As an annoying humanities major student, I wanted to find an everyday item that weighed 20 pounds to represent the 20 pounds I gained this year in eating disorder recovery. So, I scrolled through random online lists and selected a sledgehammer. This resulted in a piece of writing absolutely riddled with falsities. I described my new body as a powerful weapon, a useful tool with which I can construct my life and, generally, a force to be reckoned with. Someday I might feel this way, but these sentiments don’t capture my current relationship with my body, and I’m unsure if I want them to.
I revisited the “20-pound list” and laughed out loud when I saw that a dachshund was included alongside random household items like office chairs and stand mixers. I initially scrolled past in search of a less goofy, more empowering way to analogize my complicated feelings toward my body. Then, (again channeling my annoying humanities major energy) I decided it might be an interesting writing exercise to figure out how to use the dachshund in this piece. It was shockingly easier than anticipated.
I want to start thinking of this new body like a dachshund. I can feel myself losing some people, but hear me out. Regardless of how often my dachshund might piss on the carpet or tear up a shoe, I would never criticize or abuse that animal. I would still be annoyed, don’t get me wrong, but I would understand that they’re difficult to train and try to find a better approach to work with them. I would never think, “Wow, look how long and proportional the legs on that golden retriever are. I wish my dachshund had legs like those.” Their physical oddities are the particular objects of my affection because it is exactly those physical oddities that make them so weirdly adorable.
I’m aware that this is a very weird comparison, but if you’ve ever struggled with body image or disordered eating, you’ll know that sometimes you need mental tricks like this to get through a rough day. Associating this new body with something as lovable and cute as a dachshund makes me want to nurture it, not degrade and deprive it. Like a pet, these pounds had enriched my days, making them filled with more joy and love than before they were around. This weight has allowed me to get through the day without needing a 2-hour nap, walk up hills without seeing stars, read without the words all blurring together, and go out to eat without fending a panic attack. Also, like a pet, I can be sporadically irritated or upset with my body. It’s not always going to cooperate with me and do the things I would like it to. However, regardless of how upset I may get with it, this body is forever mine to take care of. Therefore, I want my general sentiments towards my body to be rooted in love and appreciation, not disgust and anger.
I have not gotten to this point in my recovery journey, but I can feel things beginning to shift. In the past, if my weight fluctuated by even a few pounds, it would trigger intense restriction and plans to run a marathon. However, when I stepped on the scale for the first time since committing to recovery and saw that number, my mind immediately returned to all of the previous methods I had used to control my weight. The difference between where I am now and where I was a year ago is that, despite how disgusted I felt with myself at that moment and the strength of my thoughts, I did not act on them.
It’s been hard. Trying to stop behaviors and thoughts that took up so much of my life for so long has made for a mentally exhausting year. I still don’t know if I will ever be able to fully free myself from these thoughts. What I do know is that I am moving in the right direction. Especially after experiencing what I am now calling “the dachshund epiphany,” I am committed to trying to love, rather than control, my body.