In the early months of my anorexia the praise I received about my appearance and weight loss served as fuel for a dangerous fire.
“You look great!”
“What are you doing? You look awesome.”
“I wish I had your willpower.”
“Wow, you have a great body.”
Friends, strangers, and even my parents, in the early days, doled out praise for what appeared to be a newly discovered commitment to health and the smaller pants I could fit into.
Approval was like a drug. It felt good, really good, when it started and it served as a motivation later on. When I didn’t want to go to the gym or I wanted to eat something beyond my ultra restricted diet all I did was think about what people would say if I gained weight and that was enough to keep me in line.
In a lot of ways I was addicted to praise. The high I got from others celebrating my physical form (and how it conformed) was palpable. The panic I felt when (I projected that) others judged my body negatively was crushing.
- Dependence on, or addiction to praise – causing us to do only those things that are likely to get us gold stars and others’ approval
- Avoidance of praise – not wanting to stand out from the crowd – even for positive reasons, which causes us to self-sabotage, to not do our best work
- Fear of criticism – which causes us to not innovate, share controversial ideas, pursue interests where we’ll be fumbling beginners or fail along the way, or do anything that makes us visible enough to be criticized!
She makes the astute suggestion to “always look at feedback as giving you information about the person or people giving the feedback, rather than information about yourself.”
Tara’s writings explores this topic mostly in the context of our careers and I want to take it further and apply it to praise and criticism of our bodies and food choices.
And unhooking in this realm is not an easy thing to do because we all want to belong. We all want approval. When we are praised it feels great. When we are judged or rejected it can feel devastating.
And yet, living at the mercy of the approval of others, striving to conform in our appearance or diets to what others or “society” deems good is the definition of disempowerment.
Being able to live our lives and make basic choices like what to eat, when to eat, and how much to eat without factoring in what other people will think is essential if we are to feel free and unmasked—if we are to stay connected to the immense wisdom of our bodies.
Feeding ourselves is one of the most basic acts of autonomy. No one else should have a say in what we put into our bodies and yet for too many women, with each bite, comes a cacophony of judgemental voices—some real, some projected.
This happens when we get dressed too. Our minds run off with thoughts of “Does this make me look fat?” “Does this show my belly/thighs/arms/butt, etc?” “Will so and so think I’ve gained weight?” “Will they think I’ve given up?” Too often we sit on the side lines, skip the party, or spend more than we can afford on clothing just to mitigate the judgement we fear others will have of how we look.
But, as Tara so eloquently explains “the goal…is not to become impervious to praise and criticism. That would be impossible. It would also be inhuman, and would force us to deny an important part of ourselves….The part of us that wants others to receive us with appreciation, with enthusiasm – the part that wants to be loved by those around us? I think that’s a very tender, real, part of us, a part to honor too. The point is not to become disconnected from feedback, to have such a thick skin that we can’t feel it or hear it, but rather, to become “unhooked” by it, to not be run by it. The point is to be run by our own wisdom…The goal is to not have others’ ideas about us distract us, silence us, or take us on an emotional roller coaster.”
I agree. In the end it comes down to what we each, as individuals, decide is important in a meaningful life. Unhooking from praise and criticism when it comes to our bodies and our food choices is a life long practice. Each of us has an ego that is ready and willing to lure us back to that to the roller coaster. Getting hooked isn’t a failure.
So what does it look like when we’re unhooked from body praise and criticism?
It looks like this:
- Eating what we want, not more or less based on what other people are eating or who we are eating with, or what social function we have coming up on our calendar.
- Allowing photos of us to be taken and seen, knowing that a moment captured in 2-D doesn’t define us or tell our whole story.
- Not hiding in the ways we dress or hiding what we are choosing to eat.
- Letting someone else’s comments about our appearance be about them.
- Dressing and adorning ourselves for ourselves, with pride, and the body we have today.
- Observing the hurt or fear that comes from criticism and looking inward to where we may be holding self-judgement. After all, it’s much harder to be hurt by criticism we don’t agree with.
- Doing our best to practice non-judgement when it comes to other people’s eating and appearance.
