Picking One’s Prison

I recently confirmed something that I had suspected for a while – that I have regained the 20 pounds that I lost last year. I maintain a good exercise program and a baseline of healthy food choices, so the weight looks and feels different than it did a year ago.

But the weight is there nonetheless. So rather than continuing to self medicate with YouTube nutrition advice, I decided to seek the assistance of a registered dietician. In talking with her and going over my diet, I realize that I have strayed pretty far from the eating plan that helped me lose the weight last year. It won’t be hard for me to get back on track. Staying on track is problem. The thought of the impending but necessary food restrictions makes me feel imprisoned and sent me on a food binge that resembled a last meal. But being incarcerated in a body that I can’t bear to look at is worse. Sure, I want to be healthy and strong and all that jazz. But if I’m totally honest, even if I am guaranteed excellent health and a long life at my current size, I would still want to be thinner.

There, I said it.

I truly envy women who accept themselves regardless of their size, but I am not that woman. I am a creature and product of the prison industrial complex that is the socially acceptable physical ideal, trying to find a healthy existence within its confines – and trying to look good with my shirt tucked into my pants.

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