Like most children, I grew up in a world where weight mattered.  My mother was self-conscious about her weight, and how much weight others had gained or lost was always a ripe topic of discussion.

As a teenager I believed that if I weighed less I'd be loved more.  I knew that the only reason I wasn't as popular as I wished was because I wasn't slender.  I was built like a farm girl: strong and square. 

My belief that my body was responsible for all my social inadequacies didn't inspire me to change anything about how I ate, however.  I still baked batches of warm chocolate chip cookies, drank chocolate milk, and ate appreciatively of my mother's homemade bread drizzled with butter. 

Sally Tisdale's book The Best Thing I Ever Tasted: The Secret of Food discusses how deeply food is engrained in our personal histories.  The foods we were nourished with as a child become an indelible part of our psyche, evoking tastes, scents, and cravings long into adulthoood.

Yet sadly, for so many women, eating is no longer about nourishment.  It has become a secret, dirty pleasure.

When I was a teenager, I put up with my shameful body because I believed that I had no control over my desire to eat.  I tried diets from women's magazines but abandoned them when cold cabbage soup couldn't assuage my emotional hunger.  I despised myself as weak when I reached for cookies for breakfast.  I truly felt that my weight was a red flag to the world, signalling a weak will.

These attitudes were not unique to my teenage self.  They are common in the cult of beauty.  The feelings of shame and guilt about having a body that doesn't reflect our innermost dream about who we are can be torturous and lead us to feel like we are two people: the one who squeezes into ugly clothing, and the one we are in our dreams.

That is why is angers me so much when people (mainly men) tell me, "Overweight people are that way because they choose it.  It's a simple equation: what you gain is what you eat minus what you burn."

Weight is emotional.  The heft of our body can weigh our hearts down.  Images of stick-thin models encourage us to believe that burning away all fat will lighten our spirits until we blissfully drift away.  Our desire for food is heavily influenced by whether we are happy or sad, content or stressed.  Food is our friend and enemy, filling us with the loving remembrance of childhood pleasures and the corresponding guilt of indulgence.

It is tragic how deeply our body image affects our sense of ourselves as sexual creatures.  We've been led to believe that we cannot be attractive or sexy unless we have a certain body type.

Some of us, like myself, were even taught to believe that whether or not people like us is based on our appearance.  Every time a guy we like rejects us, every time we don't get noticed, every time a relationship breaks up, it is tempting to blame it on our bodies.

"If I were more beautiful, he'd still be in love with me.  If I were more beautiful, I'd have men falling over their feet to be with me.  If I were more beautiful, I'd be happier."

Wrong.  This might only be true if we replaced the "If I were more beautiful…" with "If only I loved myself more…"

I have learned to live comfortably and happily in my body no matter what my shape and size, but I know that I will never escape the cultural mandate that punishes women for volputuous, sensuous, natural bodies.

Today, years removed from the chunky figure of my teenage years, I am embarrassed to admit that I am still proud of myself when I lose a few pounds.  The lower number on the scale is like a pat on the back.  In the back of my mind I imagine my mother telling me, "You've done well."

As women, we owe it to one another to stop perpetuating the cult of weight.  What would happen if we all stopped criticizing others for their weight?  Stopped complimenting friends for having lost a few pounds?  Stopped obsessing over dress sizes and diets?  Started enjoying good food, good living, and the wonderful bodies that make it all possible?

I think that the world would be a better place. 🙂 

Last Saturday, I went to a birthday party for a friend.  It was in a lovely house in a quiet cul-de-sac in the outermost suburb, the sort of peaceful environment that you'd imagine full of kids and dogs, wine and dinner parties, healthy living and marital bliss.

As the guests arrived, I stood and shook hands, realizing that I was woefully underdressed in a tight pink tee and biker jacket.  I'd expected the party to be about jeans and t-shirts, but instead it was all slacks and conservatively cut skirts.  I sipped my red wine and convinced myself that the difference meant I was cool.

My friend's brother was there with his new wife.  I'd met him briefly a few months ago.  He wore spectacles and a goatee that seemed at odds with his effeminate blond hair.  He was skinny and wore rumpled clothes, as if his mother still dressed him.

His new wife was lovely.  She was in her early twenties with brown hair streaked with blond highlights.  She wore a camel skirt with a brown cardigan, soft and expensively cut.  If I hadn't known what she did, I would have taken her for an office administrator from her efficient manner, prim horn-rimmed glasses, and lingering perfume of command.

She sat herself properly on the floor by her brother-in-law and addressed herself to me.  "You're from the United States?"

"Yes," I said.

"I'm going there next fall."  It was a statement, the emphasis falling perceptibly on the I.

I knew what she wanted me to ask next.  I complied politely.  "Where are you going?"

"Chicago.  I have familiy there.  Then we're going to Prince Albert Island in Canada."

In every statement she spoke, she stressed the I and the we.  I was supposed to be impressed, I knew.  She then spent the next fifteen minutes telling me everything they were going to do.  It was all about her and her family and the epic nature of the journey.

