Thin and in Control

It seems odd to think about it now, given my rocky relationship with food over the past five years, but at one time, I was known for being particularly thin. People told me to eat more—when they weren’t praising my asceticism, of course. Women sighed bitterly whenever I ate anything more nourishing than a celery stick. Everyone around me seemed to vacillate between worrying about my health and telling me I looked amazing. My then-boyfriend ran his hand over my ribs, marvelling (worrying?) that he could count them without effort.
Throughout my time in university, as I grew steadily thinner, I fielded a befuddling mixture of genuine concern and envy-tinged adulation. And time after time, I was asked just how I did it. I wasn’t a faithful gym-goer, nor a diligent meal planner; and, as my family members lamented, my genetics weren’t favourable enough to make thinness a given. How on earth was I pulling this off, with my careless diet and nonexistent fitness regimen?
I met these questions with vague references to “being careful” and “trying to be disciplined.” I went no further, and nobody questioned me because, as research has shown us, thin people are assumed to be more competent and more disciplined than people of size. It didn’t add up, and there was nothing about my life to envy or emulate, but even those who knew me well perceived me as deserving of my slender shape. I didn’t work especially hard to disabuse them of that notion.
Meanwhile, my ‘secret’ to long-lasting slimness was a good deal less glamourous, and far less controlled, than you might imagine. The short version is this: I have chronic illness, severe stress, and disability-related isolation to thank for my thinness, and nothing more. One need not run marathons, nor fast for days, nor down diet pills to get skinny. One need only be too sick to eat, too stressed to care, and too isolated to ask for help.
Not magazine-worthy, I know. Harsh truths rarely are.
As I’m sure you’ll agree, it would have been painfully awkward to divulge the desperation behind the scale’s gratifying announcements that I was 125, 120, 115 pounds. It would have been unspeakably strange if I’d admitted that if you want to follow in my footsteps, it will involve a lot of migraines and exhaustion and terrible orientation and mobility skills that keep you from buying your own groceries. It would have been a real buzzkill if I’d said, point blank, “I stay thin because I throw up a lot from the horrible headaches I get three times a week, and I’m too depressed to eat anyway.” Weird, right? Not appropriate lecture hall chatter, and awfully distressing for the poor soul who just wanted to say something nice.
So, people figured I was very good at health management. I let them go on thinking that, even as I waited too many weeks between grocery runs because my blindness skills were atrocious and I couldn’t find the nearest store; even as the migraines got so bad I started having blackouts; even as I lost so much weight it stopped being sexy and started being worrisome.
The alarming thing is, even those who knew something of what was happening to me didn’t probe much, because thin people are in control. Thin people are healthy. Thin people have got this.
Depression had killed my appetite, and migraines had knocked it even further off balance. But my jeans fit like a glove, so all looked well.
As I write, I can say with confidence that I am the healthiest I’ve ever been, even though I’m carrying several more pounds than I did then. My migraines are much less frequent, and they no longer come bundled with stroke symptoms and paralyzing fear. I’m eating regularly and for the most part, nutritiously—no more living on crackers for a week and a half (yes, that’s literal). My mental health is reasonably well-managed, I’m strong enough to work out regularly, and I’m as functional as I’ve ever been.
These days, more or less, I am in control. I am healthy. I am disciplined. I’m not quite so thin anymore, but I’ve got this.
So next time you’re tempted to ask someone how they do it, spare a thought for what might lurk behind that pleasing body shape. It may be good genetics or solid habits, but it also might be a whole lot of misery they’re not ready to talk about.
And next time you’re tempted to work toward being smaller, taking up less space, ask yourself: Will I be healthier? Happier? Stronger? More in control?
In Sara Groves’ Finite, one of the best songs out there about human insecurity, she encapsulates the treadmill-like futility of fighting to stay “younger, thin and in control.” She wonders “where the peace went?”
From what little I’ve known of the journey toward a healthier life, that peace doesn’t come from your scale or tape measure or your friends’ envious validation.
Take it from someone who has been small, and lived small, too: Whatever your size, it comes from eating well, moving when you can, and never being too afraid to ask for help.
You are finite. You are exhaustible. And there’s a lot of peace in that.

