Weighty issues

Never tell me fanfiction is not good for something (well, several somethings actually, but let's not go there!). I've just come across a story at the Fire & Ice Archive - a dedicated Ginny Weasley/Draco Malfoy site that I've rather abandoned of late, but have come back to in slight desperation this evening (I have spent over a week doing next to nothing, because there is NOTHING TO DO in this wretched city, and no-one to do anything with anyway, as all my colleagues are off in Europe, lucky people. Grrr). At any rate, this story was the slightly unlikely tale of a Draco Malfoy who has become rather overweight through an unhealthy addiction to sweet things brought about by a crushing and stress-inducing work schedule. Sceptical I was, my friends. Very sceptical. However, as I will read almost anything, and particularly when I am this stultifyingly bored, I read on. Draco hires Ginny as his personal trainer and dietician in an effort to regain his social life and to get in shape for a Celebrity Quidditch Match. On their first meeting in several years, Ginny very quickly pinpoints the real reason for his weight gain - he is lacking in confidence.

I have been thinking a lot over the last few days about the fundamental reasons for my failure, again, and again, and again, to lose significant amount of weight and keep it off. This is not a new subject for me. In fact, I have attempted to figure this out for myself, with close friends and even with a couple of therapists over the years. However, this story made me stop and think. Although I present to the world as a very confident, self-assured person (I've been told on numerous occasions that this is one of the major factors in my 'intimidating' status), the fact remains that I have been trying to deal with low self-esteem for years. After horrendous bullying at my prep school (5-10yrs in the system I grew up in) I contemplated suicide, aged 9, and changed schools as a result, with enormous care and attention going into the choice of my new teacher, whose mandate, I later discovered, read something along the lines of "who cares if she learns anything, just make her feel better about herself". Before anyone panics, I should say that I did not act on it then, nor have I contemplated it with any seriousness since, 'though I suspect I've been walking around as an undiagnosed depressive for a fairly large portion of my life. A new school improved matters slightly on the bullying front, but as discussed in previous posts, I've never really fitted in, and the isolation that causes is pretty damaging over such a long period of time.

It makes no sense for me to have low self-esteem, which I suspect is why so few people have ever picked up on it. See what you expect to see, don't look any deeper! From a purely rational standpoint, I know my many gifts and attributes. However, in my sub-conscious, and the darker recesses of my conscious mind, lurks a much less rational, more instinctive and emotional voice which crawls out to wheedle oleaginously and disrupt my equilibrium. Any new situation, or new group of people causes much more stress and fear than it should, particularly in social or sporting contexts. Although my professional achievements are pretty outstanding for a person of my age and experience, I fight off overwhelming self-doubt virtually every day. My constant need to prove myself, to myself as much as anyone else, probably doesn't help me in seeming less intimidating. Those little girls did more damage than they could possibly comprehend.

I was always large for my age, but not, in looking back, particularly fat, as a child. In a photo taken just before my first day of school, I look older than my four-and-a-half years, but am a pretty normal size, and really only carrying baby fat, as would be normal for a child of that age. A photo taken two years later tells a very different story. Here, I am indubitably the chubby kid, and that continues to be the case from that point forward, although it's not until I'm about twelve or thirteen that chubby really becomes 'fat'. In the two years between the first two photos, what happened? I left my wonderful Montessori pre-school, where my accelerated abilities were handled brilliantly and I was never bored or isolated from the other children, where I was popular, for the first and last time in my life, had wonderful friends and understanding teachers. I went to a school which promised to handle me and my freaky IQ with understanding and enrichment, and which failed mightily to do so. A school which singled me out, then left me to the tender mercies of my classmates - all at least a year older, mostly quite bright, but not in my league, mostly the thin, pretty, and already neurotic daughters of trophy wives and second, or third families. Even at 5, they knew where to hit emotionally to find a vulnerable point.

I don't think it had ever occurred to me to that point to think of myself as physically any different from all the other children around me. Despite being the youngest in the class by a year, I was third-tallest, and it would make sense that I was also rather more solid than many of the very petite little girls around me. Besides which, I 'm fairly sure that I had never heard 'fat' used as a derogatory term until I started school. Within days of starting, mid-year, I was the class outcast. I remember eternally being 'it', being banished from the jungle gym at play-time, and being the subject of a barrage of taunts and teasing from a large group of my school mates. My one friend, still, to this day, my dearest friend, though we see each other very rarely, could not always be there, loathed conflict (she still does!), and aged 5, was hardly equipped to handle being my defence team against an entire class-full of prosecutors (or persecuters, depending on your preferred metaphor!). Add to this level of misery a teacher who, by her own admission, was threatened by this precocious under-age interloper; eternal boredom, as the promised extension and enrichment programme failed to materialise, and a new sibling, who, however much I adored her, must have been a shock to the system of a much-cherished only child, and it's not surprising that things started to go downhill. By the start of my second year, my new teacher was reduced to giving me a sticker for every day I arrived in school looking happy. I was telling very tall, highly imaginative stories to get attention, and my after-school treat had become a neccessity to retrieve me from the inevitable flood of tears at the end of the day. Exhaustion from dealing with the emotional trauma was most easily remedied with a quick sugar-boost, and although my mother had never permitted processed foods, fizzy drinks and the like, my grandmother's shortbread, Mama's very sugary muesli flapjacks and homemade icecream all made admirable substitutes on the way from school to ballet, speech and drama, swimming, piano or french class.

