Bad Romance

Anonymous Today at dinner, over my delicious baklava, I wondered out loud what about what in the world to write for my blog. I joked that I should just write about food... a universally applicable subject that I have applied to many other blog topics. Food is, after all, a significant feature of our experience here in Greece. Well, no joke, I am going to... In all seriousness, I know lots of people who have had a "bad romance" with food, myself included. Most of us don't have a diagnosable disorder, but most, if not every girl (I don't want to be gender exclusive here, but I feel like I have a little more authority to speak for females than males), reaches a day, often younger than you think, when she says to herself, "no, better not have that dessert." Now, of course, it's one thing to talk about healthy eating. Eating whatever you want usually isn't healthy, but worrying about how much skinnier the popular girls are isn't either. Middle school, a frequently awkward stage is often, unfortunately, accompanied by a heightened self-conciousness about one's body, which, in magazines, on TV, and amongst other pre-teen girls is immediately linked with the food you eat.
I don't remember when I first began to be conscious of my eating habits, but I imagine it was around the same time I became conscious of my body. Sadly, I for one can trace this to a moment before middle school, a photograph, in fact. It is of me, thin as a rail (in retrospect, of course), probably nine (?), and posing by the pool in a swimsuit. That's probably what made me think of this, since I went swimsuit shopping today for the first time in a few years, and I thought to myself, this is the way swimsuit shopping ought to be done... on a mission, with little time to obsess over how you look.
Since tomorrow I will bare my body, or at least my thighs, I thought that tonight I might as well bare a little bit of my soul, and, as Megan would say, lay it out there. I can trace a long and often punishing romance with swimsuits. I remember that day by the pool because I was afraid that my thighs (which were non-existant, btw), would look big in the picture. I remember the pink tankini I wore to Hawaii when I was still a stick, but self-conscious about my chest. I remember my first bikini, that my mom practically had to force me to try on and then buy (only the threat of unimaginable heat convinced me...). I remember the swimsuit I was wearing when a drunk guy told me I looked like Jessica Alba; I was terrified, and my brothers only laughed. I remember the countless times I've decided I didn't really feel like swimming, cause I brought my suit, but didn't really want to put it on. I remember the water polo suit I wore all summer teaching swimming lessons, and the safety of its utilitarian look. And I will remember the baby blue H&M shorts I will wear tomorrow, but hopefully for a different reason.
I'm writing this to say that this "bad romance" that we have with our bodies, and our related "bad romance" with food is a reality. And an ongoing reality. In addition to swimsuits, I can measure the my life since puberty in different eating and exercise plans, all employed for various periods, with various motives.
As no trip involving bathing suits would be complete with a reflection on this theme, I am now reflecting. I wish I could say that I have reached a definitive point where I am at peace with both food and my body, and that Greece had some part in that, but that wouldn't be entirely true. Mostly because I have reached that point before, and found that it was temporary. This much, however, I can say: on this trip, I have left no dessert behind (not many, anyway) and I'm proud of it. Here's the thing, I don't feel fat, although a little like a gormandizer (oops, 4 Maccabees...), I feel happy. That's right, happy. Ok, sometimes a little sick to my stomach, but still, happy. Tomorrow, I'm whipping out the blue shorts and diving in, and it will feel so good. And I can't say that I won't care at all about how my thighs look, but I'm not going to care very much. I'm in Greece, I'm having a good time, and there's a hellofa lot more to my identity than just my swimsuit physique. I know full well that I will change my eating habits when I get home, but although I will "adjust my diet" to something more sustainable, I will not "go on a diet." Instead, I will remember fondly my gelato and baklava, and endeavor each day to wear proudly the healthy body I've been given, whether clothed in jeans, a bikini, or baby blue booty shorts. And in the meantime... bring on the baklava! Can there really be anything "bad" about a romance with pyllo and honey??