• Manifesto #2: Success! or, The Worst Year of My Life

    From the vault, because 1. I'm busy working on some rad stuff for you for September and 2. I'm revisiting old manifestos while writing the new one and 3. I'm contemplating relaunching a sort of post-Wayfinder thing.

    It'll be a tumblr. It won't be about tryna make anything happen. It will be about everything that's beautiful and fabulous and unexpected in life. Spontaneous unasked-for upgrades, and the like. Just because it gives me so much more pleasure to notice just how good my life is, even when it's fucking terrible. Know what I mean?

    Anyway, here's this again, because 4. I am proud of it:

    Standing in a tree, contemplating the view, trying not to get towed.

    Friends, this is the final entry in my Wayfinder's blog series. Just like with all things Wayfinding, you can choose your own adventure. I have a short version, a medium version, and a long version for you. 

    1. It worked! (short version)

    I started this series in 2011 with a long list of things I wanted and didn't have. I wasn't troubled by a vague sense of dissatisfaction; I was missing some very specific things. 

    I just wanted to see if I could create a life I liked better. I wanted more friends, more free time, more money, more mystery, less toil, less tedium, less weight, less duty.

    More pleasure. Less pain. Nice things. Thrilling adventures. Hot sex and hot springs.

    I also felt the only problems I had were the kind that money couldn't solve, lucky me! But that wasn't really true. The truth was that money would have bought most of what I lacked.

    That's how I felt when I started the experiment. That, plus the enjoyable feeling of starting something I thought I was in control of. Lots of lovely boxes to tick on the way to perfect happiness.

    You will no doubt guess that that's when everything blew up. Me, I was surprised. You know that joke about God? God takes his family for a drive in the mountains, in his convertible, top down, sunny day, dry roads, everyone laughing and feeling free. Suddenly God comes at them from the other direction, dead drunk at the wheel, driving all over the road. God hits the convertible, killing God and his whole family.

    My life was like that last year. Incomprehensible. Screams. Twisted wreckage. 

    And then I kinda won the lottery. 

    2. The Worst Year of My Life.

    Change the inside, not the outside. I've heard that almost my whole life.

    As you will know, because I am insufferably, unreasonably proud (proud! for no reason!) of it and can't stop telling you, I am from Boulder. This is to say, I come from a mix of traditions built on the idea that the only locus for effecting real change is in our mind, not in our circumstances. These traditions include Buddhism, 12-Step programs, and hundreds of self-development philosophies.

    In all, I've devoted myself to awareness practices for over 30 years. Yet - and you may find this shocking!, or not - I remained unhappy with my circumstances. So not long ago I decided to turn my attention less to self-awareness and more to circumstance-tinkering. 

    I just wanted to see if I could create a life I liked better. I wanted more friends, more free time, more money, more mystery, less toil, less tedium, less weight, less duty. 

    More pleasure. Less pain. Nice things. Thrilling adventures. Hot sex and hot springs.

    So I set out with only my desire, 30 years of meditation, and an inadequate laptop. That was the Wayfinding experiment I started on this blog.

    What followed was the worst year of my life.

    (Well, I mean, you know: the worst so far. But we are talking about a field of some ass-kicking also-ran years.)

    Nevertheless, I am closing the experiment feeling it was a success, because I have sort of broken the circumstance barrier. I seem to have lost interest in improving my circumstances - though many of them were improved, some by a huge margin. Neither do I want to change my thinking. In fact, I'm a little bored with changing, fixing and improving things altogether.

    Circumstances change on their own. The mind changes itself. I really don't need to force anything. I have seen almost all of my tools and practices fall away like dead skin.

    I've completely dropped hobbies that were once obsessions. On the other hand, I've not lost an ounce of interest in clothes and makeup and outré cocktails.

    It's going all around the world for a bottle of milk. Everything's changed. Nothing's changed. Executive summary for the very busy: It worked; The End.

    Now if you're not very busy, and would like to know more, read on.

    3. Some Things I Have Found Out.

    I. Money: You can have enough

    I acquired some money. A couple years ago, I would have thought of this much money as "enough." A "we're there!" amount. (Of course, it's all relative. I know people who could barely get to Rome and back on this amount of money.) 

    But the amount's not the important part. What's important is that this money was "enough" when I got it and it has stayed enough. For over a year now I have been experiencing continued feelings of enough. 

