BBQs, rice cakes, and closet eating

Happy 4th! Here's to eating/wearing/doing whatever the fuck you want. 

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I feel like I am finally, FINALLY getting to a place where I care less what others think. I of course still have some hang-ups but these are my small improvements:

  • I go for seconds in plain sight instead of anxiously waiting for everyone to clear the area so I can fill up a bowl and eat more in private.
  • This weekend, I gave my thigh-length bikini line its summer debut. In the presence of male lifeguards.
  • Sometimes I leave the house with both my unibrow and cute lil' bar-mitzvah boy esque mustache in bloom (or alternatively, a red-streaked face when I do feel like melting my own wax and stripping the hair off my face). 

Throughout middle school and high school, I really felt everything was under scrutiny and open for judgement.  Especially what I ate and what I wore. I believed that eating certain foods like pizza or sweets in public would affirm my chubby status. Conversely, eating carrot sticks or plain yogurt in public would somehow make me seem slimmer. When I was alone, I felt that weight lift and could finally eat what I really wanted. During my summers at sleep away camp -- where all meals are eaten together with all crushes present --  I kept a roll of rice cakes in my underwear drawer (cinnamon bun flavor which was definitely disgusting but I loved them at the time) and I would eat at least 3 cakes laying in bed in the dark while my bunkmates went to sleep. Those few minutes of eating alone in the dark felt so good. It was the only time at camp when I could eat feeling totally carefree. 

This cycle was stressful. Unnecessarily so. But it was real, and definitely took time to get over. Becoming more at home in myself and body afforded me the assurance that the food I eat does not define me. Foods have no innate good/bad values in terms of how others see me. Those choices are up to me and only me. If I want a big cone of ice cream, others will not/should not judge whether or not that is a good decision. 

If I'm going to feel bad about my food choices, it's gonna be because ice cream happens to be purely diabolical to my digestive system. Next time that deliciously lactose-filled opportunity presents itself, I may choose to remember the bloating and HIIP (high intensity interval pooping) that followed and forego. But that call is on me. No one else gets a say.