- Sometimes consciously giving up the SHORT-TERM high we know we’d get if we went on a crash diet. We unhook when we choose long-term, internally-based sustainable happiness instead of short-term, external hits of power. This happens in small moments.
- When necessary, reminding other people that our body, appearance, and food choices are entirely our own domain—no outside contributions needed or welcome.
Unhooking is a practice, but remember, what I think of you, or she thinks of you, or he thinks of you, or your inner critic thinks of you doesn’t much matter. You are in charge. Your body is yours. Your reasons behind your food choices are personal and multifaceted and no one’s business.
Go to the party. Take the photograph. Put on whatever size clothing fits your body today and feels comfortable. Eat what you want, in public, in front of people who are still entranced by diet culture.
Have no shame for struggling, getting hooked, bumbling toward finding your way, or being a human who feels deeply—this stuff isn’t easy.
Ultimately though, when you can, remember that what other people think about your body and food choices only has as much power as you give it.
If you’re interested in learning more about Tara Mohr’s teachings on unhooking from praise and criticism check out her book Playing Big. It’s a game-changer.
Even though we live in a relatively free world and women’s independence is increasingly celebrated, too often we still go along with the crowd at times when it doesn’t serve us and, more importantly, when we don’t have to.
Participation is optional.
Today I invite you to opt out.
Opt out of being weighed at the doctor’s office. Did you know it’s optional? You can simply say “I pass” and if they pressure you, and you don’t feel you have a choice, you can step on the scale backwards and say “I don’t want to know the number, it’s not useful to me.”
Opt out of allowing your child to have their BMI measured at school. Seriously. Let’s stop this early weight stigmatization and use of this most meaningless measurement.
Opt of out the pervasive “I’m so bad, I ate a piece of bread” conversations. If the people around you are gib gabbing about their latest diet, weight loss success or failure you can: change the topic, explain that you don’t partake in ‘diet culture’, or even say “You know how some people don’t talk about religion or politics because it causes conflict, well, I don’t talk dieting.” And leave it at that. You do not have to participate in or respond to every conversation you’re invited to.
Opt out of “Operation Get Bikini Body Ready”. You already have a bikini body, whether you want to wear one or not. This summer is not something to dread. The beach is not something to starve or slave for. Opt out.
Opt out of the hysteria over eating clean and of the diet fad (aka “lifestyle change”) of the moment. Just because “all the cool kinds are doing it” doesn’t mean it’s good for you (or them) and you have every right to opt out without any guilt.
Opt out of any yoga or exercise class that doesn’t feel welcoming to you and your body. As a wise friend of mine once said about bad yoga classes: “Treat them like a bad movie and walk out.” On that note, opt out of the “free” body fat scan that comes with your new gym membership. When it comes to movement, you and your body deserve to feel welcomed, accepted, and met. Anything less is a great opportunity to opt out.
Opt out of seeing any medical practitioner who brings weight stigma into their practice. Increasingly you have choice in this country and more and more there are medical professionals who understand the harm of weight-stigma and scientific validity of the Health at Every Size paradigm. Don’t like your doctor? Afraid to go see them because of the weight shaming comments they’ve made? Opt out.
Opt out of television shows (I’m looking at you Biggest Loser), magazines (I’m looking at you Shape Magazine), and other media that leave you feeling less than. Turn them off, unsubscribe, and go enjoy entertainment that respect you and everyone.
Bottom line: you’re free. You can say “No” and “No Thank You” and “No Fucking Way.”
Even if you feel like the odd one out, no one ever regrets doing what feels right and true to them.
Participation is truly optional.
For the past few years I’ve been unraveling my motherhood knot—the jumble of questions, fears, desires, and beliefs I have about having a child.
As you can imagine (or perhaps relate) this tangle has many layers but one in particular, while perhaps obvious, surprised me.
Or, as I’ve come to think of it: Perfection Coins.
Perfection Coins are what we amass the more in control and ‘perfect’ our life is. If our life somehow reflects a greater percentage of our personal preferences, with minimal compromise or vulnerability we are very rich in Perfection Coins.
When we want something that requires risk, or change, or giving up control we have to trade in our Perfection Coins.
And why would anyone trade them in?