    I can just about guarantee that if I'd received that money a couple years ago, I would have enjoyed it for 72 hours and then woken up disgruntled and said, OMG! Ya know, I thought X was going to be enough, but now I see that really I need 3x to have enough!" Or 5x or 12x or howevermuch. "I thought we were there, but actually we're NOT!" is what I would have said. 

    Instead, I got there and stayed there. 

    We're not flying first class. Not buying a holiday house. I've not even ordered personalized stationery. And yet: Enough. 

    Here's another thing I learnt about money: It might not buy happiness, but it sure the fuck won't make you miserable.

    II. Urgency

    Things used to seem really urgent to me. My china pattern is on sale? I better get over there now and snatch those shelves bald! Do we have "a very full flight today"?! I better jockey for position so I can stow my rollie!!!

    Everything that used to make me break into a sweat, all of it coming under the general heading of "Getting Mine" - none of that seems like a good use of life to me. For what? Why would I manage anything? Because something is better than something else, and I have some insight into that? Because sooner is better than later? Man, I just don't seem to have convictions about that anymore.

    I have seriously slowed down.

    III. All the things that used to matter so much hardly matter at all now

    The number and scope of things I have lost interest in are blowing my wig back. Here are some:

    I am kind of bored with self-help. Self-help used to be my life and my lifeline, to say nothing of most of my shelf space and discretionary spending. The neighbors have all that now. 

    I seem to have lost interest in using tools, techniques and practices. Has it got steps? Then I don't want it. Anything that previously I would have used to improve myself or my situation is off the menu. I even seem to be largely uninterested in improving my mood. 

    I now feel about tools, techniques and practices the way I felt when I first read - attempted to read - a translation o f a Tibetan Buddhist text, which was this: "uh-oh if enlightenment can only be found in the pages of a book like this, we're all totally fucked." If salvation is only to be reached by keeping track of what I weigh, eat, lift at the gym, getting things done, discerning the size shape location and color of my current emotion, visualizing myself as an anchor dropping into the ocean depths, all of that, well I accept that I AM FUCKED. Because I seem to have no willingness at all for that stuff. 

    I think I may have lost interest in salvation of any kind. I don't think I need it. It seems like I'm having a very persistent experience of "everything is actually ok." Even family things - by any measure a big important life circumstance - in a condition that would previously have caused me to scream "Holy shit! Danger; not ok! These are unacceptable life circumstances!!!" are causing me to say "Holy shit, look at me accommodating even that."

    I've lost interest in thinking about, discussing, or paying any attention whatsoever to what is "healthy" to eat. I cannot find any part of me that I want to spend time with that believes in "healthy eating." 

    I likewise have no detectable worries about "germs." (Except for foot fungus. Let's avoid that.)

    I seem to have lost all interest in what "good" people do altogether. The rules I received say that "good" people don't cuss, drink, use drugs, eat the heads off shrimp, buy coffee without ascertaining the "fairness" of its trade, buy meat without ascertaining the quality of its living conditions while alive, spend money on themselves, throw food away, cut in line, etc. Well I don't actually find myself needing to cut in line, because what for?! (Unless I'm trying to get overhead bin space on the plane, then yes, bit lately, see above, even suitcase panic has fallen away! UNBELIEVABLE.) The rest of that stuff: GOD WHO CARES.

    I don't need people to like me. I don't need to change myself to be liked. I don't need to pretend I'm well liked when I'm not. I don't need to make any of that about me. I quit a group recently that wasn't fun because the people in it really didn't like me, and I lost the will to mold myself into a likable form. Not a fit! It's why they have chocolate and vanilla (and for the sophisticated and discerning: rum raisin). I didn't need to go looking for evidence that they kinda sort did like me a little. People don't need to like me! Turns out: it is VERY OK not to like me.
    I no longer have a to-do list. I am doing things because I am somehow moved to do them, not because I wrote them on a list.

    I've lost interest in meditation, I've lost interest in pretending to be interested in meditation, and I've stopped meditating. Or "meditating," if you're one of those folks who have strenuous standards for the definition. I know I did. Hahahahaha.

    I've lost interest in my "longtime student of buddhism" personal mythology. You know, everybody and their hippie uncle who went to Burma that one time claims to be a buddhist, but I actually took vows with Chögyam Trungpa himself, more than 30 years ago. How many life coaches can say that? OMG I thought that was True Cred, and I was super invested in it and impressed with myself. Proud! Like anybody but me ever cared.

