If you missed part 1, you can read it here :)
Upon signing up (for a gym membership), I was immediately introduced to a personal trainer, Jill. Turns out, Jill was from St. Louis! She offered to give me an intro session for free. I guess I had quite the impact on her because she continued training me for free for months following.
My sessions with Jill were always very hard, but we talked a lot and that made me focus less on how difficult the workouts were. We chatted about personal and emotional stuff because even while squatting, I can’t do small talk.
One day I’m just blabbing on about my life and I keep calling myself an asshole.
“Why do you do that?” She asked.
“Do what?”
“Call yourself names.”
“Oh I’m just kidding. Ha! Ha..?”
“Are you though? I’ve noticed you rarely say anything nice about yourself.”
Damn, Jill. Can we just do some terrible attempts at a pull-up and you not call out my deeply internalized self-hate? Thanks.
She continued. “I’m just saying, your body and brain are a powerful team. They listen when you speak. They listen when you think. If you’re repeatedly sending yourself these messages, your body is going to reflect that. She hears you and she believes you. So you need to tell her kind and encouraging things if you want her to help you out here.”
Good thing I was not holding a dumbbell in that moment, or I would have dropped it fully on my toe and cried in public. Which wouldn’t be so bad, since I cry in public pretty regularly. But my toe would have hurt.
Anyway, I was floored.
Saying nice things about myself to myself? Was that even allowed?
This was not the first time I'd heard the message of “what you fill your head and heart with will be what you live out in your life.” Um, hellloooo. That’s why I memorized so many Bible verses, only listened to Christian music, and only hung out with Christian people for so long. I was trying to only fill my mind with things that were worthy of praise (Philippians 4:8-9)!!
Was Jill suggesting that this also applied to saying nice things about myself to myself? Was that even allowed?
Additionally, she called my body a “she.” Although I identify as a woman, I never thought about personifying or gendering my body. Naming her in such a way somehow made her more . . . part of me. On my team. This concept would totally disrupt my current view of my body—a disjointed lump of conflicted bones and organs, hoping not to get lost on the MTA or contract an STI.
My brain wasn’t part of my heart and my heart wasn’t part of my body. They were all disconnected. They weren’t supporting me. They were just . . . there.
And then there’s the whole idea of my brain and thoughts sending actual messages to my body. Was that true?
In my life—good guidance, answers, commands, righteous thoughts—that all came from God. Something on the outside of me. A man. So, subconsciously, I believed that a man on the outside of me was calling all the shots on what happened to me, (including my success at losing weight) day to day. Was I actually steering that ship? Was I actually the reason I was failing so hard at what felt like everything?
I must have stared at Jill for too long while this mess of thoughts swirled through my Recovering Evangelical head.
“MJ?” She said.
“Yeah. Umm, can you elaborate on that? Like, what do you mean my body is listening when I say things?” I inquired.
“Sure. So your brain sends messages to your body all the time. It’s how you know how to lift an arm for a jumping jack or hold a pencil or digest food. The words we speak to ourselves are no different. If you are always calling yourself a fat asshole, you’re going to live that out in your life. Basically, we become what we believe.”
If everything Jill was saying is true, then maybe I actually had a way out of this hating-my-body mess! I just had to tell myself nicer things about myself? With a little daily self-pep talk magic spell, I’d be a hottie with a cute body gettin’ all the husband offers in no time!
She continued. “So what if this week you try to catch yourself every time you start to say a mean thing about you and replace it with a positive thing about you?”
“Bouncing my thoughts.” I retorted without thinking.
“What?”
Uh-oh. I said a church thing to a normal person.
I explained myself. “In church they used to call this bouncing your thoughts. The idea is taking a negative thought ‘captive’ and replacing it with something positive. Except, church leaders usually only applied this to thinking an ungodly thought. Like if a guy stared at the butt writing on a girl’s pants for too long, he could catch himself, repeat a Bible verse, and then carry on with his day in a Godly way.”
“That’s very weird.”
“I know.”
“But you’ve got the idea. So, what’s one thing you like about yourself?”
. . .
I was stumped. I couldn’t think of a single nice thing to say about me. In my mind I was a total piece of Hell-bound, Godless garbage. I sucked at eating, I sucked at auditioning, I sucked at dating. The only thing I seemed to be very good at was earning money to stay in New York City. And getting personal trainers to train me for free, apparently.
My brain doesn't know the difference between a truth and a lie??? Is that how I was able to make the absolute truth of the Bible and Purity Culture such a part of my DNA?
“MJ. There’s gotta be one thing.”
“I will think about it,” I assured her.
“Okay, so what if every time you start to say something mean to yourself, you replace it with a simple ‘I love you so much, Mattie Jo.’”
“I can’t do that,” I shot back.
“Why not?”
“Because that’s a lie.”
"That's okay!" Jill encouraged. "Our brains don't know the difference between a truth and a lie. It's all just repeated synapsis in your neural pathways that determine what we believe to be 'true' and 'false.' So if you say this phrase enough, over time, it will become your truth."
My brain doesn't know the difference between a truth and a lie??? Is that how I was able to make the absolute truth of the Bible and Purity Culture such a part of my DNA? Because it was all I heard all the time?! And it would remain my "truth" until I started to send it different messages??? Was my brain going to be my savior from this dismantling my entire identity mess?? Oh and also help me stop being fat, of course.
I had to get out of that gym. I had way too much on my mind to even attempt another squat rep or whatever.
"Okay, I'll give it a try." I replied.
"Great! Let me know how it goes!"
