I am thankful for my potbelly
I often imagine Pooh and how cute he is—with a potbelly.
It being Thanksgiving today, I tried to think of what I am thankful for beyond the usual stuff I am always thankful for—my family, friends, health, home, faith, and all those huge unbelievably wonderful blessings of my life. And of all things, I started thinking about being thankful for my potbelly. Wha-a-at?
The last time—about 3 weeks ago—that I talked to someone about my stomach I cried. I am 65 years old and still crying about my potbelly. One of the saddest things ever is that when my mother was in her 80s dying of Parkinson’s, sitting in a wheelchair getting frailer and frailer, literally shrinking, one day she pointed to her stomach and said with a happy smile, “Look how flat my stomach is!” Oh, Mom. How I wished she had her whole healthy body back.
My potbelly, as I have always called it, has brought me sadness and shame almost my whole life. I remember when I was around 10 or 11 standing near the window in my upstairs bedroom that faced our front yard. Several neighborhood kids were talking and one of them said my nickname was “Piggy” because I was fat. My older brother (who asked for--and received--my forgiveness when we were adults) often told me how much he hated my “greasy grimy gopher guts.” In college once as I was walking to class with friends one of them said, “Here’s how Mavis walks,” and pushed out her stomach, walking in a sort of belly-first slouch. I laughed along with everyone else. But you notice I’ve never forgotten it?
I could go on and on. People have assumed I am pregnant many, many times. They ask how far along I am or something similar, leading to an uncomfortable exchange for both me and them. Once it happened when I was in my late 50s and a friend who was with me said, “Well at least she thought you looked young enough to be pregnant.” Yeah, didn’t help, though I appreciated my friend’s desire to make me feel better. Each incident meant at least 3 days of utter depression and self-hate for me.
I still mostly avoid looking at my full body in the mirror. My mind’s eye self-image does not have a potbelly. I often look away quickly to avoid seeing my potbelly in photos. If I can, I try to display only above-belly photos of myself. I would rather keep my mind’s eye non-potbelly-image intact by avoiding the reality of mirrors and photos.
For quite a few years now I have been slowly coming to terms with my body. Some semblance of coming to terms, anyway. I do still cry when I talk about it after all. I think the start of my journey to the beginning of potbelly acceptance was reading Geneen Roth’s book, Women, Food, and God.1 She has written about emotional eating, including eating disorders she suffered from, and her writing gave me a different perspective on food. She writes about why we sometimes overeat, using food to fill a starved-for-love hole we carry in ourselves. And she writes about focusing on the food we are eating, seeing its beauty, truly tasting its deliciousness, freeing ourselves to enjoy each bite, and not limiting ourselves from certain “bad” foods.
Being diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes helped me, believe it or not. I wrote about that earlier.2 When I got that diagnosis I finally truly took to heart what I had heard over and over from diet proponents--I had to figure out a new way of eating for the rest of my life. For me, that meant never saying no to myself. I have a tiny problem with anyone telling me what to do--including a diet plan--so I started telling myself I could have whatever I wanted, but at the same time truly paying attention to every bite and asking myself if it still tasted great, like it does in the first bite If it still tastes just as delicious and I still really want the next bite, I go for it. Mindful eating, basically, but with the permission from myself to have anything I wanted--no no’s, no bad food, all yeses. One piece of my shame is that my own overeating causes my potbelly. Thinking and deciding so carefully helps me feel I am not overeating and I don’t have to feel ashamed about that.
I am trying some new things now, too. I heard someone say they decided they just would not say anything negative about their body in their self-talk. I’m trying that. My usual thoughts are, “Look at that ugly belly,” “See, you eat too much and you’re fat,” “If only you would exercise, your stomach muscles would keep your tummy flat,” “Too bad every photo of yourself is ruined by that bulging belly,” and many more. I’ve got a large litany. I am trying now to stop myself, to interrupt myself, and just not say those things. I don’t go into any arguments about their truth or untruth, just don’t allow myself to finish the sentence. Sometimes I try to think of something nice like, “I’m glad my stomach digests my food and helps me stay alive.”
Recently, I’ve heard Hillary McBride3 in some of the podcasts I listen to. She has written several books about the body and how to love it. She, like Geneen Roth, is a Christian, but neither of them falls back on the old standard “Your body is a temple” which is just not helpful to me. One of the most striking things I heard McBride talk about lately is referring to your body as a person, as “she,” not “it.” I am just now trying to do that in my self-talk. Still feels weird but I am trying. In her interview with Jen Hatmaker4, she told the story of when she talked directly to her body during a scary anxious moment to reassure her (her!) that things would be okay. She described putting her hand over her heart and talking to her the way you would talk to a beloved friend.5 I like the idea of making my body my friend, of loving her, even giving her hugs and pats of reassurance, the way I would a beloved friend.
– Think of your body as a being, not a thing.
by Hilary McBride quoted on honestmom.com6
Most of the language we use suggests that our body is more of a thing than a being. When talking about our body we say ‘it’ as if the body is a machine that won’t cooperate, or an alien speaking a language we can’t decipher. Think about it this way: how differently do you treat a scrap of paper from a family member?
There is an understanding that the paper is not alive, that it is a thing but that the family member is alive, with intelligence and value. You probably wouldn’t worry about hurting the paper’s feelings but you will no doubt be careful about what you say around a person who you believe can hear you, and who cares about what you say. It’s hard to relate to a thing in a caring way and so much easier to be caring towards a someone.
So what if you started thinking about your body as a someone? And that was a someone that you wanted to build a relationship with? And what if that was a someone who you used to hate, or were really critical of, but you were trying to build back trust with? You might start thinking of saying things to that being like, ‘I’m sorry I said so many hurtful things’. Or, when your body tries to say something like, ‘I’m hungry’ or, ‘I’m full’ or, ‘I’m tired’, you might listen and respect it like a person you care about.
Could I think of my potbelly as a good person, a good friend? Could I cradle my potbelly and say, “I love you”? Can I truly say to God, “Thank you for my potbelly”? I don’t know. It feels like I need to try.
What about you? What is your relationship with your body? Are you thankful for her or him? Is your body your friend? I’d love to hear your story.
2 How to Lose Weight by Eating Whatever You Want (my blog)
4 Your Body is YOU -- Hillary McBride and Jen Hatmaker
5 The story of Hillary McBride reassuring her body (19:04)
6 “How To Love Your Body by Therapist Hillary L McBride” in honestmom.com by Vicky Broadbent