    My profiles used to read, under Religion, "You know how people always say 'Running is my meditation' or 'Yoga is my meditation'? Well, my meditation is meditation." Friendable, right?! If I met the Buddha in the road, I'm pretty sure even he wouldn't have wanted to friend me.

    And you know, I no longer really care much about credentials altogether.

    Oh! This: I have lost interest in any projects to do with changing, fixing, optimizing or otherwise improving Mr Jones. Like money, my husband is another area of satisfaction. I made a choice a dozen years ago, and My GOD! I am still happy with my choice.

    An example: I have stopped trying to get him to put the toilet seat down. 

    My husband does put the toilet seat down, a lot, but I used to lose my shit if he ever forgot. This seems so insane to me now. Like, if it's so important, why don't I just check? That way, I can adjust the seat myself before falling in. Me! The person to whom it's important. Which I do, utterly without resentment. My husband doesn't need to be involved at all. I mean, people! This is a very different me.

    I'm much less critical lately altogether. Mr Jones and I binge-watched Girls. I found that show perfect in every respect. There was not one single fucking thing I would have changed about it. I was in awe of its creatrix and creators, and I just watched in appreciation. Not even a "yeah, but..." there.

    Hear ye! I don't seem to want to flex my muscles or apply my will to 
         •     change 
         •     fix 
         •     improve 
         •     persuade
         •     convince
         •     control 
         •     influence 
         •     produce 
         •     achieve 
         •     excel 
         •     optimize 
         •     approve 
         •     disapprove 
         •     decide 
         •     choose 
         •     plan 
         •     manifest
         •     or target
    much of anything. 

    Caveat: I'm still really keen on shoes (Nicholas Kirkwood til I die!) and dresses and makeup and going out for cocktails though. Boy, have I ever not lost interest in that stuff.

    IV. Reality hahahahaha

    Not only do many things not seem urgent or important to me anymore, a lot of them don't even seem real. For example, we got audited by the IRS last year because of my business. This started out being quite the ass-chapper, part of My Frognado Year. Shit escalated continuously for many months until the day it fizzled out with no explanation and zero consequences. 

    I'm not sure if I can believe in the IRS after this experience. That whole organization might be JUST ONE GUY.

    Another thing that is not real: I have seen through the illusion that I have any measure of control over my children. I have no ability to persuade, manipulate, coerce, direct, cajole, blackmail, bribe or otherwise influence any of these children. Parental control of children is a fiction; I accept this.

    Also not real: Good. Bad. THERE IS NO GOOD AND BAD. There is only what I like and what I don't like. And I am possibly the only person who cares about that, which is fine.

    And the really not real: "life purpose." PLEASE. Seriously.

    V. The End

    So where does this leave me? Just living my life, sans "Purpose." Feeling good. Except when I'm not, which is also perfectly fine. It's PERFECT. And I must say, not trying to change how I feel feels really, really good.

    If you like this sort of thing, you would probably enjoy my weekly newsletter. I write about weight loss and ending compulsive eating from a shame-free, anti-diet, feminist perspective. 

  • Eating while fat

    As anyone who is or has been fat knows...

    (by the way, around here, I don't use euphemisms a whole lot. I use the word "fat" without disgust, hatred, contempt or irony. It's a neutral term when it’s at home, and it needn’t be loaded with disapproval. That’s extra. So I use the term “fat” instead of “curvy,” “bodacious,” “heavyset” - that one’s only for cops to use, anyway - or the like because I'm here to disagree with the received view that being fat is cause for shame. Among the many gifts our culture has showered me with, that's one of the ones I most want to return.)

    ...it's really very hard to eat in public.

    Plenty of people are happy to monitor what goes in your mouth, and what you should do about it, whether they know you or not, no question. Most of them won’t speak their mind out loud, of course. They just put their disgust and disapproval on their face, and let you draw your own conclusions.

    At my heaviest, I weighed over 200 lbs. Today, I weigh a whole lot less than that, but I am not what you’d call a lean person. I have visible fat on me. So I still work on that, the eating-in-public thing. Once burnt, twice shy. I still require a pump-up talk or a calming reassurance from myself. It’s quick, it’s automatic, it’s not a burden, and it’s apparently still necessary in order for me to eat in public without being braced for society’s oh-so-legitimate disapproval.

