I hear "Last Stop" by David Matthews playing in my head as I realize that I am the living example of the obnoxious reformed. Well, internally, anyway. I think in judgmental terms, because of course, I am doing something important – I’m changing my ways, eating better, exercising. I’m living it, baby!
So when I see a morbidly overweight person (like me) sitting down with a greasy fast-food burger, salty fries and supersized coke, I think, “Unh huh. Mmmm hmmmmm.” Upon the heels of that wordless judgment come other less shameful thoughts, like, maybe they’ve spent a week or a month eating sticks and twigs in fat-free milk and have already lost 100 pounds and this is their reward. Or like, maybe no one ever taught them about good nutrition. Or like, maybe they’re just having a bad day and this is their crutch…Maybe they’re just not in a place to take the reigns of their own health just yet -- you know, like me! Look at me! I’m so damn good! (Forget the fact that I’ve taken the reigns numerous times and then fallen on my face in the mud and under the horse just weeks later….)
And finally, that little bud of empathy (that I try so vigilantly and virtuously to nurture) breaks through, and I remember that whenever I indulged in anything, anything other than the healthiest meals, my guilty conscious filled me with shame and I ate it anyway (and then some more. Sometimes double). Sometimes that shame has to do with unresolved memories/issues with my long deceased mother and my father’s current disappointment in my weight (the fact that he says, “but you were such a beautiful girl” is supposed to key me in on how much he really does love me, even though my being fat makes it harder for him). And then, of course, my own horror at how far I’ve come from the “tiny thing” an old boyfriend once called me in college to what I am now – almost exactly 100 pounds heavier. Or rather was almost exactly. Since I started this Biggest Loser Challenge, I am now down a few pounds, you know. (Aren’t I enviable? Don’t you want to be like me? 'Cause I'm so damn strong!)
But I digress.
Anyway, after my mind skips over a litany of condemnations for the poor souls stuffing their faces and arteries with crap nonfood, or overly rich food, or simply waaaay too much of it, I recognize that I am conscious of these judgments, and remind myself again of my own shame. I remind myself that shame hurts. I remind myself, much too late of course, that their weight is not the sum total of their worth, of their talents, of who they are. In fact, it has very little to do with it. It is a physical attribute, nothing more. It may be a symptom even. But it is not who they are. And more importantly, it is not my bizniz to try to figure out why it is that they are fat, if it’s their own fault, or to give it a value of any kind. And if I’m going to feel anything, it should be sympathy – oh wait, but isn’t that also a judgment that is not mine to make?
I remind myself that I have experienced behind-my-back derision from coworkers, acquaintances, false friends, and strangers, and in-my-face derision as well. I remind myself that any of my own judgmental thinking, though seemingly involuntary, is just as bad and narrow minded as theirs.
This tendency is clearly ingrained in me. And it is something I recognize, I acknowledge, I am owning, and I am fighting to change. Because -- I know deep down that these judgments I am making are not really toward this other person. They are a direct reflection of how I feel about myself. And I know that until I can accept myself, flaws, inadequacies, flab and all, I will never really change. Being skinny isn’t really the goal. The goal is to treat myself with love, understanding, and kindness. (Good luck with that one, dork!) And that includes but is not limited to making good choices for myself. (Including not insulting yourself, stupid!) It includes but is not limited to empathy and compassion for myself and others. It includes but is not limited to living life as an active participant instead of sitting on my ass and watching it go by until I die.
Oh lord, I’m still sounding pretty effin’ righteous, ain’t I? Crap!
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