We were at Cubby’s on our third date. We had just sat down after ordering our food, including a side of sweet potato fries with maple sauce to share. (Apparently, the maple sauce addition is Cubby’s best kept secret and he insisted it would change my life. It did, and so would he.)
This was more than 2 years ago but I can still walk into the Cubby’s in Provo and show you exactly which table we were sitting at; it was a tall one in the middle of the room with tall seats. He got up to grab napkins for us and I remember immediately thinking about the angle of my body that he would see when he was walking back to the table--parts of my body that I despised. I told myself “just get through the date. He’s going to realize soon that he’s not attracted to you but just try to be present and get through this.”
We talked about our families and showed each other pictures. I remember taking note of his sisters’ body types. As we ate, I remember paying attention to how many fries he was eating, making sure I ate less than he did. When we walked to his car afterwards and he held the door open, I tried to slip in to the passenger seat quickly so he’d have less time to observe my body and notice that my thighs had to be at least twice the size of his.
I remember getting home and having the post-date debrief with roommates.
“How was it??”
“It was fun! I mean, we connect really well, conversation is always really good...”
“..... but what?” my roommates prodded.
I didn’t know how to phrase my next sentence...
“I just don’t know if he’s too... lanky for me.”
What I really meant to say was, “I don’t know if I’m too big for him.”
One roommate knew about my eating disorder and she threw me a silent, empathetic look while the others went on a rage: “He’s asked you out on THREE dates and wants to see you AGAIN and you guys connect so well and you obviously have fun every time - what are you talking about??”
Their rationale just wasn’t convincing me and I couldn’t get on board with their excitement. I had already decided, on that tall chair in Cubby’s while he went to get napkins, that our bodies didn’t “go together.”
Translation: I was too big for him.
We kept going on dates but this nagged me for weeks, even after our first kiss, holding hands, and when he told me he didn’t want to date anyone else. The reality was, nothing he could say or do was going to get me over the hurdle I’d constructed in my brain over years with the help of diet culture and this scarring comment someone made to me when I was 17:
“Guys are more attracted to thin girls. That’s just the way the world is.”
When you’ve repeated that quote in your own head for 5 years, using it as your anthem on runs and your motivation while drinking green smoothies and when it’s been confirmed to you by your scrolling on social media and the disgust you feel trying on clothes in the mirror... it becomes your reality and your truth.
“That’s just the way the world is.”
I had been in recovery for my eating disorder for almost 2 full years at that point but my brain was still deep in the trenches of it. Over those 2 years I had opted out of lots of social activities and generally dreaded getting asked out on dates because I had convinced myself I wasn’t ready for a relationship until I lost weight. I’m a very logical person and I had hard evidence to support this belief.
• If I don’t love myself (and so far from it), how would I ever expect someone to love me?
• If all my thin friends get more attention and get asked out on more dates, then obviously that’s the body type that’s more attractive and worthy of love.
• If all of the couples I observe include a girl who’s shorter and smaller than the guy, then that must be what’s societally acceptable.
“That’s just the way the world is.”
One day I was in therapy and told my therapist about an upcoming FHE activity. My ward was having a music video competition and my group had planned to film ours at a pool in swimsuits. I wasn’t going. I distinctly remember telling my therapist: “I will lie to them about an exam to study for, getting called in to work, contracting the flu, literally anything but I will not go to that activity. I just can’t.”
I was expecting her to be empathetic and validate my crippling anxiety but her response that day was different. “Christine, you’re waiting for your life to start.”
I wanted to fire back and re-emphasize the terror of the situation (swimsuits! cute boys in my ward!) but instead I sat there silently and let the tears pool up in my eyes.
Christine, you’re waiting for your life to start.
I absolutely was.
I’m writing this almost 4 years after that conversation with my therapist. Reflecting on those “waiting” years is painful. It’s painful to revisit the deep shame and unworthiness I felt and it’s hard to unpack the heavy discomfort and resentment I experienced living in my body at the time.
Simultaneously though, I feel immense compassion for that girl and admiration for her resiliency.
Body image work is some of the hardest shiz women will go through in this life.
Dating is just one trigger that exposes and exacerbates our anxiety and discontentment towards our bodies, fueled by the age-old diet culture belief system that worships thinness and equates it to health, beauty, and moral virtue.
I want to sprint back in time to the moment 17 year old Christine heard the words: “That’s just the way the world is” and the moment 22 year old Christine was sitting in a tall chair at Cubby’s and tackle them both in one massive hug and tell them:
That person was WRONG.
That is NOT “just the way the world is.”
Don’t spend one more minute waiting for your life to start subscribing to that lie.
We’re unsubscribing right now.
Your life starts right now.
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