Breakfast

It is 9:24 am on a Sunday, and I just ate two corn dogs for breakfast. And it’s not because I’m pregnant (which I am) and it’s not because I live in an alternate universe where body shaming, fear mongering, or bullet like ads targeted toward women’s self-esteem do not strike me square in the chest (which they do).

It’s because I wanted to eat two corn dogs.

Ever since last spring, when gentle nudging from friends encouraged me to bring some awareness to the disordered binge eating and punishment-based exercise habits that years of quiet self-hate had created, I’ve been trying to make some changes. Like ya do when you eat an entire little Cesar’s pizza by yourself at 10pm then wake up vomiting uncontrollably because your stomach, which you’ve starved all day, was absolutely unprepared for that sort of calorie overload pre-lay down.

Anyways.

Most recently, it’s occurred to me that maybe I could apply some of the Lizzo like thinking I’ve so easily incorporated into my sexuality, to my eating habits

Not my body image folks, but my eating habits.

My body image is a result of all kinds of shit I’ve yet to fully suss out. Ranging from cultural programing to sexual assault, my subconscious is like a jello salad full of coconut bits and tiny marshmallows. It all got thrown together when it was still wet, and had I plucked out what was toxic at the time, maybe we’d be smooth sailing. But now that it’s set up, it’s gonna take precision. Think “Operation” on steroids. Which I am doing, slowly, one lime jello covered marshmallow at a time.

But taking a look at what I eat, and why, a something I can tackle. One of the hottest trends in emotional and mental health for disordered eating is the concept of “Intuitive Eating”. Intuitive eating is this idea that in order to be healthy and well, one must heal their relationship with food and “tune” in to the body. The body will tell you what it wants, rather than fear, self-hate, etc. and homeostasis will be achieved.

What I struggle with though, is how often I notice websites and literature link this idea of intuitive eating to lower BMI and weight management. Because achieving “ideal weight” is still the end goal for some reason. I struggle with feeling pressure to say, “my body just really wants a kale salad” when I know good and damn well it wants cheese pizza. I struggle with a secret fear that what people really mean when they say “intuitive eating” is that I’ll naturally start craving veggies, low fat proteins, and fruit instead of ice cream. We all know iceberg lettuce has no vitamins and movie popcorn is covered in saturated fats. So what do we do when that’s what we wanna eat? I can’t tell you what’s right for you, but as for me and my house…

Ima eat it.

The iceberg lettuce, the butter, the hamburger with fries and yes, the corn dogs. I’m also gonna eat sliced tomatoes with olive oil and salt, raw carrots, heavy cream, pineapples, strawberries, cinnamon rolls, Greek salad and gorgonzola chicken (all items that went in my mouth in the last 48 hours). I am going to eat it, and I am not going to beat myself up. Not because I’m worried about repairing my body image, but because I’m worried about repairing my relationship with myself. When I first listened to Coconut Oil, it was a revelation. I had that album on repeat for the entirety of 2017 (I was late to the game, I know). It was post bloody break up, and the self-love, the self-respect, the unapologetic way Lizzo stands up for herself on that album changed something in me forever. I am now in a super successful relationship, have amazing boundaries, and struggle significantly less with my personality which, tbh, is not everyone’s cup of tea. Lizzo gave me permission to love myself, while simultaneously giving everyone else permission not to. That is part of the genius of her work, and if I may be so bold, part of her anointing.

I have begun applying this theory to what I eat. I eat what I eat because it’s what I want to eat. No explanations, no excuses, no over analyzing, no brownie points for the “good” stuff and no punishments for the “bad” stuff. If I feel good afterward, I eat it again. If I feel crappy, I may actually still eat it again. I may not, but the point is, it doesn’t matter. I have decided to care less about what I eat and why, and care more about why I give such a shit in the first place. Because I’m anxious about what others think of me? Because I’m afraid that weight gain will make me invisible in a culture that idolizes fitness in a super disgusting and harmful way? Because I’m afraid the truth that my body tells me to eat steak instead of asparagus will garner the judgmental eye of my fellow intuitive eating cohorts? Because I’m afraid my Christian community will condemn me for not taking care of my temple, and disrespecting God, in the process? Maybe all of these, maybe none. Depends on the day.

But I tell ya what, I intend to set my table from now on with things that bring me joy. With things that satisfy my body and soul. With things that free me from the chains of self-doubt, self- hate, self-denial, shame, guilt, fear and sorrow. I intend to set my table with anything and everything that God has made, everything that when I lay my eyes on it causes my heart to sparkle and my toes to tingle.

And I intend to eat up.