    (By the way, this is how I would roll today at any weight: Talk myself down, using sane reminders, so that I could 1. Eat in public and 2. Not spend the meal being braced.)

    Eating sweets in public is a special thing. Not long ago I was at a cafe whose sweets were, well, not sweet. I don’t eat sweets that much, so when I do, I really don’t want pastry that just tastes like flour. (Because gross.) This was the third time I’d tried a pastry there, so I was comfortable making the determination that yes, their sweets needed to be more sweet. It wasn’t just me being fat.

    So I talked to them about it. Super nicely, like I would give feedback about anything I paid for that I would buy again if it were a little different. I did this while not being the exact perfect amount underweight that the overculture demands for you to avoid be given shit about what’s going in your mouth. Former fat girl demanded sweeter sweets! For that, I gave myself many 💯s.

    I hope this is what you do, too: Try to get what you want, whatever you weigh. 

    If you like this sort of thing, you would probably enjoy my weekly newsletter. I write about weight loss and ending compulsive eating from a shame-free, anti-diet, feminist perspective. 

  • Believe nothing, question everything, don't take anything personally

    Announcement: I'm on a spontaneous holiday! It started yesterday and I don't want to stop yet. It looks like going straight on through my birthday in New York this weekend. I'll be back next week with a new article; in the meantime, please enjoy Manifesto 1.0, from July 2013. One of my most popular posts.

    (Manifesto 3.0 is in the works, by the way.)

    And if you like this sort of thing, you would probably enjoy my weekly newsletter. I write about weight loss and ending compulsive eating from a shame-free, anti-diet, feminist perspective. 

    Believe nothing, question everything, don't take anything personally.

    That's some of the best encouragement I've ever received. It comes from my Zen teacher, Cheri Huber. (My Zen non-teacher, actually, as I've just written.)

    I know a lot of behavioral change / habit creation / lifehacking folks are all about identifying negative or limiting beliefs, and replacing them with beliefs that are more helpful.

    I'm not in love with that idea. I like to dismantle old crappy beliefs, absolutely, but I prefer not to replace them with anything, insofar as that's possible.

    Although I don't merely believe that's possible. I don't have to believe it, because I know it's true. I see people like Byron Katie and Eckhart Tolle doing it. And during my own week ok five days of enlightenment, I experienced the bliss - there's just no other word - of belief-free living.

    (I also noticed I never watched my back during this time. That alone was a mind-blowing experience.)

    So I don't want to pack in new beliefs, because I like the feeling of space there. Space in which something creative can arise in response to whatever's happening.

    Even if it weren't possible to avoid having beliefs, I don't want to put conscious effort into "creating and clinging" to new ones, as I remind myself on my cushion each morning.

    Believe nothing

    As you probably know, a statement of beliefs is a very popular thing for a coach to post on her website. These are usually quite uplifting, which, oh, just, barf. I loathe anything "motivational." So that's not what I've got for you, but here are some things you might like to know about me. These are things I don't believe:

    Unlike most coaches, I don't believe I was put here to heal people. Much less the planet.

    It's not my "mission," because I don't believe I was chosen by God or singled out in any way.

    I'm not on a "crusade," because I paid attention in fourth-grade history (probably on account of my insufferable friendship-killing need to Please Teacher), so I know that "crusade" is English for "jihad." And although there were certainly holy wars before the Crusades, I don't think you have to stretch too far to understand that the holy wars of today are causally related to the holy wars of so many centuries ago.

    I'm quite a bit smarter than most. But I don't think that makes me special.

    I like animals, but probably not more than the next person. I can communicate with animals, but probably in a way that you can, too - if you want to.

    I can perform compelling acts of shamanism, but so can anyone who has the inclination and the interest, probably.

    I don't even believe I have any kind of special life purpose. I don't actually think "life purpose" is a helpful concept. It's like believing in soul mates. How stressful. Why only one? There's 7,000,000,000 people on the planet. I think we could each probably be happy with a few of them.

    The only deep desire that I've had since childhood is to be Nancy Drew. Or to be at least as good at finding and interpreting clues as Nancy Drew. I am pretty darn good at that, but I don't think I can elevate that desire to "life purpose."

