Switch to brown rice, she said.
No.
No?
White rice is cultural for me, and besides, the only difference is a gram of fiber per serving.
Not true, it is lower on the glycemic index and will go into your system slower.
No.
Well, cut your portions.
(Silence.)
Are you exercising?
Yes, I’m up to almost 8000 steps a day.
Is that at work?
Yes, I work in a warehouse now, and I walk all day.
That doesn’t really count, she said. You need to walk at a high rate and get the heart pumping. You’ll need to do more outside of work. And why don’t you just grab a couple of two-pound weights? You’d be surprised how heavy they get.
(Silence.)
(Internally:
I am screaming:
Did you know I binge eat sometimes when I am bored and I never realized that it was because I had undiagnosed ADHD and didn’t know I was stimming with food and was in a constant state of panic and stress because I never NEVER thought I was doing enough? Did you know I had half my thyroid removed because they thought it might be cancerous? Did you know I had a little chunk of my brain removed because it was cancerous? Did you know there are days when I don’t want to live and I cry and am not interested in activities anymore?
*Yes, of course, you did- it’s in my file, it’s in the depression questionnaire that starts every office visit.
Did you know that nearly every woman in my family is short with a big butt? That there are other shapes, other standards?
I am looking at you right now with your acceptable BMI and your two-line weight solutions and you are seeing me as rebellious patient that needs to occupy less space and I am seeing you, truly seeing every doctor I have ever visited, for the first time.
None of my doctors look like me. None of my doctors come from where I come from, eat what my mother’s mother has put on the table. I don’t see myself in anyone here. I didn’t even want to come here today because what you advise is as predictable as the sunrise.
Do you know I dated a feeder when I was 19? That he wanted me to be overweight to isolate me and keep anyone from looking at me? Did you know family members said “Mira, estas poniendo gordita” when I was just a kid? Do you know I barely buy clothes and when I do the stress of shopping makes me ill? That my bandmates wanted to give me our earnings to join Jenny Craig because I was a full grown 140 lbs and that was too fat to ever become a star, to ever make it? That the thought of dressing for an event sends me into a spiral? No, I guess you wouldn’t. That information is as irrelevant as the fact that a year ago I was doing 1500 steps a day, and my movement is up at a factor of 5 and I am the same weight. The SAME.
And don’t misunderstand me- I want to be healthy, and I know I am at risk- but it has to be my way, my time. You don’t listen, don’t treat the whole. I am the whole, and if you can’t see the whole, how can you possibly help me?
I will never fit the European standard of beauty. I can only fit my version of health. And you will not colonize my body by telling me that the one food that is the anchor of every plate is the one thing that I shouldn’t have. I don’t eat pasta, have minimized bread, and you still want me to leave white rice for brown? To cut the servings down so small that I measure my food in tablespoons?
I will eat rice, and yuca and pasteles, chuletas and arroz con habichuelas, and I will have chocolate and pizza, tacos and string cheese, and protein shakes along with the salads. I will eat what I can palate and damn the rest. I will move when I want to move and rest when I want to rest.
I’m going to live for the spirit of me- the important part, not this bag of meat my soul travels in while I am here, so you can take the numbers on the scale and stick them up your ass.
And I’m going to eat my white rice, even if one day I am coughing up blood in it.)
Externally:
Ok.
mac and muggi 