This charming state of affairs continued, more or less, through my primary schooling. Although my classmates grew more civilised as we got older, they also became more adept at hiding the torment they inflicted from teachers and other students who might have intervened. Inevitably, the group that was worst was the 'top' group - 'top' in an academic sense, though they were also mostly the popular girls in the class. In retrospect, I can see that they were probably jealous and intimidated by my intellectual gifts, which left me streets ahead without any effort whatsoever. A class times-table challenge had to be abandoned after I sat at the top of the board without change for over a month, despite numerous challengers. Even then, my accomplishments were such that it must have seemed incredible that I, of all students, should have low self-esteem and depression. At the time, I just knew that they hated me, and that the reason they most often gave was because I was 'fat'.

I don't remember what the catalyst was that pushed me over the edge. I don't remember how it became clear to my mother and my teachers that serious problems were afoot. Either I've blocked them out, and my memories between eight and ten are sketchy at best. I remember going on my first diet - a tupperware container of fruit and cottage cheese for lunch does not help an eight year old blend in, when all the other little girls have packets of crisps, fruit roll-ups and Peanut Butter sandwiches. I remember going to Weight Watchers for the first time. I remember my first real experience of being a star in a non-academic setting, and I remember that I had a lot of 'tonsillitis' - a fact which meant I missed learning about fractions, an omission which haunted my maths career to the bitter end. I remember looking at the rack of knives in our kitchen and thinking how easy it would be. Beyond that, I have no recall.

With this as my background, I think about the weight issues that have plagued me ever since, and examine the facts. Until I was thirteen, I danced up to five days a week, though I was not permitted to sit senior exams, as my teacher knew I would be failed as I walked in the door for not having the right body type. I still have my pointe shoes, dancer's calf muscles, and a love for all varieties of dance that I get to indulge too rarely. I played field-hockey well, though usually in defensive positions (less running). I swam in the summer, skied in the winter and was taught tennis at some point in each year, though I never really progressed, finding it rather dull at the time. I was not an inactive child. Nonetheless, the weight continued to increase. I took to comfort-eating as soon as I could reach the shelves and cupboards where the 'bad' foods were kept. What my mother thought was happenning to the vast quantities of chocolate chips that disappeared, I will never know, though it may have been that the Nanny du jour was doing the shopping. It's extraordinary what a comfort-seeking eater will consume - stale, soggy biscuits, chocolate gone white with age, left-over Hallowe'en sweets from years previous. I stole small coins from my parents' dresser to buy junk from the school tuck shop. Anything to get me through the day. On one occasion, I ate the entire contents of a collection of sweets I was supposed to sell as a fundraising effort for a youth ballet production, and then had to make a sneaky withdrawal from my bank account in order to pay the requisite sum.

Looking at it now, looking at my current behaviour as regards food and exercise, and thinking in terms of self-esteem and confidence, it strikes me that perhaps the reason I have struggled to lose weight is that subconsciously, I don't want to. Having been told repeatedly, for such a long time, that the reason my classmates despised me was because I was 'fat', that 'fatness' became my shield. People didn't like me, not because of who I was, but what I was. Not because they were threatened by my abilities, or my vocabulary. Not because my sudden arrival had disturbed the established pecking order and a fight for social survival in Darwinian terms was inevitable. Not because they simply weren't ever going to be keen on me personally, but because I was fat. Fat became my security blanket, even as it became my greatest vulnerability. It wasn't me they were rejecting. It was my fat.

It's quite a realisation for me, and I think it really is the root answer to a question I have been asking myself for some time. Although I have had related theories before, none of them has been so basic. I don't really fear men - many of my best friends are men - so it can't just be that I hold on to my excess weight as protection from. I am fiercely ambitious, and do want to succeed in my career, as much as the next few years terrify me, so I can't only be subconciously holding myself back from that, not least because 'fat' was an issue for me long before my career was even a blip on the horizon. I need to think about it more, I need to analyse what that means for me on a day to day basis. My relationship with food is much saner and healthier these days, but still suffers from blips, mostly to do with boredom or emotional upheaval. Stress is a big factor too. My formal exercise aversion is something I suspect I will have to be creative about. Gyms, and even more especially, aerobics sessions, will never be for me, and I will always prefer snuggling up with a book or a good movie to going out for the sole purpose of getting sweaty and out of breath. If I could dance my way to fitness, I'd be happy, but my financial resources won't permit that course for quite some time, I fear. However, maybe now I can find the path that's right for me. If not to weight loss, then perhaps to self acceptance. To being happy to be me.

This is a very long post, and a very challenging one for me to have written. It's now stupid o'clock in the morning, and later today I have work to do, so I must away to my rest. Forgive any typos please - I'm too tired to re-read all of this now! If anyone wants to read the FanFic that began my epiphany, the link is http://www.dracoandginny.com/viewstory.php?sid=6401 . Gidge_8, whoever you are, wherever you are, you may just have changed my life. If nothing else, I now have a very good reason for my fanfic addiction, which doesn't have to do with the allure of various sexy vampires, wizards and the odd, sort-of-normal human!