Ain’t that a shame

Main Entry: shame
Pronunciation: ‘shAm
Function: noun

1 a : a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety
b : the susceptibility to such emotion
2 : a condition of humiliating disgrace or disrepute : IGNOMINY
3 a : something that brings censure or reproach; also : something to be regretted

Shame is a word that women of my generation have a good handle on. We don’t need any “personal responsibility” lectures from Republicans; we’ve been taking the blame for everything from our teenagers musical preferences to the disappearance of Atlantis for decades now. We were raised to be Good Girls, spoon-fed images of Twiggy and Jackie O., and lectured on how “Good Girls Don’t” do a lot of things, whether it was cross their legs in mixed company or smoke cigarettes in public. Almost all those things had one thing in common: appearances. What would Others think and assume when they saw us? We imagined it, and were ashamed.

I tried very hard to be a Good Girl, and mostly I failed. So I embraced my Bad Girl-ness. In high school I smoked, drank tequila and hung out with long-haired boys who drove loud cars. In college, I smoked, drank tequila and played in a long-hair rock band, with guys who drove loud cars. Throughout my 20s and 3os, I smoked, drank tequila and campaigned for liberal causes with other long-haired, tequila-drinking people, and tried to keep my daughters away from boys who drove loud cars. I welcomed my 40s with a shot of tequila, a pack of Kools, 2 boxes of dye for my long hair, and a trip to the piercing parlor.

But through it all, I never managed to escape the last Good Girl Quest. To be Thin, or at least not being “too” fat.

Weight is the last bastion of shame. (Maybe it’s the same for men, but never having been one, I don’t know.) I never escaped the sneaking suspicion that Others were judging me by the shape of my body. Overweight conjurs up images of self-indulgence, gluttony and low character. It is taking up too much space which could be filled by someone better, more worthy; consuming too many resources that would be better spent on someone else. Take a gut check a minute–what comes to mind when you see an obsese woman on the street, holding the hands of her thin children? Her character immediately comes into question: she’s been “pigging out” at her kids’ expense. She should be ashamed of herself.

Chances are, she is. I know I am.

I’ve never had a healthy relationship with my body. In my darkest pre-medication days, the worst depressions were accompanied by anorexia. Self-loathing consumed me to the point that eating became an act of wicked theft; stealing for myself what belonged to someone more worthy of life. I couldn’t actively harm myself, but I could not force myself to eat. I would drop 30 lbs in a month as I spiralled deeper and deeper into the well. Friends would say, “Oh, you look wonderful! What’s your secret?” I could never bring myself to say, “Try wanting to die. Does it every time.” All they saw was a smaller body, thus a Good Girl. The sicker I was, the more positive reinforcement my self-punishment received. When I finally got help in my mid-30s, my weight stablized at high normal. I dealt with that and moved on.

As most of you know, I’ve been on the medical merry-go-round since last May, trying to get settled again on new mood medications. I’m in a period of blessed stability on the current crop, but the trade-off for losing the destructive impulses that made me self-medicate with tequila and cigarettes has been 20 lbs. I have the figure of a “glowingly pregnant” woman six months gone. And what I feel is a gut-wrenching shame. Not simple embarassment, but “a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety,” true to the definition. I’m not just fat, but a Bad Person again.

Last night I sat here crying, contemplating throwing out all the meds and take my chances with craziness. Anything had to be better than looking and feeling like this. Today I’m a little more rational on the subject, I hope. At least for now. But I think it’s good practice to stop and take a second look at how we judge others — and more importantly, how we judge ourselves.

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