Fear of Fat

One of the aspects of weight maintenance that I didn’t expect is the persistent fear of fat.
When I say “fear of fat”, I’m not talking (right now, anyway) about the cultural phenomenon that makes us worship emaciated celebrities and scorn the obese ones. I’m talking about fear of fat on the local level, inside our own hearts and minds.
You’d think that my track record with my band would give me confidence. I lost all my excess weight, I regained 25 pounds, and then I re-lost those 25 pounds. I still have the basic tools I need to deal with weight gain: my band, my knowledge of how to use it, and my own inner resources (perseverance, intelligence, discipline). I’ve gained a boatload of self-confidence and feel strongly that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. I can skate smoothly over the bright, shiny surface of my new life for days on end, forgetting that I was once fat, forgetting that I could become fat again. But sooner or later, something pushes my fear button and I hear Sting singing the melancholy song, “Fragile:”

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime's argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are how fragile we are
How fragile we are how fragile we are

I don’t want to live my life with the fear of fat (or anything else) coloring my every thought, spoiling my pleasures, steering me away from taking risks that might yield wonderful things, inhibiting my to function like a normal (whatever that is), healthy person. On the other hand, fear of loss or injury helps me behave safely. I wear a seat belt when I’m in a car, I don’t exceed the speed limit when I’m driving, I lock my car before I walk away from it, I wash my hands, take my medication, and look both ways before crossing the street. Perhaps it’s a good thing to remember how fragile I am, so that dangerous impulses won’t send me and my bandwagon flying off the edge of a cliff, and so that I remember to thank God for the blessing of just being alive.
I was fat for a long, long time. Many of the important events of my young and middle adulthood were shaped, or at least influenced, by my obesity. Entire thought systems grew up around my fat, to explain it, justify it, banish it, nullify it. My daily habits, what I ate and how I moved, were coordinated by my fatness for over 30 years. I lost my excess weight in a fraction of that time, so it’s no wonder that my brain hasn’t quite caught up to the change in my body.
On the other hand, I arrived at my weight goal 2-1/2 years ago. That’s 30 months. If my brain devoted one lousy month to each year of twisted development, I could have been free by now! But it didn’t. I guess I was too involved with all these interesting and absorbing new activities: exercise, making new friends, clothes shopping, socializing, book and newsletter publishing, volunteer work, paid work. I forgot that Fat Jean was still inside of me, scratching her head and saying, “Hey, what’s going on here? Did anyone bring donuts?”
Although sometimes I wish I could find an exorcist to get rid of Fat Jean, I’m enough of a realist to sense that she’s never going to go away completely. She’ll be at my side as I step on the scales in the morning, whispering, “I told you so,” as I groan about a weight gain. She’ll be pulling on my elbow when I walk into a room full of people, encouraging me to investigate the food rather than introduce myself to a stranger. She’ll embrace me when I’m tired and sad, reminding me that true comfort is found only in chocolate.
Fat Jean is another reminder of how fragile I am. As much as I hated the obesity she led me into, I know that she’s not evil. She was doing the best she could to survive in difficult life circumstances, using some tools and skills I no longer need. The memories she holds are full of the strife and sadness that – along with many other factors – made me who I am today. That’s a strong, sensible, compassionate woman. I don’t need to dwell on Fat Jean, on what she reminds me of or what I fear, in order to benefit from the lessons she and I learned together. My plan is to do my best to balance the sad and fearful thoughts with joyous and hopeful ones. Yes, I know I already have the reputation of being the Eternal Optimist, but even I have to watch for the negative stuff that seeps through my walls from time to time. The Negatives are going to have to audition from now on to earn a moment on stage. If a Negative can teach me or remind me of something important, it can do its song-and-dance routine. If not, it’s outta here.