed up in 7th grade. Special K had those "pinch an inch" commercials on TV and I reached down and, to my great dismay, grabbed at least an inch worth of flesh. I have no idea what I weighed then but things were already starting to go if only slightly, wrong. I get to thank puberty for that. I had always been a skinny kid but hormones changed everything. I also lived with a woman who had very serious weight issues and I had a lot of free access to pop and junk food. My skinny chick had always been able to eat anything and be a beanpole. But the fat girl demanded something different and a lot more of it.

In 8th grade I had my school picture taken and it was so awful I demanded they retake it. Over his vehement protests, the photographer took the picture again but it was no better. The truth was on film twice over. I looked pale, tired, bloated and unhappy. That year I had my last falling out with my stepmom and got moved to my mother's house. Living with my slender mother didn't help. My freshman year I was just over 5" and probably weighed 112 and thought I had become a complete cow. Each year of high school I tracked my weight: 116 my sophomore year, 121 my junior year and 131 my senior year. Not quite 5'4" and 131. I thought I was huge. Most of my friends were probably 10-15 pounds lighter. My mother called me porkchop if she caught me snacking after school. I knew I weighed more than she did: both my parents had weighed 118 when they married -- they were little people. I should have been too, but I was not. I had breasts. I had curves. I had a softness my mother didn't. I was zaftig. In my head, I was fat. But I still wanted food, so I snuck it. I bought the candy bars the cheerleaders were selling and ate them for breakfast. I bought girl scout cookies and hid them, polishing off a box of Thin Mints in 2 sittings. I ate spoonsful of peanut butter and cream cheese. I bought spreadable cheese my choir sold as a fundraiser and ate it plain because I didn't want my mom to see me with the crackers.

And so the rollercoaster began. College = pizza, booze and a five pound weight gain. Thankfully I had to walk a lot and I was broke all the time, otherwise it would have been much worse. My first year of marriage, my ex told me I'd feel so much better if I'd "just lose 10#". So I tried the "American Heart Association Diet". When that failed, I consulted a nutritionist and lost weight -- it was the last time I saw the 120s (16 years ago). After my first husband left, I didn't even think about the fact that I was back on the dating scene and carrying an extra 20 pounds. I knew when I slept with someone that the lights should be off so no one could see me but the inner skinny chick, still alive despite everything, told me that I didn't really look that bad. I never looked in mirrors. I ate canned soup and candy from the counter of the Hallmark store I worked in part-time at night and on weekends. I had Taco Bell if I could afford it. On special occasions, I treated myself to Velveeta Shells N' Cheese.

When T and I started dating I didn't own a scale. I remember standing on his and saying "if I hit 150 I'm wiring my mouth shut." After a very happy year and a half courtship, we married. I weighed 169 after our 18 month Dairy Queen dating ritual and when the pictures came back of me pre-ceremony, in sweats and in profile, I knew it was time I got serious. Enter Weight Watchers attempt #1. I lost 29 pounds in maybe 9 months and was thrilled but proceeded to put every pound right back on and add another 20 to it. Attempt number 2 (with many false starts in between) I lost nearly 50 pounds. I weighed 138 for about 3 minutes before I stopped weight-watching and piled it all back on. And this is how it's been for me. The fat girl says I'm not good enough and the skinny chick says I don't look all that bad. I don't look in mirrors, especially those 3 way kind where you can see your back. The back of my body from shoulders to knees is a problem. I don't listen to either one of them but they're whispering to me all the time.

Even when and if I ever reach 135# again, I won't be skinny. But I'll be good enough for middle aged. I'll still avoid looking at the rear view and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to squelch the skinny chick/fat girl debate going on in my head. The fat girl wants fed and the skinny chick wants to be pretty and in control. Unfortunately for me, they can't co-exist in peace. I will always miss the comfort of fudge, macaroni and cheese, meatloaf with mashed potatoes, pasta, pizza and warm chocolate chip cookies. Let';s face reality: cucumbers with hummus and high fiber granola bars will never replace the reassurance of the creamy, chewy fat-laden foods I love.

Nor can I separate the people I love from the foods I associate them with: Grandma Short and her lemon meringue pie and fried chicken, Grandma Skellenger and her blueberries and cream, raspberry milk and cinnamon toast. Even my mother-in-law with her pot roasts and homemade bread, my own mother and her unbelievable key lime pies. Dear sweet T, with his cream cheese pies and smoky ribs. I just know that there's more to love and relationships than food and the feelings it gives me. I've just got to learn how to relate to people without the food. I need to know how to celebrate without dinner and dessert. I need to know how to love someone without feeding them. I need peace with food. I need peace. I need food.

(Just not as much as I think.)