    I don't believe in "deserve." I'm not here to help you create the life you deserve, because there's no such thing. Believing in "deserve" requires belief in some judging body. This for you, that for you. Believing in "deserve" requires belief in reward and punishment. I prefer the idea of consequences. Causation.

    (Martha Beck, Michael Brown and others say that nothing happens to us; everything happens for us. I like that.)

    I think it would be more fun living on this earth if we weren't raping and killing each other. And if everybody had enough to eat. And if Virginia Wade were on the pound note and Dan Savage on the dollar bill. And if there were less strip-mining, fracking, and the like. Fewer Deep Water Horizons and Exxon Valdezes. But I don't think these things mean there's anything wrong.

    And I can show you how to lose weight, but more important, I'd like to show you there's nothing wrong with you.

    Clinging to beliefs naturally leads to a sort of uberbelief in one's superiority, which, blearrrrgh. Beliefs require correctness, and correctness requires mistakes and wrongness, the way "forgiveness" requires someone to be "wronged" and someone to be a "wrongdoer." It just feeds the illusion of separation.

    Which is how holy wars start. Obvs.

    So I could be wrong about all of this. But I notice I'm happier when identifying beliefs to undo them, rather than identifying with them.

    Question everything

    Here's a belief I've created and clung to: As a person who's a recovered binge eater, I need to get a lot of protein. I don't do well in situations where someone else is in charge of the meal plan. Especially a vegetarian someone. I don't like going on Zen retreats for that reason. It's a lot of low-quality, low-protein stodge, in my opinion. A few days of that, and I'm running through the woods.

    So I don't go. I also chose not to attend a two-week shamanism intensive in Virginia this year on account of the vegetarian offerings and the lack of access to shopping.

    But I'm questioning that now. Does it serve me to believe that I'd be running through the woods, perhaps bingeing on wild-caught chipmunk, if I have to rely on Jeweled Tofu Rice and Tempeh Jambalaya? Might serve me to dismantle that belief, too. (No reason not to bring a bag of almonds, though.)

    Don't take anything personally

    In the immortal words of Havi Brooks, Shit is not about you.

    I have a lot of evidence for this. Shit is not about me.

    So if I did want to create and cling to a belief, it'd be this one.

    If you like this sort of thing, you would probably enjoy my weekly newsletter. I write about weight loss and ending compulsive eating from a shame-free, anti-diet, feminist perspective. 

    Photo Credit: Matthew Fang via Compfight cc

  • The persistence of habits

    A true story: I began smoking as an adorable 12-year-old. Horrifying, right? I smoked Kools. Because that’s what my friends, who were from North Carolina, smoked. I was quickly addicted, and by the time I was in my mid-20s, I would have a cigarette if I woke up in the middle of the night. Perhaps I am lucky to be alive.

    In my early-to-mid 20s, my friends starting quitting. I was one of the few holdouts. I was a Bad Person who did not encourage my friends in quitting because that would have left me alone, looking like a Bad Person who smoked. << priorities (I’m actually very ashamed of this, and I wish to apologize to Louise Katz in particular, wherever she is today.)

    Eventually I had to quit. It was too weird being a smoker. Also I wanted to take up running and I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. So after a few false starts involving bargaining over tobacco rations, I stopped.

    And it was as awful as they tell you. A crater appeared in the center of the world. After sex I would kinda want a sandwich. After dinner I would feel like having an after-dinner sandwich. I could barely write a grocery list, now that my other hand didn’t have a cigarette in it. (To this day, when I think of myself writing anything, I am also smoking in that image.) The only thing that helped was loud music, and that was only a help to me, not to my neighbors.

    But I did stop. I stopped smoking, I stopped eating to make up for it, I stopped blowing out speakers.

    Then, about ten years later, I was walking down the street on some random cloudy Tuesday, thinking about I don’t know what, fumbling in my pocket. It took some seconds, but I became aware of the movements my hand was making. What an odd sensation! I said Hey, Hand! What are you rummaging around in my pocket for? And the answer came: I’m looking for a cigarette. Where are they?

    Dear heaven. After 10 years of zero cigarettes in my pocket, this is where my hand goes without my thinking about it. And smoking is an activity not required to support life. It’s not something I have manage, I NEVER have to do it AT ALL. Ten years, no habit maintenance whatsoever.

    Unlike eating.

