Why am I fat?

It is just one of those things that I have thought about over the years. Why am I fat? People who enjoy the superiority of their skinniness would tell you that it is the result of not being able to push oneself away from the table or put down the fork. To a certain extent that is true I suppose. By the time a person is grown up he/she should be able to do at least that…maybe.

There is also the group that roots for the habit explanation. Eating too much is just the result of established patterns such as every time you walk past the pantry you grab a small handful of M&Ms or a couple of cookies. These patterns can be disrupted and through sheer force of will new habits can be ingrained. Once again…maybe.

There is also the school of thought that some people are just genetically predisposed to being fat. Personally I don’t believe that. There may be a few individuals who can make legitimate claim to this condition but on the whole I’m not buying it.

One of the theories that is pushed in psychological groups is the Circle of Discontent. It is a feedback loop that includes weight gain which causes deterioration in the body image the stress of which leads to more over consumption leading to more weight gain.  

So there are four different ideas about what make us fat. There are probably a whole lot more. So how do we know which of the many models pertains to us as individuals? I believe that it is imperative to understand the why in order to treat the condition. Otherwise we bounce from diet to diet, program to program. Some of them work for a while but all too often we get back into the old upward slide with our weight.

Allow me to introduce you to a young couple who meet, date, fall in love, and get married. It happens all the time. The woman in particular is so very happy. Just 18 she lost her mother when she was 2 and was raised by her father and older sisters. The father was a loud drunk and once his wife died he took out his anger on the children. They feared him from the moment they hopped out of bed until late at night when he would stumble through the front door. So the 18 year old woman was all too happy to say “I Do” and get the hell out of that house.

The couple had a child within a year. It was a boy and mom was happy. She was happy until one night shortly after the birth when she discovered her husband’s temper. The baby was crying and daddy was working shift work. During his 12-8AM weeks he slept while others worked and at night the process was reversed. He awakened in a rage because that damned baby wouldn’t stop crying. Mom had a lot of experience with anger you may remember and so she set about trying to quiet the child. The diaper was clean, there were no outward signs of illness, and the boy had been fed his meal. Mom was in a panic. She picked him up and walked and walked until she couldn’t any more. The baby was quiet while she was holding him but would begin to wail as soon as she put him down.

Mom resorted to a different plan at this point. As soon as the baby became fussy she shoved a bottle in its mouth, and it worked. And so was adopted the plan that kept the baby quiet while the father slept. Baby hungry? He got fed. Baby starts to fuss, he got fed. Baby won’t sleep? He got fed. It wasn’t long before the boy figured out that food could be procured at the drop of a hat. And so began a lifetime of this behavior. Food was used to sooth anxiety, cure loneliness, and to reinforce happiness. It placated boredom, comforted anger, and calmed feeling of rejection. The boy had discovered the cure all. Only it wasn’t.

By now you have no doubt guessed that I am talking about myself. Most of this story is based on fact. Mom told me many times about trying to keep me quiet while dad slept, watched TV, or read the paper. He was the typical, I think, 1950’s father. Hard working and aloof. This one however also had a temper and while he was probably average for the 50’s he’d be considered abusive today. So most of this is factual and some of it is things that I have worked out in my head as being probable. These points can be argued, but there is a picture of me at 6 months taken at a studio which is buried somewhere in my stuff. It shows a baby propped into a sitting position who weighed in at 30 pounds. 30 pounds! That was no genetic anomaly. That kid was being smothered by the anxiety and ignorance of his mother. This is the same kid who wouldn’t, or more likely couldn’t walk until he was 14 months old because he was too heavy. My Aunt gave me that picture long ago. My remark, other than about being fat, was that I looked happy. “No, my aunt said. You were miserable that day. I finally showed you a cookie and held it next to the camera lens. When I did that you looked at it and smiled.” SNAP.

I have a long way to go in figuring out if these ideas are on the money, but once again it brings me back to the thought that there is hope. There is a chance and after all that is all I want, the chance to have a normal relationship with the food that I consume. I think I know the why, now, with some guidance I am going to attempt to fix it.