What Will You Regret?

This passage from author, activist and wise woman Anne Lamott has long resonated with me:

“Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.”

In the past, I’ve shared how I let my so-called inadequacies and imperfections stop me from fully living.

I let the size of my body dictate the size of my life.

While understandable given the weight-stigmatizing world we live in, it breaks my heart when I think about how much of our life we waste hiding out, berating ourselves for not having the “right body” and obsessing about how to fix it.

I often wonder, if we weren’t thinking about this, what would we be thinking about?

Where would we be putting all our time and energy?

How different would our lives be?

How different would the world be?

My highest intention is to help end all this needless suffering so none of us regrets not going swimming.

If you fear you may regret all the things you didn't do because you were taught your body wasn't good enough, I encourage you to get support.

Life is truly too short to let your body size dictate the size of your life.

Can You Pinch an Inch? The Harms of Body Checking

Can you “pinch an inch?” 

(Please don't try.)

If you were a TV viewer in the 80s, you're likely very familiar with Kellogg’s “pinch an inch” ad campaign. 

And, as the Special K commercials encouraged us to do, you likely tried to see if you could indeed pinch an inch of flesh at your waistline. 

According to the cereal company, pinching an inch or more meant there was a problem with your body. 

But, hey, no worries, they had the solution! If you ate a bowl of Special K cereal every morning, that shameful inch would melt away!

Not only did Kellogg’s body shame millions of people to sell its product, it also taught us, especially impressionable young girls like me, the practice of body checking. 

Body Checking Defined
Body checking means frequently seeking information about your weight, size, shape or appearance by repeatedly engaging in behaviors such as:

  • Stepping on the scale to check your weight

  • Using skinfold calipers to measure your body fat percentage

  • Measuring body parts with a tape measure

  • Looking in the mirror and other reflective surfaces (e.g., store windows, display cases)

  • Evaluating the fit of your clothing, belts, rings, etc.

  • Pinching and squeezing your flesh

  • Feeling body parts for fat, muscle or bone

  • Wrapping your hands around your wrists, arms, thighs, stomach, etc.

  • Comparing your body to recent or old photos and videos of yourself

  • Zooming in on various parts of your body in photos and videos

  • Comparing your body to other people’s bodies

  • Asking other people for their opinion of your body

Escalated With Dieting
While I learned to perform a few body checking behaviors as a pubescent tween, like pinching my waist, my body checking really escalated in my thirties during my most restrictive dieting days.

I’d weigh myself every single morning after working out and before getting into the shower. Sometimes, I’d step on the scale multiple times a day if one was nearby.

When getting dressed, I’d obsessed over whether my clothes felt looser or tighter compared to the last time I wore them. 

Every time I encountered a mirror at home or work while alone, I would turn sideways to check the size of my stomach, often sucking it in to try to make it look flatter. 

Sitting in work meetings, I’d wrap my hand around my wrist under the table to gauge its size. 

And while lying in bed at night, I would perform a routine check of my stomach, thighs and other body parts, feeling each area to see if anything had changed.

Harmful Coping Tool
I didn’t know back then that this constant scrutinizing of my body had a name. I also didn’t realize the harm it was causing. 

I was just trying to do what I thought I needed to do to control my weight, to conform to our culture’s unrealistic body standards, to feel acceptable, worthy and safe in a world that was constantly telling me I wasn’t good enough (including cereal companies!).

If the number on the scale was lower, if my jeans fit looser, if my stomach looked flatter, if I could pinch less belly fat, then I felt relief—albeit temporary—from the body distress I typically felt weighed down by.

My body checking was a way to cope with my uncertainty about who I was and my place in the world. 

It was a way to alleviate my fears and anxiety, to soothe and comfort myself, to reassure myself that I was okay. 

It was also a way to motivate myself. 

If I liked the feedback I received, I was motivated to keep doing what I was doing, to keep undereating and overexercising. If I didn’t like the feedback I received, it motivated me to pull the reins in tighter, to eat even less and exercise even more.

