Lost in Dis-order

Moments like this are rare, far and few between when I find the courage to talk about what it really means to be me. Not what it means to be a mother, sister, daughter, and wife but just me. Living in my skin, walking day to day and finding the strength to view the past and then let go. That's what this post is about. Today, I openly share what I've only hinted at in the past.

Some of you may or may not know of my aversion to cameras and mirrors. I've watched as it's been confusing and difficult for family and friends to understand my blatant refusal to be photographed in recent years. I watch with envy as others without hesitation stand in a group photo or even a snapshot of a moment. My worst enemy has been my mirror. I approach it every day with trepidation wondering what horrors it will show me.

My friends and loved ones insist that I'm beautiful. To that I can only say, humbly, thank you. Forgive me if I don't believe you..

The truth is...I don't know what you see. Ever since I can remember I've had difficulty with seeing photos of myself or looking in the mirror. Literally...what you see, I do not see. I see someone whose features are twisted like that of a mirror in a fun house and someone who weighs over 300 pounds. The frightening thing is, I've had no accidents or incidents to cause disfigurement and I don't weigh anything close to the images in my mind. In recent years the more anxious and difficult my life is, the worse it gets.

For me each day begins with a game not dis-similar to Russian Roulette. What will Kim see today?

Will I notice my post-menopausal tummy or will I see someone who is slimming down...slowly but surely? When I look in my bathroom mirror will I notice the hyper-pigmentation spots on my right cheek and the enlarged pores on my nose or I will I notice the rich brown color of my eyes and the naturally graceful curve of my eyebrows? How about the roots of my hair? Is my hair getting thinner? How bad are the fine lines forming around my eyes? Do my ears and nose stick out today as overly large or will I see them as my husband does? Do my teeth slope inward too much? Are they too yellow? Where's my whitener? Will I smile and think how my face lights up when I do or will I think it makes my cheeks look too fat? Are my lips receding as I get older? Are my clothes doing their job of hiding my excess weight and if so, are they frumpy? Why do I have to have such muscular legs? Why can't I have bigger hips and a smaller waist? What's happening to my bust? Does my bra show? Are my breasts too big or too small? Was the breast reduction enough? Do I need to have implants to keep them perky? Do I feel acceptable enough to attend that activity with friends or family tonight? Will they hate me because I'm fat? Will I be listened to or dismissed because they are all thin and I'm not? Throughout the day I constantly check my hips and stomach and the padding under my arms to see if they are smaller or bigger that day. And there are times when I don't have the nerve to face the world and tumble into anxiety or panic attacks when forced to attend events I feel insecure about.

Welcome to Body Dismorphic Disorder. You may have heard of it. It's the same disorder that Michael Jackson suffered from. As my son explained to me, it goes along a spectrum. From mild to severe. I'm fortunate that it isn't anywhere near as severe as Michael Jackson. It's probably a good thing I loathe and fear surgery. However, in 1997 and 1999 I did elect to have two procedures to correct what I felt were hideous defects in my appearance (Upper eyelids tucked and a breast reduction).

I wish I could tell you this started back in 1989 when I was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa. Or when I was diagnosed in 1999 with Anorexia Athletica but I've come to understand that it started back when I was 8 years old.

The day it began is forever burned in my memory. I was at the pool with my father, step-mother, and two brothers. My father kept repeating to me how I was chubby. He poked fun at me repeatedly. In fairness I remember my step-mother scolding him but that didn't stop him. Every time he came to visit or each summer vacation when I went to visit him, he would harp on me about my weight. For his obsessive behavior, you'd think I actually was a chubby little girl, adolescent and teen. I wasn't. Please indulge me while I show you some photographs. (I couldn't find the swimming pool one, I swear I had one but the first photos I could find start at age 10. (to the left, I was so proud)

His words were so powerful and it allowed my brothers to do what most brothers do and that was to torment me and reinforce his neurosis by calling me fatty the entire time I grew up.

And so....I tumbled into the abyss, lost in my father's obsession.



At age 12, I was already 5'3" tall, had measurements of 34-24-34, I wore a B size cup and I weighed, (wait for it, it's shocking) a whopping 105 pounds! According to a doctor's chart I was 10 pounds underweight. Do you think my father could see that? No. He lectured me on how I wore the same size clothing as my step-mother, who at the time weighed 115 pounds. He reasoned that I was only 12 and not allowed to have matured so quickly, therefore, I was fat.

