The Search for Skinny

Leave a comment July 22, 2014 drworobec

This post makes me sad. It makes me sad for all of the hours spent, the energy wasted, and the food-related guilt and shame in my quest for “skinny.” Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m unique in this quest, and that’s what makes me even more upset.

I’m sad for the 8-year-olds who use the word “diet”. I’m sad for the teenage girls who think they’re fat. I’m sad for the 20-somethings who eat only grapes and rice crackers. I’m sad for the moms who hate their bodies. I’m sad, because I’ve been there. That used to be me.

In fact, I came across an old competitive running journal of mine, which I wrote in my early 20s, and that’s what prompted this post. Aside from writing down my daily mileage (which, at the time, was upwards of an obsessive I-must-run 100kms/week) I also recorded how “fat” I felt. I was 135lbs, wore a size 6, and most of my journal entries centered around varying degrees of “feeling fat”. Because skinny runners run faster, right? Skinny girls are pretty, right? Skinny is perfect, right?

I’ve always struggled with body image, but seeing this journal years later made me see how far I’ve come. Don’t get me wrong, I still have bad moments, bad days, bad thoughts, and sometimes the body image beast still rages; but the tide has shifted. My relationship with food has changed (“Food for Thought”), which is my biggest personal victory. I no longer look at numbers on the scale and on clothing tags. Ironically, as my obsession with weight and calorie-counts have decreased, those numbers haven’t changed much almost 15 years and two kids later. I now look at numbers in my training journal: I can deadlift 225lbs. I can climb a rope. I can do 10 pullups in a row and I can do “real” pushups from my toes. But more importantly, I look at my daughter. I can see her looking at me, and she’s learning how to define beauty and self-acceptance.

I hope that these very personal, very honest revelations don’t ring true with you, my female readers. But I suspect that they will for many. That’s why I wrote this. That’s why I pushed past my should-I-shouldn’t-I doubts and feelings of uncomfortable vulnerability into complete openness and soul-baring confessions. I hope that you can find a way to look at your body as strong instead of fat, as capable instead of weak, as beautiful instead of ugly. Don’t seek skinny, seek acceptance. And most of all, certainly most of all, I hope you can teach your daughters to do the same.

accept yourself

For 8 years, and 80 more

2 Comments July 15, 2014 drworobec

Today is my wedding anniversary. I’ve been married eight years, and it feels like a lifetime and only a minute all rolled into one.

July 15th, 2006.

The traditional anniversary gift for eight years is pottery or bronze. Instead, we got our kitchen backsplash tiled. Point being… life happens, priorities shift, reality changes. Our reality is two small kids, two jobs, a house, and a busy life. And there’s love. Lots and lots of love.

We went out for dinner this weekend to celebrate, as we do in and around every July 15th, and talked about how much has changed for us in the last eight years. Some changes big, some changes small, some changes awful, some changes amazing. All changes, nonetheless. How is it possible that our lives can look so differently now, after less than a decade?

We were married on a beautiful cliff just outside of my hometown in Sundre, Alberta, overlooking the Rocky mountains and the Red Deer river below. At our wedding ceremony, our minister spoke about how a marriage is like a river- always changing, sometimes surging, sometimes receding. As long as the streams feeding the river continue to end up together, the river will continue to flourish. How true that has been.

My husband and I met on a blind date, and were engaged less than a year later; we went from love-at-first-sight to fairytale romance very quickly. Recently, I found an excerpt from a poem he gave to me soon after we met, when we were caught up in the romance and adventure of our new head-over-heels relationship:

After A While (Veronica Shoftshall, 1971)

After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning and company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts and presents aren’t promises.

And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open.

With the grace of an adult, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow’s ground it too uncertain for plans.

After a while you learn than even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure.

That you really are strong,

And that you really do have worth.

When he first read me this poem so many years ago, it made me feel safe. And as I read it now, so many years later, I still feel safe. Safe to be myself. Safe to know that this is it, that this is meant to be. Safe to know that this deep-down-in-my-bones-I-know-it-to-be-true is one in a million. For eight years, and eighty more.

xo.

Teach your Sons to Cook

2 Comments July 8, 2014 drworobec

*** This was originally written as a Guest Blog post for Momstown.ca. ***

My son is only five, so he’s limited in how much help he can be in the kitchen. But he’s often there beside us, as myself or my husband cook. He passes ingredients. He stands on his stool and chops peppers and cucumbers with his plastic knife. He sprinkles in spices and seasoning. He stirs, he pours, he grates. But mostly, he learns.

He learns to be self-sufficient. He learns what foods are healthy. He learns to help out. He learns that cooking is not a woman’s job, but rather, a person’s job.

I could’ve titled this post “Teach your Daughters to Cook” or “Teach your Kids to Cook”, but that wouldn’t have had the same effect, would it? Despite living in a society with self-professed gender equality, many of us still quantify household chores in terms of “a woman’s work” and “a man’s work”. Teach your sons to cook. And to do the laundry. And to clean. Teach your daughters to do the yard work. To take out the garbage. To fix things. Maybe I should’ve called it “Teach your Children to be Capable Adults”. Don’t pigeon-hole them because of their gender.

I saw a Facebook post recently, from a mother asking other mothers if they “allow” their sons to play with pink toys. I couldn’t believe my eyes (you may remember my views on things such as this from my “Yes, I Paint my Son’s Fingernails” post). And then I saw someone post this response:

myers-toy_flow_chart-01