After she went to the kitchen to pour herself a drink, my escort (who'd never met any of these people before) turned to me and whispered, "Do you like her?"

I shook my head wordlessly.

Have you met people like that before?  People who are so afraid that you won't notice them that they have to insert themselves into every conversation?

She wasn't consciously being rude.  There was a lot more going on behind the surface.

She was a woman with a fear of being invisible.  Unless she made sure that people noticed her, she feared that no one would pay any attention to her.  And that fear was kept well-fed by her partner, who kept shushing her when she was talking or telling her to sit down when she was dancing, telling her that she was making a fool of herself.

Before they got married, her partner gave her a Valentine's Day card that said,

You may think you're fat and ugly,
but I love you anyway.

She didn't take offense, or if she did she merely accepted it.

Because her partner didn't accept her, didn't see her, and didn't listen to her, she reached out in the only way she knew.  She became the person who always makes every conversation about herself, who speaks a little too loud and a little too shrill, and who displays no genuine interest in other people.

Unless you get the love you need at home, you take that need into all your social encounters.  She was crying out to be noticed, and not even her own husband noticed her.  He rarely gave her physical comfort or the benefit of his full, undivided attention.  To him she was the child.  So, like a child, she grew used to making a scene until someone noticed her discomfort.

I know so many women in a similar situation.  Some women deal with their invisibility better than others.  Others simply accept what their husbands tell them and fade away.  Luckily for her, she was fighting back, even though her tools were less than adequate.

We all deserve to be noticed without having to fight for attention.

Last weekend, my colleague Andrew (co-author of Save My Marriage Today!) and I had a fabulous night out at a local hotspot, the Mexican Cafe.  We were attending a mutual friend's birthday party, and we got into the Mexican spirit by trying on some hats.

Sometimes it is great to simply act silly and make fun of oneself!  Especially when there's a digital camera around.

I just got my first digital camera five months ago.  Before then, I'd always envied my friends who could whip out their cameras and take a photo at any opportunity.  I was using my film camera less and less as the hassle of dealing with finishing off rolls and taking them in to be developed became too much.  Because I travel often, digital cameras are ideal: digital photos take up no space and can be shared with as many friends as I like.

One lovely woman I know periodically sends inspiring and informative emails to her group of friends, keeping in touch with words and a picture.  At the bottom of her emails, she attaches a picture of herself, usually taken at one of the many events she attends.  Even though she lives across the world, seeing her picture along with her email makes me feel more connected to her.

I've noticed the same phenomenon in internet dating.  Profiles with a picture get many more responses than profiles without a picture.  As the initial emails go back and forth, the profile picture ends up standing in for the real person. When we eventually meet up, if the guy doesn't look exactly like his profile photo (and few do), there's some hesitation and feeling at a loss … even if he's better looking!

Pictures create connections.  I've heard of men who take a digital camera along to all of their dates.  They'll whip out a camera and ask their date to pose with them for a picture.  The act of having one's picture taken with someone else creates a bond.  After the date, these men will email the photos to their date, thanking them for a good time.  If they're lucky, their dates will associate the pictures with a positive experience, one that they'd like to repeat.

Yet pictures aren't all fun and lightness.  The degree of comfort you feel with your picture being taken is a good indication of your degree of body love.  Something about mugging for the camera brings out all of our feelings about our bodies.  Those of us who are embarrassed or uncomfortable about our appearance in some way often shy from the camera, never realizing that the point isn't to take a good photo: it's to simply be in the photo with our friends.  Someday that photo will become an irreplaceable memory.

So take all the pictures you can, while you can, and forget about whether you look silly or are smiling too wide.  Be as unselfconscious as you can, remembering all the time that every click of the camera preserves a memory to be cherished.

This weekend, I went to a "singles mingle" at a local bar known as The Grumpy Mole.  Now, the Grumpy Mole is notorious for being a meat market. It's decorated in a Wild West theme, with a stage at the far end that had played host to nude hot tub parties during the biggest singles bashes of the previous year.

This night, however, word about the "singles mingle" must not have gotten out. Despite being nearly midnight, the bar wasn't happening yet. The men and women milling about were older than the usual late teens/early twenties crowd that usually occupied the place. They nursed drinks, hunched their shoulders, and lifted their heads only to see who else was there.

I'm not sure whether it is the city or the culture, but slumping seems to be a national pasttime. I glanced across the bar and saw no one holding their body proudly. Heads were bent down. Shoulders were rounded. People kept their arms close to their sides. No one looked excited. Everyone looked, well, embarrassed to be there.

I noticed one girl in particular. She was wearing black hot pants and a wrap-around bra. Though she had a curvy figures, she held her drink closely to her chest and hunched her shoulders. With an outfit like that, she should have been displaying her curves with a chest-up bottom-out "look at me" stance. Instead, she simply looked uncomfortable and hopeful.

Conclusion? Keep your spine straight, throw your shoulders back, and look up for the world to see. Look at the mirror. Do you have a proud body? Don't keep your elbows close to your sides; let them relax. Gesture animatedly. Keep your head up.

Be the girl that men can tell at an instant has confidence in herself and loves who she is.