It didn’t matter how my body felt (ravenous! exhausted!). It only mattered how it look.

While I thought my compulsive monitoring was necessary, it kept me overly focused on my body leaving little time, energy and headspace for far more important things.

It caused my mood to swing from elation to despair and dictated how I went about my day and how I interacted with others. 

Although it could momentarily ease my anxiety, it ultimately amplified it. Although I was attempting to feel better about my body, it ultimately increased my body dissatisfaction. 

Life On the Other Side
As I began healing my relationship with my body, I came to understand how harmful my body checking behaviors were, including how they were fueling my disordered eating and exercising.

By working hard to overcome my beliefs and behaviors (including challenging toxic messaging from companies that profit greatly from us feeling badly about our bodies), I was able to eventually cultivate a more peaceful, neutral relationship with my size and shape. 

Looking in the mirror a few times a day to style your hair, ensure your shirt is buttoned correctly, or check for food in your teeth is something most of us do. 

Repeatedly looking in the mirror throughout the day, fixating on the size of your stomach or the shape of your hips, is something none of us should feel the need to do to survive oppressive social constructs that put bodies on a hierarchy.

If you engage in frequent body checking, I encourage you to get support because there’s so much more life to live on the other side of your mirror.

I Wanted to be Sandy in Grease

The recent passing of beloved pop icon Olivia Newton-John reminded me of my years-long obsession with Grease.

From the first time I saw the movie at the drive-in theater with my family, I was infatuated with it.

When my neighborhood friend Tami got it on video tape, we spent countless summer afternoons lying on the brown shag carpet in her cool, dark basement watching it as we sang loudly over the roar of the air conditioner.

I was so in love with the movie, I even took an acting class in which we performed Grease.

At such a young age, I didn’t get most of the jokes but loved the singing and dancing and, of course, the love story.

Influenced My Beliefs
While other factors certainly played a role, I’ve come to understand just how much narratives like Grease influenced my view of myself and my body as well as my understanding of how romantic relationships worked.

The primary message I internalized was that I needed to look and act a certain way to be desirable.

I believed that to get a guy, I had to be thin, pretty, sexy and cool. And if I wasn’t these things, I would have to do whatever I could to become them. I would have to transform myself from a wholesome Sandra Dee into a sexpot Sandy.

As a teen, this meant spending hours at the salon getting my long hair permed, hours lying in the sun slathered with baby oil, hours at the mall shopping for the perfect outfit, and hours flipping through magazines in search of weight-loss tips.

I Changed for Him
When I was 14, I fell madly in love with one of the bad boys at my junior high school.

I did everything I thought I needed to do to be attractive to him, from changing how I dressed and wore my hair to the music I listened to and the kids I hung out with.

The first time he called, my heart raced a million miles a minute as I stretched the phone cord as far as possible away from my parents’ ears.

After hanging out for a bit after school, we started going together and things got pretty serious pretty quickly. As my life revolved around him, I was naturally devastated when he dumped me a few years later for another girl.

I was also convinced that if I just lost weight, he would regret breaking up with me and come running back.

While I had flirted with various weight-loss attempts in high school, like drinking SlimFast and eating low-calorie frozen meals, this was the first time I really restricted my eating.

I did lose some weight and we did end up getting back together. However, my smaller jeans size didn’t stop him from breaking my heart again and again. (Yes, he was a jerk, and, yes, I naively believed that by being the perfect girlfriend he would become less of a jerk.)

What’s Your Grease?
My heart aches for my younger self who, like so many of us, bought into the predominant, harmful narrative (one that still prevails today) that I needed to look and act a certain way to be acceptable, desirable and lovable—that I needed to be someone else to be worthy.

Thankfully, I eventually (that is, a few decades later!) came to realize I could stop buying into such damaging narratives and choose instead to just be myself, to embrace the body I was given, and to live according to what I truly value about myself and others, including characteristics like kindness, integrity, respectfulness and trustworthiness.

When you reflect on your own experience, what harmful narratives have you internalized over the years and how would you benefit from letting them go? What’s your Grease?