The Sober Widow

Chapter 22

Over the summer I took a psychology course at Southern New Hampshire University (SNHU). It was a lot more work than I counted on, but I enjoyed it immensely. I never took it in college all those years ago, and I always wanted to, so I figured, “what the heck.”

As the course progressed, our discussion subjects grew more challenging. During one of the final weeks, we were tasked with taking on a “hot button” topic. There were many of them, categorized by the following areas: Social Justice, Sustainability, Technology and Wellness. I scanned them all to choose what I wanted to explore when, in the Wellness category, I spotted “Childhood Obesity.”

This is a topic that has affected me greatly. I titled my discussion post “I Was a Chubby Kid,” and I got more comments on it than any other post I had written. And it’s true – while I wouldn’t say I was obese as a child, I definitely had a weight problem, and it’s something I’ve struggled with my whole life. I think I’ve tried every diet that’s ever existed, from Weight Watchers, to Jenny Craig, to low carb, you name it. Of course, everything works if you follow it to the letter, but eventually my love of food won out.

My mom was a phenomenal cook. She learned from her mother, also terrific. And we are Italian, so food was life. Since it tasted so good, you ate until you were uncomfortably full. We were a close-knit family on both sides so there were many occasions where good food was all around. My brother is athletic and was always playing sports and being active. Me – not so much. I love books, I loved school and I am as non-athletic as you can get, so I didn’t burn calories the way he did. He never had a weight problem, and he ate far more than I did!

In writing my assignment, I thought a lot about the psychology themes we’ve studied, and I decided that for me and probably many others, we eat not just to sustain our bodies but to satisfy something inside us. Do I eat when I’m not hungry? Of course. Sometimes it’s boredom, and sometimes I’ve just had a bad day, and I need comfort food to make me feel better. The solution, for me, is to substitute something else for food. Easier said than done.

The Center for Disease Control states that from 2017 to 2020, in a study of children ages 2-19, 19.7% were classified as obese. In 2025, 32% of adults are classified as obese. 32%! The fast-food industry has certainly contributed to that, coupled with so many people working long hours who just don’t have time or interest in cooking for a family (or, let’s face it, if you live alone, who wants to cook a meal for one?). But being fat is more than just being unhealthy. It’s still somewhat of a social stigma. The focus on body shaming is a big step in the right direction, but society has a long way to go in that regard. The ever-present advertising, movies, modeling photos, television, social media, ad nauseum reflect society’s love affair with a thin body.

When you’re a kid and bullies make fun of how you look, it affects your self-esteem. And feeling bad about yourself often leads to deeper mental health issues that are lifelong. I was lucky that I’ve always had a good sense of humor, and I can laugh at myself. When I was 12, things started turning around for me. There was a moment in the playground when a particularly mean boy made a joke about me. I actually thought it was funny, and I laughed! He didn’t know what to do about that, and he didn’t make fun of me quite so often afterward.

My grandmother used to babysit me when I was little, and she often gave me cookies, candy and other treats as rewards and incentives. I wish I could go back in time and whisper in her ear to read to me, or put together a puzzle with me, or even just take me for a walk instead of giving me all that food. Although there were plenty of other opportunities to eat to excess in my family, those small changes may have made a difference – who knows?

Let’s talk about our bodies in general, for just a minute. I used to hate my body because it was fat and I didn’t look like I wanted to look (and like society wanted me to look). I honestly believed that there was something wrong with me, and I couldn’t find compassion for myself. I never subscribed to the idea that you can be fat and happy. I just didn’t see how that was possible.

I still struggle with that thought process. For one thing, it’s usually unhealthy to be morbidly obese, or extremely overweight. I have since learned that you can be overweight and healthy; in fact, I know a woman who can walk circles around me and is generally very fit. She just has about 50 extra pounds on her. But I would bet anything that at least 10 of those pounds are pure muscle.

How do I feel about my body now? Well, I would love to take off a few pounds, but I at this time in my life, I am kind to my body, and I can honestly say that I love it. This body has been through hell and back. It survived a double transplant. It recovered and is better than ever. I treat it much better than I ever have. I make sure to eat a healthy diet (okay, there are cookies in my pantry right now, but I swear I do not have one every day, only occasionally). I take my prescribed medication religiously. I go to Pilates at least five to six times a week. And I’m so much stronger than I was. Although I have a crooked spine (and I have the X-rays to prove it) and tears in both rotator cuffs, the Pilates workouts have done an amazing job at helping me to strengthen the muscles around these injuries in order to treat them properly. My body has come through for me, and I intend to love it well into old age if I am so lucky.

I’m still a work in progress but I’m doing my best to accept myself, flaws and all, and keep the focus on health as opposed to what the mirror and scale have to say. But boy, it’s hard. I have some clothes that are just a smidge too small and I’ll be damned if I’m going to donate them! Fingers crossed.