    Habits can be vaporised in an instant, and the centuries of Zen literature is full of such accounts. But more often, science tells us, habits fade slowly as we replace them with other behaviors. Neural pathway “pruning.” Sometimes people use the metaphor of garbage collection, as if the material of our habitual thoughts and actions gets trimmed, neatly bagged, and carted away to be recycled into the desire to do yoga or paint unicorns.

    But I have enough experience slipping into old habits to believe that it’s not so tidy. I think it’s more like a ghost limb. There’s a shadow apparatus that never really fades, like riding a bike. The pathway is there, ready to be walked if we want to.

    The Zen teacher Cheri Huber once said, “People think they’re going to do a lot of spiritual work and then get to a place where they can juuuust cruuuuise. And it doesn’t work that way.”

    The same goes double for bad habits. They might be disappear forever, it surely happens, but the usual case is that we starve them and freak out about it, and keep starving them and have to remember not to feed them and keep sweeping up crumbs for the rest of our days because habits have long arms.

    So really, for most of us, the work is finding a way to feel good about that.

    If you like this sort of thing, you would probably enjoy my weekly newsletter. I write about weight loss and ending compulsive eating from a shame-free, anti-diet, feminist perspective. 

  • There are times when you can't be too thin

    Earlier this week, in my newsletter (not subscribed? If you want to be, just sign up here), I mentioned having been mooed at by some yob in Maine. I hadn't yet read Lindy West's essay in Shrill about working for a fat-shamer (recommended), but I have now so a few more thoughts.

    Right, then. I got mooed at in Maine. I was, admittedly, committing the crime of tourism in a tourist town. I grew up in a tourist town, I spent most of my adult life in another, and I live in a tourist town now. So I get it. Tourism is complicated and tourists cause problems (as well as solve some).

    The guy didn’t yell Go home! though - he mooed at me as if the reason for his dislike would remain perfectly hidden that way, behind the evident reason for his disapproval: My "fat." As if I would naturally understand him not to be saying I am a disenfranchised male and you look well-heeled so I’m gonna vent now, but Your fat body disgusts me to the point I’ve lost my English and must now communicate with animal noises.

    Mind, I am only fat in my own memory. I am not objectively fat except by the most recent, most distorted standards, like, in comparison to supermodels and Iggy Pop. I am of statistically average weight; my BMI (not that I care about BMI or venerate the concept) is normal. So when a man moos at me, implying that I am too heavy, he is not really saying anything about my body weight.

    He is also not saying “I have a very specialized sexuality; I am only attracted to women with very low body weight, and I need to let you know that you are not that. While I am driving by. Not that you would have even noticed me otherwise.”

    No, what he was really saying is “I hate you.” And he was using a very recent, very aberrant body “norm” because it’s a handy decoy, and because that “norm” so often goes unchallenged.

    Too often, we don’t even catch ourselves thinking Oh, is someone coming at me with the information I am too fat? Much less the rest of the sequence, which goes something like this:

    1. Oh, he is right, and I am too fat.
    2. Therefore I am less than, worth less.
    3. Also he is allowed to pass unilateral judgement on me.
    4. Also he is authorized to inform me of my worth-less-ness out loud in public.
    5. Now it is time to feel like shit.
    6. Semi-optional last step: Binge, mini-binge, go on diet, or some combo.

    My purpose is not to point out that it’s irrational to fat-shame people who are not fat. I find fat-shaming despicable and disingenuous at any weight. It’s about hate; it’s not about fat.

    My points are 

    1. Let's catch this, when our brains agree with any formulation forced on us like you're fat so you're a piece of shit who deserves agression and

    2. I’ve done a very poor job, as a weight coach, of letting people know that I don’t regard losing weight as the only reasonable response to being fat or being called fat.

    I think losing weight is a good idea if our body wants that. I think learning to expand our capacity for pleasure beyond food is a great idea. I think putting your body in charge of eating beats bingeing and restricting. I think our bodies have a sweet spot at which they’re most comfortable, and if our back is messed because we’re too heavy or if we’re not menstruating because we’re too thin, we are not in that sweet spot.

    But if we think the haters will shut up and leave us alone when we’re thin? Well, that’s when it's true that you just can’t be thin enough.

    If you like this sort of thing, you would probably enjoy my weekly newsletter. I write about weight loss and ending compulsive eating from a shame-free, anti-diet, feminist perspective.