It didn't help that my "best friends" had fathers and brothers who made remarks about their prematurely developed friend. One father complained when my friend got her first bra saying she might as well use a band-aid for her mosquito-bite sized breasts and how she wasn't as developed as I was. In defense my friends resorted to mocking and viciousness, claiming they'd have boobs too if they were fat like me. In my seventh grade photo to the right, do I look fat to you? Yeah, I don't think so either. Not NOW anyway.

So ya gotta love photos from the 1970's right. They fade to pink! in the photo below, I'm 13 years old and according to my father, chubby. In the one to the left, I'm 14, don't ask me how much I weighed, I didn't care.The summer I turned 15, I arrived in New York to spend a month with my father and was immediately put on a diet. I had stretched to 5"5 and I weighed in at 144 pounds. "You're obese." he said. "Look at your arms, they are as big as one of my thighs." My weight was posted on the refrigeratortor for everyone to see and I was forced to weigh in front of him every morning. At night when the family was having dessert, when I'd ask if I could have some too, I'd be told, "No, you can't have any because you are fat." I dropped to 124 pounds over two months and when I left to go home to South Dakota his parting words to me were, "Don't forget, you still have to lose another 9 pounds."

Every phone call from then on started out with, "Hi, How are you? How's your weight?" By my junior year in high school whenever my mother said my dad was on the phone, I'd break out into a sweat and get sick to my stomach waiting for it to be my turn to talk with him. The photo on the left is my 10th grade school picture and the one to the right is my 11th grade year. By the 11th grade year I'd rose to an unacceptable weight of 136 pounds and I stayed there through my senior year. At 5.5" tall, I'd say that's pretty damn good.

But tell that to a 17 year old girl who is facing the world with her father's words echoing in her mind, "You're fat, you'll always be fat."

Did they really think that reverse psychology was such a great thing back in those days? Isn't that just mean and manipulative?

Where my father left off at, my first husband picked up, complaining about my 148 pounds (5'5.5") on our wedding day. He repeated to me, my father's words upon seeing our wedding photos that day. "You're so beautiful, if you just lost another 25 pounds, you'd be Hollywood beautiful."

Pardon me while the 53 year old in me gapes at the photo of me on the right (with my mom who looked fabulous, btw) and say, "Excuse me, mr-exhusband, but Hollywood has NOTHING on that 25 year old bride. Then again, at the time, when I saw my wedding photos I cried, thinking I looked like obese.

Okay so now you've seen the evidence that I wasn't fat growing up. And yes, that' s me in the photo at the beginning. (taken in 2004 when I weighed roughly 210 pounds) I hid from that photo thinking I was so hideous and today all I can think of is how beautifully done my hair was and what a light I had about me.

If by now you are wondering what this post is all about, let me help you by spelling it out now. This is my way of telling the Kim that is me NOW, that what I see in these photos, the beautiful child and beautiful woman, she exists today. She's right here. I don't have to be lost in the past or let my disorder rule the day. I can wrestle those demons into silence and remember, that no one is perfect. And that's really okay.

I told a friend today, "You are not a number" and I went on to list all of her admirable traits. I think it's about time that I let go of the past, give myself the same encouragement I gave her, while recognizing that my father wasn't perfect. He had his own demons to slay and he just didn't know any better.

But to you, reading this today, I ask you, what part does body image play in your life? Does it affect you to the extent that it does me? Are you passing this on to your children, spouse, siblings, parents or friends? Please examine not only your self talk but how you talk to your children and grandchildren. Point out their strengths don't pick at them. Keep in mind that being thin might be genetically easier for you. Don't judge them. If you are concerned about their physical well-being, go do something that's a fun physical activity with them.  Lead by example.

As for me, I'm free now. I know that I can be what I want to be. As Oprah said in one of her life classes, "When you know better, you do better." I know better. I'm doing better.

Does this mean I'll make an appearance in photos any time soon? Maybe. But on my terms. When I am ready. I'm getting there.

If you get a chance, I'd like you to stop by a site. Miss Representation. The world is upside down and it's hardly news that many of us suffer from Body Dismorphic Disorder in our own ways. Look at what the media and Hollywood portrait. Please join me in a pledge today that you will begin to see this as a serious issue. Do something about it. Let your voice count. Start with you and your family. When we break the cycle of abuse, whether self-inflicted or inflicted by organizations or others, we create a new world for those who come after us. It's worth it!