  I believe in eating. I think women especially have this fear of eating, and I think there is a whole euphoric plane you can rise to when you have a good meal. You sit down and with every bite you honestly just say thank you. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;(Tori Amos) I was eight years old when I went on my first diet. I have this memory of standing on the scales in the pediatrician's office and hearing the doctor tell my mother that I was fat. As an adult, I look at pictures taken of me during that time and I often wonder what the doctor was thinking.
I looked like a healthy, active eight year old girl. My mother immediately put me on a diet. She gave my grandmother the strictest orders not to let me eat anything other than cantaloupe for a snack. Nan took pity on me after the second week of scarfing down cantaloupe; she gave me cookies and ate the fruit herself.
I have not eaten cantaloupe since that summer. My weight haunts me. It speaks to me, nit-picks me in the guise of voices from the past; Lance Crane telling our fifth grade classmates that there would be no more ice cream left once I went through the serving line, the constant pressure of being stick thin in high school, and my best guy friend from college telling me that men did not like girls with guts and if I wanted a boyfriend then I would have to lose weight, because no guy would want me otherwise. These are the things that I think about when I am in the presence of a man, even if that man is my lover.
I know that it does not do well to dwell on the past, but when you spend your life hearing that you are less because you are more, it is hard to believe that beauty resides within your body. I do not blame my mother for her obsession with my weight. It seems that she too was contantly struggling with her self-esteem in that realm. In her mind big was a simple translation for ugly and so I can not hold her actions against her, because she was suffering from the same societal ideals of beauty. She was struggling to feel beautiful and she wanted me to not have that struggle. It amazes me how many beautiful women, who I am surrounded by on a daily basis, think that they are hiddeous. I read my livejournal, talk to my co-workers, listen to my friends; all of them think that they are less than wonderful, because this world, this culture tells them that they are worthless unless they have Sarah Jessica Parker's body, a body that has no curves, very little cleavage, and is nothing but skin drawn taunt over bone.
How is that beautiful? I stand in front of the mirror naked and I like what I see. I walk around my apartment without clothes, because I am, finally, learning to be comfortable in my own skin. It has nothing to do with being sexy, although if you ask me I will tell you that I am sexy, and everything to do with feeling at ease with the woman that I have become. Yes, I want to lose a few more pounds, for health reasons. Next week, I am going back to the pool and swimming laps, because I miss the feel of the water between my thighs and the burning in my lungs when I am holding my breathe. I want to, once again, be addicted to the feel of gliding through the water. I used to swim two miles non-stop, the equivalent of 72 laps in an Olympic-size pool, and I want that to happen again. Until then, I will continue to stand in front of the mirror and celebrate my hips that could bring children into this world with great ease, my breasts that are full and lovely and tinted at the tips with a shade of pink, and my back, which is smooth and, in my opinion, flawless.
I am a work of art, because Godde made me. As women, we must learn to embrace ourselves and not fall victim to the societal contructs of beauty. If society had its way, I would be the size of my letter-opener, quiet, docile, and submissive. No. Fucking. Thank You. 
