me

"Your BMI (body mass index): 21 kg/m^2

Your weight is in the normal range.

You do not need to lose weight. 

Minimum caloric requirements: 1922 calories per day."

I don't know this about myself. I look at myself in the mirror, naked after a shower, and I don't see the size 4 looking back at me. I see a large pocket of fat under my belly button, a flat chest, a double chin, and jiggly thighs. 

I compare myself to other women I know, and I'm the smallest (other than that one that runs marathons). I hear Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada happy to be in a 4 or 6, and I'm happy for a minute, but only a minute. Kate Hudson's in a tank top on tv, and we're the same bra size. But she's so thin and petite too, I think. Not tall with a belly like mine that sticks out further than my chest. I count my calories. I think about every bite of food that passes my lips. I don't stop them from passing, but I think about them, beat myself up over the extra or unhealthy ones. I bargain for treats like ice cream: I'll eat a cup tonight, but absolutely no extras tomorrow. I spend too much time trying to find something to wear when we go out, trying to hide things that in reality don't exist.

THIS IS RIDICULOUS. And I know it is. But I don't know how to stop it. I'm becoming obsessed. I'm so afraid to gain weight, so afraid to be "ugly." I feel myself spinning out of control just a little too close to the edge, practically bingeing one day, eating 1200 calories the next.

I know better than to be anorexic or bulimic. I've known women with both and I won't go that far. I do at least have that much control. But this obsession I'm developing isn't healthy either, not for my sanity.

How do I find happiness? I've struggled with this since middle school, always feeling like less of a woman because I never developed past an A cup, and now feeling soft and pudgy too. 

Logically I know that these images to which I compare myself-- models, celebrities, even mannequins, are all underweight, and these famous women have personal trainers and dietitians watching everything they do and eat. There's no way I could live happily and be their size. I'd have to starve and workout like a mad woman. I already know I'd be hypoglycemic the first day-- I've been there before. Plus I like food, good food, rich food.

Rationally I know I'm beautiful. I turn heads. I'm thin, yes I am, I dress well, I have pretty hair, I get complements on my porcelain skin and Angelina lips all the time. A handsome man married me. There are many times I look at myself and feel really pretty and happy with myself.

But then there's naked, exposed me, analyzing every bit of myself in the mirror, looking down at my stomach and trying to suck it in, feeling like I don't measure up to a standard that, even though I know it's set way too high, I'm still struggling to reach.

I don't have to ask if anyone else feels this way. I know they do. All women do. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why? 

I want to say I'm done with this, that I'll never count another calorie or debate another bite, but I know this isn't true. But I have decided today that instead of struggling towards that unattainable goal, I'm going to struggle the other way, towards balance. I don't really know how to start-- I feel like if I did just some kind of exercise, like walking or a little Wii everyday, I'd feel better and more in balance. But I don't want anything else to feel guilty about, because if I don't start exercising I'll just be mad at myself for that too. It would help if my husband were at all interested in getting fit too. If I can just make it to spring, I'll be in the garden every weekend working hard. Maybe for now I'll just lift a little weights and do some stretching in the mornings. 

Wish me luck. Balance and self-acceptance are the new black; didn't you know?