Because the payoff is often living a life in greater alignment with yourself, deeper intimacy with other people, more meaning, and more happiness.
When we become a mother we have to trade in a lot of our Perfection Coins. For some women the cost is too high. For some women, the giving up of control, of order, of predictability is not worth it.
And yet most mothers would tell you that what they trade in Perfection Coins (sleep, a clean house, clothes without stains, etc.) is paid back ten times over in love, connection, and intangible magic.
And as I began to think about this in the context of motherhood it struck me that the same is true about the choice I made to give up my eating disorder and become a body-accepting intuitive eater. I traded in compliments from strangers who idealized by anorexic body, an ego high from eating ‘clean’, and so much more. Tons of Perfection Coins given away and in return I’ve received freedom, sanity, well being, joy, ease and pleasure.
Had I known ahead of time things would work out, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But we can’t know.
When we make the trade it’s done on faith.
It’s always a bet taken because something else becomes more valuable than Perfection Coins.
With each run of Feast my students arrive at this crossroads too. Which would they rather have:
Thighs that don’t touch or sanity around food?
The (false) sense of order delivered by a diet or feeling good in their own skin?
The approval of judgemental family members or freedom to take up space?
Being numb to life’s pain (but also numb to joy) or feeling joy, and all the other emotions too?
We can’t have both. We can’t hold life white-knuckled, gripping to the safety of what we know and also receive the good stuff.
There are simply times when we have to make a choice, or rather, we get to make a choice.
Times when we choose to stay in or leave the relationship. Times when we choose to quit or take the job. Times when we choose to tell the truth or bite our tongue.
Increasingly I choose to trade in my Perfection Coins for the messy, unknown, not-in-my-control, but deeply connected, vibrant life that calls to me.
And truthfully, at the end of life I imagine that Perfection Coins aren’t worth very much.
Oh, you want to know what I’ve decided about motherhood?
But for the first time in my adult life I do know that my decision won’t be based on a need for life to be so tightly ordered.
One thing I’ve learned about myself is that I often default to a state of vigilance…or rather my nervous system defaults to vigilance. Whether through nature, nurture, or trauma my orientation toward my world can be perpetually scanning the horizon (however far off and however out of my control) for incoming threats, or worse, impending doom.
This sounds more ominous than I actually experience it, but I’ve learned that my mind and body like to grip tight in fear and cycle over all the ways that I could prevent or avoid whatever thing in life could go going.
It was surprising to me to discover, years ago, that not everyone is like this. Some people don’t fret that much about the future. Some people default to assuming everything that can go right will go right. Some people move through world trusting that they are and will be safe. Some people don’t grasp for perfection or doubt their belonging. Some people don’t view their humanness as something to fix.
I feel a lot more like these people today than I did for most of my life and that’s in large part because I work with my mind.
Let me take you back for a bit. I used to live a few blocks from a house that hosted a weekly meditation sitting for twenty-somethings. Many Wednesday nights I would walk over, stroll through the prayer-flagged gate, up the rickety wooden stairs stairs and into this sanctuary. After slipping off my shoes and finding a comfortable seat on the living room floor, along with other young sitters, I would meditate.
The ‘sits’ were led by one of the members of the house who took responsibility for tracking time, ringing beginning and entry chimes, providing tea, and often reading a passage of some Buddhist text.
On one particular night the host read an excerpt from Thich Naht Hahn’s Peace is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life. Our host opened with the question, “Can you smile at the non-toothache?” What a curious question. My ears perked up and he read on:
“The foundation of happiness is mindfulness. The basic condition for being happy is our consciousness of being happy. If we are not aware that we are happy, we are not really happy. When we have a toothache, we know that not having a toothache is a wonderful thing. But when we do not have a toothache, we are still not happy. A non-toothache is very pleasant. There are so many things that are enjoyable, but when we don’t practice mindfulness, we don’t appreciate them. When we practice mindfulness, we come to cherish these things and we learn how to protect them. By taking good care of the present moment, we take good care of the future. Working for peace in the future is to work for peace in the present moment.”
So “Can you smile at the non-toothache?”
Back then if I were to answer the question: no. I rarely smiled, let alone noticed the happiness of the “non-toothache.”