Disruption, Script-Flipping, and the Art of Carrying on

While riding the elevator this morning, a stranger paid me the kind of compliment that normally sets off alarm bells.

“You seem so independent,” he chirped, pushing the elevator button for me as he did so. (The irony, my God the irony.)

“Well, I’m used to being blind, so it’s no big.”

“But you seem like someone who doesn’t blame the world for your problems, you know?”

“I mean … I just sort of get on and do, right? That’s all you can do.”

“Exactly! See, not everyone gets on and does. You’re choosing to do it. I’m telling you, you’re a ray of sunshine.”

I did my usual smile and nod thing, internally preparing myself for the usual inspiration porn doom spiral. The script, well-rehearsed by now, goes something like this:

I’m not inspiring. There’s nothing praiseworthy about living my little life. People think I’m impressive but I’m not. I am reduced to their daily hit of inspiration. They’ll never really see me. I’ll never get past this. Bring me my saddest violin. Life’s but a walking shadow. Et cetera et cetera.

This time, for reasons I don’t yet understand, a different script presented itself: What if he was right?

Not precisely in the way he intended, of course. In the immortal words of so many of my visually impaired friends, ‘blindness is whatever.’ (We’re an eloquent bunch.) But could I, just this once, flip the script? Could I worry less about feeling guilty because I don’t educate every single person I meet? Could I be praiseworthy for “getting on and doing” for reasons other than my most prominent disability?

A mere hour before this interaction, I was talking myself out of bed. My tension pain was flaring up. My recently-healed back injury had left a grumpy ghost behind, always most irritating in the mornings. My depression was pressing down more heavily than usual, insisting that my very happy life was actually not happy at all. I was dealing with a longstanding accessibility issue at work, and I didn’t want to confront it today.

And I ignored all those reasons to stay down. Not such a grandiose achievement, nothing cinematic, but still: I carried on and did what needed done, independently, because that’s what I do.

Maybe my resolve, my tired but determined air, was visible to this kind stranger, even if he attributed it to the wrong struggles.

So, was I allowed to interpret his compliment in a way that made more sense to me? Is flipping the script, disrupting those nasty doom spirals, a legitimate way to deal with those moments where education just doesn’t fit? Do I ask myself way too many questions?

I’m gonna say yes. For the sake of my sanity, my energy, and my need to take a break sometimes: Yes!

Here’s to the noble art of letting the little things go.

Here’s to living as the person you are, not the one you think you ought to be.

Here’s to life being so much more than an endless parade of teachable moments, not all of which you can possibly be expected to seize.

Here’s to chilling out and, every now and then, taking that problematic compliment—because guess what?

You’re tired. I’m tired. You’re doing cool things despite the obstacles, and so am I.

So, by all means flip the script when you can. It’s good for the soul.

Staying Sane In A Culture Of Outrage

Unless you’ve been living off the grid for the past year or so (and if you have, congratulations, you’re not really missing much), you’ve been inundated with rage-fuel from just about every imaginable quarter, at least on the internet. The tumultuous American election, the unrest in Europe, the conflicts in the Middle East—these have all snowballed to create feelings of despair and near-constant outrage. Sustaining these feelings for any length of time is mentally taxing, and I’ve seen this struggle in the disability community and, of course, in myself.
Shouldering my personal mental health issues has spurred me to devise strategies for staying sane in these troubled times. While everyone on and offline will have, I hope, found their own effective coping mechanisms, I thought it might be prudent to share some of my own. My goal is to help others, including those without disabilities, safeguard their sanity while continuing to be present online. It’s all very well to fight on the front lines, but we must remember to look after our well-being, no matter how guilty it makes us feel to do so. We’re no good to anyone or anything unless we care for ourselves, first and foremost.