The following week I tried Jill's suggestion of replacing every mean thought with "I love you so much, Mattie Jo." I had a lot of mean thoughts, so I said "I love you, Mattie Jo" a lot. I think Jill knew what she was doing.
This practice made me hyper aware of how mean I was to me! I barely said a single nice thing to myself EVER. I had never realized it before but I lived in a constant state of self-flagellation about literally everything. From auditions to dates to not going to church to buying an iced coffee at Dunkin Donuts when I probably should be spending this money on new headshots or organic pears from Whole Foods! I never gave myself a break from the insults.
Everytime I said "I love you so much, Mattie Jo" it felt weird. It felt like I was sinning. I’d say, “I love you so much, Mattie Jo,” and then immediately ask myself, “Am I allowed to love myself? Isn't my flesh terrible? Don’t I need God to do all the loving? Am I worthy of all this love from . . . me?”
Despite my efforts at self-loving, I still ended that week (like most weeks) in the kitchen for a late-night binge. Scouring my cabinets for every last bit of my groceries, then feeling shame that I ate all of my groceries in one night so now I'm going to have to spend more money than necessary on groceries, and also I have a personal training session in the morning SHIT!!!
The last thing I wanted to do was to go to another session with Jill and report back that, not only was I not cured from my lifelong self-hate after a week of telling myself this "I love you" bullshit, I also had a binge.
Those pre-session binges stressed me out more than anything else. It made me feel like I was wasting Jill's time. Here she was, doing me this amazing favor of free personal training sessions, and I was wasting them with a fucking eating disorder.
I showed up to the session anyway, determined to not expose the weight of my shame as I tried to weight-lift myself out of shame.
Furthermore, these binges drilled my self-imposed body shaming. I had to go to the gym in tight-fitting clothes after consuming an NFL linebacker's daily caloric intake. Pure misery.
However, I am a Cowsert and we keep our commitments. So I showed up to the session anyway, determined to not expose the weight of my shame as I tried to weight-lift myself out of shame. I have never been good at discretion, so eventually (quickly) I broke down to Jill.
We stopped the workout and walked downstairs. Sitting on the massage chairs next to the spin room in the lower level of Crunch Upper West Side, I started to cry.
"I have some things to tell you,” I started. “I’m stressed about these sessions. I’m not losing any weight. And I’m . . . I thought that maybe paying for a gym and getting a trainer in New York City would finally fix"—I gestured to my body—"this . . . but nothing is changing and now I’m just stressed that I’m wasting your time and mine here.”
“What are you trying to fix exactly? What do you think needs fixing?” Jill replied, so gently. Bless her for being so nice to such a sobby, chaotic 22 year old.
“The weight! I’m fat, Jill. I always have been. I’ve been dealing with this since I was 15. And I just . . . want it to go away already! How hard can it be to lose 10 pounds?!”
Jill took a deep breath and looked down.
“What is it?” I asked. I started to internally panic like I did when asking my parents for help. I’d exposed myself as an emotional mess and burden to my personal trainer! Instead of just showing up to do the workouts, I was crying to her next to the spin bikes. Jesus Christ I am an exhausting individual. Oh look, another mean thought. GRRRR.
But Jill didn’t end our sessions together like I expected. Instead, she said “Mattie Jo, I have been exactly where you are. I know how you feel.”
“Really?” I’m not sure why I was so surprised to hear that. Most women have experienced disordered eating in their lives in some capacity. But for whatever reason, I thought I was the only weirdo on the Upper West Side who couldn’t figure out how to not let mine control me in adulthood.
“Yes. I have struggled with this for most of my life as well.”
“How did you get better?”
“I had to admit to myself, it’s not about the weight.”
It’s not about the weight? Of course it’s about the weight, Jill! It’s always been about the weight. If I could just make my body look better, I’d like it better and then I’d like life better. Then I could honestly say, “I love you so much, Mattie Jo.”
“Yes it is,” I told her. As if I knew better than she did.
“No, it isn’t. Ten pounds is not hard to lose. Especially for someone your age and your level of activity. If it was about the weight, you would have lost it a long time ago.”
Head explosion emoji
If it was about the weight, I would have lost it a long time ago.
Jill continued. “When you’re about to have a binge, how do you feel?”
“I don’t know what you mean . . .” I really didn’t.
“Your body. What does your body feel like when you want to binge?”
I thought about her question hard. I tried to recall what I was feeling in those moments of compulsion. But I’d never really paid attention to what was happening in my body before, so I wasn’t entirely sure. I took my best shot at articulating what I thought maybe I was feeling in those moments.
“I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. Every part of me feels uncomfortable and bothered. Like I’m going to explode.”
“What does ‘I’m going to explode’ feel like?”
“I don’t know. Like I’m going to die!” Oh, me. The drama. But it was true.
“What if you tried sitting with it next time, instead of going to the food?” Jill suggested.
“Ummm . . .” I hesitated. This sounded very hard.
“Just try it. You won’t die, I promise.”
“I might.” I shot back.
“Mattie Jo.” She looked at me like a parent looks at you when you’ve been caught eating Lucky Charms out of the box with your hands as an adult. The “You know better. Quit it.” look.
“How about this week, when you start to feel that crawl out of your skin feeling, you stop. You don’t go to the kitchen. You just sit. Sit sit sit. And remember to breathe. Examine what is happening in your body as you sit with this. Journal about it. If the ‘going to explode’ feeling gets too out of control, go for a walk without your wallet so you can’t go buy food. Call a friend on that walk. Whatever you do, don’t go into that kitchen. Don’t pick up food. Just feel.”
“Okay.” I agreed, but with hesitation. “I’ll try.”
Your gifs are always chefs kiss ! 🤣