Fat Chance. Deborah BlumenthalЧитать онлайн книгу.
love with doesn’t call. But then it struck me that there was another option. I could triumph over that meaningless rectangle of steel that I had inveighed with so much of my self-worth by ignoring it and taking back charge of my life. Instead of wallowing in embarrassment and self-hatred, I would take my liability and flaunt it. It was time to fight back against the western world’s prejudice toward a condition that most people couldn’t change. From then on, I refused to dress like a mourner in black to look thinner. I opted for hot pink, chartreuse. I didn’t care if it had horizontal stripes and made my waistline as wide as the equator. I’d go over the top. ‘Too much of a good thing can be wonderful,’ as Mae West said. Diets were a sham, biology was destiny, so I ran with it.”
“What did you do?”
“Aside from shopping sprees in plus-size stores where things actually fit, I turned my attention to my soul. It was time to get in touch with who I really was because everything inside of me that was real and vulnerable had been buried. I started going to Overeaters Anonymous where they began each session by holding hands and saying a prayer: ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.’”
“The same prayer that AA uses,” Susie says.
“Yes. And that environment made me realize how much I needed spirituality in my life because I had become so closed off to love and meaning outside of myself. I was turning to a higher power for the love, strength and generosity that I couldn’t find in myself anymore. Until then, I was locked in a one-dimensional life that was consumed with what I weighed and ate, not who I was or could become.”
There are murmurs of agreement from the audience.
“I had lost my place in the universe. Everything in my life was out of proportion.” In the eye of the camera, it all comes back to me. The hot TV lights shine down on me like heavenly beacons there to illuminate the truth, and I’m sweating as if I’m arriving at some religious epiphany. The studio is silent.
“Night after night, I sat in a windowless basement of an East Side church where compulsive eaters shared their stories. One night a withdrawn teenager told of being afraid to fall asleep at night, staying up listening for the sound of her abusive father’s footsteps approaching her room. Strawberry ice-cream sundaes in the kitchen after school were the only thing that made her feel good, and forget his touch, at least for a while.
“A bearded man, very overweight, spoke of atrocities in Vietnam. He had nightmares of seeing the bullet that ripped through his buddy’s chest, and getting there too late to save him. Eating was his escape from the guilt he had over his own survival. Others described stultifying days filled with nursing aging, bedridden parents; facing job loss; empty existence after retirement; the death of a spouse, all tales offering pinholes of light into their intimate worlds of grief and despair. So many people felt orphaned, split off from a world where everyone else seemed to be living purposeful, fulfilling lives.
“Eating filled them all with comfort and satisfaction, but like a euphoric drug, once the high wore off, it left them more despondent than when they started. Watching these people reveal themselves helped me. So did the idea of living life one day at a time, and drawing strength from this community.”
A Clairol commercial prevents me from talking about how science writing connected me to the outside world in a more concrete, expansive way, and how the column and my like-minded thinking with Wharton later propelled me, Maggie O’Leary from Brooklyn, New York, to cult celebrity. Back in the eye of the camera I end by telling viewers:
“Eat to appetite instead of eating to extreme. I’m not saying don’t lose weight if you want to, but I think you should do it without making your life miserable and impossible and unfortunately that’s what very restrictive regimens do. And if you choose to remain at a weight that America deems ‘fat,’ well, that’s okay too if you’re okay with it because in the long run it just might be better than cycling over and over.
“What I hate to see are people subsisting on diet foods that they hate. Food is a source of pleasure, and we should enjoy it. I’m not saying that many of us don’t have terribly serious food issues—it would be disrespectful to be glib about it. There are suicide eaters out there, and they need therapy, not chocolate Kisses.”
“And, Maggie, let’s talk about your column,” Susie says. “Isn’t ‘Fat Chance’ really a rallying cry for women all over America? Isn’t it really about a lot more than the issue of fat?” As I nod, she goes on.
“Isn’t it about accepting yourself no matter what it is in life that you’re at war with? Isn’t it about giving yourself a break and loving yourself no matter what kind of pressures you perceive that society is putting on you to change, even when those changes may be biologically impossible for you?”
“That’s exactly it, Susie. Fat is something of a metaphor for pain and unhappiness in a world that appears to be filled with people who have it all. The truth is that women everywhere, no matter where they come from, no matter what they do for a living, no matter whether they’re married, or single, rich or poor, famous or utterly anonymous, have issues to deal with and things about themselves that they’d like to change. Ultimately, though, they must come to terms with those issues, because if they can’t or they won’t, they’re destined to be at war with their—”
“And, Maggie—”
But I’m fired up now, and I don’t let her break in.
“And despite liposuction, dieting, exercise, plastic surgery, or what have you, we are a product of our genes and our environments, and the whole business of living the best life that we possibly can means making peace with who we are and overcoming our private saboteurs.”
The audience bursts into applause, and I feel the color in my face rising.
“Thank you, Maggie,” Susie says. “Thank you for being with us today. You’ve brought a very sober perspective to the issues that plague all of us.”
I walk out, surprised with all that I said. A biology teacher of mine once told me that he never really understood his subject until he had to teach it. Now I know what he meant.
Out of the Running
The widespread ill will toward the obese leads to discrimination in schools and the workplace, and reduces chances of women going the old-fashioned route and climbing the social ladder through marriage.
When was the last time a society column pictured a fat woman at a social event? Or sitting on the board of a major corporation?
Undoubtedly, being overweight sabotages success. Ninety-seven million of us are overweight, but when it comes to fame, celebrity, recognition and status, we are invisible.
Over and over again, I hear about discrimination at the office—how women are passed over for promotions. Some are too embarrassed to sue, unable to handle the attention that would put them in the spotlight. Instead, they endure lower-level jobs, less pay and the anger that comes from being victimized and unable or unwilling to fight back.
But should you have the courage to stand up and fight back, the sad truth is that juries often show the same lack of sympathy toward the overweight that is mirrored in the real world. Out of the entire United States, only Michigan, Washington, D.C., San Francisco and Santa Cruz, California, make it illegal to discriminate against the overweight. Every place else, society is largely off the hook. The rationale: If you’re fat, it’s your own fault.
And here’s the saddest evidence yet of how much society despises overweight. In a national survey done by Dorothy C. Wertz, an ethicist and sociologist at the University of Massachusetts Medical School, 16 percent of the general adult population said they would abort a child if they found out that it would be untreatably obese. By comparison, the survey found that 17 percent would abort if the child would be mildly retarded.
three
I hear my phone ringing before I even turn the corner to my office.
“It’s