Today the “non-toothache”, the general absence of intense searing pain in my life, and the presence of much goodness is with me.
Over the years since that Wednesday night sit I’ve learned that thoughts are often just thoughts and that future (or past) tripping is made up of stories that take me out of experiencing my life as it is happening here and now. Doesn’t mean I don’t get caught up back there or out there, it just means I know more clearly when, why and how to bring myself back to here.
One of the main practices that supports this is savoring.
Savoring is a mindfulness practice.
Savoring is about living in the moment. It’s about taking in what is already here — feeding on the feast right in front of you.
Savoring is about gratitude and sensuality.
Savoring is all about sinking into and pausing to enjoy the non-toothache.
I noticed over the past few months I was starting, once again to approach my life from an anxious place. I noticed I was focused on fixing and judging more enjoying and allowing. As I looked at what little time I have left this year I knew I wanted to turn the tides.
So I created Savor as a way to practice, just for these last weeks of the year, simply being in my life (and my home, my relationships, and my body), enjoying the good that is here now, appreciating instead of nitpicking, and trusting instead of vigilantly scanning the horizon. And I know I’m not the only one who is hungry for this kind of grounding and support. I’ll be offering Savor each holiday season so be sure to sign up for the newsletter for updates!
For about a month or so I’ve been depressed.
Not “can’t get out bed” depressed, but “I feel blah-sad-annoyed-malaised.”
It took me a bit to recognize it. I tried to explain it away with “I just finished a big launch for my course, I’m just tired” or “I just moved in with my boyfriend, that’s a big transition, I’m just adjusting” and while both of these are true, when I took a hard look it just felt like good ol’ depression.
This isn’t a new experience for me. I pass through here about once or twice a year. And truthfully, I’m starting to emerge.
In this blue fog my inner critic has been particularly harsh when it comes to blogging.
“Don’t even bother, someone else is saying better right now.” it cried.
“Unless you have some earth shattering lesson that will change someone’s life, don’t invade people’s inboxes.” it warned.
I’ve also been so drawn to writings that speak to the mundane rather than the transcendent. I’ve been devouring poems like this one by Martha Postlewaite, entitled “Clearing”:
Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worth of rescue.
I’m simply in love these days with embracing and savoring our smallness as humans. Not that we’re not also big and powerful, but sometimes in reaching for the stars we miss what’s bright and radiant right here. We miss the miracle of stretch denim, and homemade granola gifted by a friend. We miss the one person we helped because we’re reaching for mass impact. We miss the blast-from-the-past radio tune while scanning for the next big hit. We miss the thank you whispered by house plants we’ve kept alive all these years, markers of dark times we walked through in no small part because of a stop to the local garden nursery in search of friend.
All this is to say that my gaze feels focused on the ten feet in front of me and those right around me. This is just fine and if you feel the same, that’s okay.
A lot of what I’ve been finding in these most immediate and everyday moments is oxygen. When you’re blue oxygen can be hard to come by. Your breath is shallow and the windows drawn shut. It’s not a recipe for vitality. So I’ve been seeking, and finding oxygen.
I’ve found it in the meditation of sewing.
Making something with your hands is a natural bypass around the blue fog.
I’ve found it in the rhythm (“stroke, stroke, breath, stroke, stroke, breath”) of lap swimming.
Moving our body moves us up and out of whatever we’re entrenched in.
I’ve found it in aimless coffee shop dates with friends where we talk about spiritual awakening and our love for IKEA in the same minute.
We’re wired for connection, not isolation.
I’ve found it in reading fiction, something I’m not oft to do…
and in fact it is in doing things not in well-worn grooves that has helped to bring me back to life.
I’ve found it in telling the truth. There’s such an exhale in just saying what’s true without apology or qualifiers.
What is, just is, and honoring that is oxygen-rich.
and, as always, I’ve found it in being extraordinarily compassionate with myself. Nothing sucks the oxygen out of the room like self-judgment. And self-compassion, if practiced, after a while, is not so hard. I know that you, over there, are struggling and thriving in your own way so I’m in good company.
My invitation to you today is to find your oxygen. I’m finding mine and it’s making all the difference.