Learn to Sit Down

If you’ve spoken about any issue on the internet, you’ve probably been told to “sit the f**k down” a time or two. It can be discouraging when people demand your silence, particularly if they claim to speak for and represent you, but they have a point.
One of the first things I had to accept when I worried for my mental health was that sometimes, I had to put down my torch and acknowledge that not every battle is mine to fight. I cannot possibly join every crusade, champion every cause, or address every issue, in the disability community and elsewhere. I’ve found that sticking to the conflicts that affect me most directly is the best way to ensure that my voice is heard and my views are based on accurate information and experience. There is no point getting involved in a dispute I know nothing about, and once I recognized this, my life got a whole lot calmer.
In addition to preserving my sanity, this tactic meant I didn’t inadvertently misrepresent or harm anyone else, whose opinions are much more valid than my own. What right have I to speak on behalf of those with autism? Wheelchair users? Those who are deaf and hard of hearing? None whatsoever, I’d say. I’m free to discuss their general rights as disabled human beings, but my personal experience is totally irrelevant in most cases. I’d be annoyed if someone with little or no experience with visual impairment presumed to override my needs, and I imagine others in the community feel the same way.
So, learn to sit down once in a while. It’s worth it, I promise.

Know your limits

The next thing I learned was that my capacity for absorbing rage-fuel is finite. You may have discovered the same. While some of us grow numb to it all, developing armour and forging ahead, others of us need mental health breaks. Stepping away from social media can be therapeutic in the extreme. More than once over the past year, I’ve had to unplug temporarily, just so I could function normally and live my offline life.
Here are some signs to watch for if you think you might need some time away:
• Your heart races at the very thought of reading yet another inflammatory article or Facebook post, but you can’t seem to stop clicking on them.
• You find yourself jumping into strangers’ conversations at the smallest offence, determined to set them straight.
• You pick fights with friends who disagree with you, despite the fact that it achieves little and only ends in resentment or awkwardness.
• You find yourself under constant stress, especially when surfing the web.
• You’re losing sleep over the opinions of strangers, even when those strangers are ill-informed and unworthy of your time or energy.
• You’re unable to concentrate on your job, your relationships, and other infinitely more important parts of your life.
If you’re encountering any of these issues, back away, at least for a few days. Your energy is precious, and if you’re anything like me, you can’t afford to waste spoons on fruitless anger. I can just about guarantee you’ll return to the fray feeling more tranquil, and the energy you do expend on the things you care about will yield better results. Try it.

Be Open to Changing Your Mind

Personal growth is underrated in this polarized landscape. If you’re on the left, you’re expected to stay there under all circumstances. If you’re on the right, the same is expected of you. No matter where you fall on the spectrum, people demand that you pick a side and remain there. Nuance is so often abandoned in favour of toeing the party line, and this can be enormously stressful.
Remember that your principles, while they’re admirable, are allowed to evolve over time. If you receive new information that proves you’re wrong about something, be at peace with changing your perspective and your position. You may consider some beliefs to be inviolate, I know I do, but flexibility is its own reward. Keeping your mind open—but not too open, you don’t want to be swayed by every breeze—is vital to your growth and development. My own views have shifted over the years, which is reflected in my blog, but I’m not ashamed of it. All it means is that I’m capable of adapting to what life teaches me.
If communities as a whole, and individuals in particular, are totally closed to change, they won’t survive for long.
Don’t let anyone accuse you of betrayal or flip-flopping. Adjusting your beliefs and values according to new information you gather is normal and healthy. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

You Owe Nothing to Anyone

Finally, keep this close to your heart: you do not owe anyone anything. You are not duty-bound to educate. No one should try to force you to act on any given cause. Respecting your limits and beliefs should be your highest priority. It’s worthwhile to advocate, and I prefer that people choose the path to education if they insist that nondisabled people behave properly around them, but you should never feel as though you have to treat every situation as a teachable moment. If you try, you’ll find yourself exhausted and frustrated. You might even snap one day and bite some innocent person’s head off. This has happened to me, and I recognized it as a signal that I could not be a perfect educator at all times. On days when I just don’t have it in me, I need to go about my business and forget about perceived duties to my community.
Furthermore, you don’t owe anyone a debate or an explanation. If someone seeks an argument with you, by all means engage them, but end the conversation once you’ve had enough. There are many resources out there. Point them toward those and withdraw before you become unduly upset. Let no one tell you what you owe them.


I hope these tips will help you. If you can, please pass them along to anyone you know who might be staggering under the weight of all they are reading and sharing. Tempting as it may be to steep ourselves in this culture of outrage, we must learn to practice self-care and cultivate self-awareness. Only then can we find balance.
Good luck in all your noble endeavours. Do me one favour though, and rest now and again.