The unforgiving cycle of body image

“I hate my body! There, I said it! I hate it!” Her disgust softened as she added, “And I feel so hopeless to do anything about it.”

Mary, a new client, spoke these words into the room. Shame deeply flooded her body when she saw a photo that had been taken recently at a family reunion. She’d done her best to avoid the uncle with a fancy camera, darting behind others, slipping into the abutting hallway, popping around a corner. But her appearance had still been captured. The mental image she had for herself was vastly different from the image posted on Facebook without her permission. She was mortified.

Mary was aghast. Imagining other’s perceptions of her was painful. She already had to live with her daily subjective evaluations and unavoidably compared her body to the unrealistic ideals prescribed for centuries for female-identified bodies. Comparing herself to her friends, colleagues, and peers was daily, too. And she’d already been chided for years by parents and other family, doctors, and weight-loss specialists. Mary was bereft and asking for my help.

A complicated history swirled inside her, including having received sideways glances in public, rebukes, and name calling. Seeing the Facebook post brought it all up. She felt triggered and was succumbing to parts that restricted food, and then she would binge because the restriction was too endless to continue. She felt blinded and saw no end to the addictive cycle. She was trapped by her lifelong battle against her body. I got curious and listened more intently.

To combat the inner loathing, Mary wore long pants and sleeves to hide her legs and arms, even in summer. She avoided mirrors or anything reflective, like store windows. Her severely avoidant tendencies served to hide the roiling shame but also exacerbated the proactive managerial strategists that tried to make her body perfect. Mary’s history was filled with boot camps, sweat camps, fat camps, aerobics classes, long walks, fad diets, and starving her body into a submissive state.

As a nutrition therapist, I know behaviors like these feel abusive within any system. Pair extreme deprivation with unrelenting physical exertion and the body just can’t keep up. Holding oneself to unrealistic standards is a form of self-abuse. Extending kindness, appreciation, and presence toward the parts driving hateful behaviors like these is a way to envelop them with care, to learn their intentions and needs. It’s essential to restore ease in the system.

Parts that constantly strive for perfection are typically hurt managers, always attempting to right the wrongs and steer the ship in the right direction. They want others see our goodness and ability to stay mainstream. Firefighting behaviors, like bingeing and starvation, are attempts to overcome the manager’s failures. Both parts protected a deep vulnerability that struggled to make itself known against the enactment of their roles.

Mary and I sat together. I wondered aloud how it felt in her body when she felt these parts in action. Would she be open to inviting whoever could use a kind word to be present with us? I was attempting to touch the softheartedness of her exiled little ones. These parts often need to be loved as they are.

Both parts—her restrictive and the bingeing parts—accepted the invitation to share a space at the table between us. They were ready to “meet” my client, while also being open to the other sharing its story. My client listened. I listened. Together, we spent time with the restrictive part who had been a friend since childhood. It noted her parental, not-so-subtle hints to eat less, to not get second helpings. She heard, “That should be enough for you, Dear,” and, “Eat more vegetables if you’re still hungry.” It reminded Mary of the kids who mocked her and called her names. It recalled her losing a vast amount of weight at an adolescent fat camp while not even understanding why she was there in the first place.

Then I asked Mary to focus on the explosive sensations throughout her body when her binge eating part took over, momentarily blinding her to the actions until the consequences of the binge were upon her. More shame and despair followed. Her “little one” was still bereft.

As Mary witnessed these hardworking parts, their intentions for her were fleshed out, their fears identified. How they interacted with her and with each other emerged into the words of the narratives. And, slowly, they began to soften. They noticed her presence. It soon became clear that they both wanted freedom, to have choices, to not be burdened with the shame any longer.

Then, out of the blue, a part of her posed curiosity about the body-positive movements that have been prevalent in recent years. Mary felt liberated, realizing “this isn’t my fault.” Then she cycled back into blame and shame for knowing all this and still being unable to stop the destructive behaviors.

I shared what I’d learned about these organizations, and this helped lead Mary to strike on a new phrase, “body neutrality.” This felt like a safe space to her, and she and her parts hung out with this for a while. Her restrictor and binger were able to discern that they didn’t have capacity to embrace her body as it was, to love it without changing it. But they were open to adopting a neutral posture both emotionally and physically. They agreed to stop hating her body full-time. With Mary’s care and attention, they could be at peace for the time being and could accept her while tucking her perceived limitations aside.

This client’s story is natural and recurring. It’s a history I’ve heard many of my clients’ parts share. Mary’s parts had come to view her body as the enemy and had set out to destroy the system. Her unbearable pain had even led to menacing thoughts. She’d considered choosing not to live. By introducing Mary’s parts to themselves, she was able to hold their fears in a caring and tender mode. It was redeeming for her parts to lean into the loving adult presence inside her. Her parts had someone to be with them, to listen, understand, and like them. They learned to slow down and trust more in the entire system instead of relying on one extreme and urgent part.

Addictive cycles can be slowed down to make enough room for Self to start making choices. Food nourishes and provides energy and vitality. Asking for support nourishes and soothes emotionally. Love, care, and curiosity can be at the very core of our need for nourishment in all its forms.