Is Worth Inversely Proportional to Weight?

Last month I watched a documentary about the prevalence of eating disorders in the climbing world. Perhaps it isn't surprising given the nature of the sport: you have to haul yourself up a wall, and it seems easier to do that if there's less of you to haul up. The athletes in the documentary described the devastating effects of the illness on their lives, though. Many of them experienced organ failure, and all of them continue to have problematic relationships with food even after treatment.

I watched the documentary and nodded in agreement every time someone said the culture needed to change. I shuddered when one young athlete described being on the verge of kidney failure. 

A small voice also whispered, "why can't you have that dedication?"

Yes, I was actually jealous of people with eating disorders. 

Is it any wonder that horrid thought could have crept into my mind given the emphasis that society places on being slender and "beautiful?"

For me, the pressure started in grade school. Any girls who were on the larger size were ostracized and teased relentlessly. One girl was called a "mammoth" to her face. Even medium girls were criticized behind their backs. We all wanted to avoid that fate, so we all wanted to be as thin as possible. 

You'd think the problem would be limited to the bullies, but my own "friends" messed with my sense of self-worth. One girl told me that perhaps my crush would return my interest if I were thinner. Another girl gave me juice mixed with vinegar when I asked for something to drink at her house. When I spat it back into the glass, she told me that it might help me lose a little weight, so I should give it a chance.

Things didn't get much better in high school. At an extracurricular meeting, a girl from another school took a look at my thighs and told me she thought I probably once had a lot of muscle, but it had all turned into fat. When I went on a group date with some friends, the boys later told me that the first thing they noticed about me was my "thicker build." They didn't present it as a bad thing, but it made me so self-conscious, I started wearing boys' pants to try to hide my shape.

Fast forward to adulthood, and I can reason that my self-worth is not based on my appearance. I know I matter because of my actions, because of the love I try to bring to the world. The insecure young girl makes occasional appearances, however, and asks me to hide myself. She's especially vocal when I go climbing with thin girls who can easily scale difficult routes, and I ask myself if my weight is holding me back.

Then I see my daughter, and I want to protect her from all of the things I experienced - experiences, I am guessing, are not at all unique. I want her to appreciate her body not for how it looks but for the things it can help her accomplish: jumping off the diving board for the first time, earning a black belt in taekwondo, running around with her friends, and hugging her mom, for example. I know I can't protect her from society all on my own, but I have to do my best to quiet my insecurities and live my life out loud so that she at least has one (mostly) positive role model in her life. 

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