Dana A. Smith
In a household of four girls, I was daughter number three: a middle child. While the commonly expressed middle child experience is one of being overlooked, my differences made me glow like neon in the dark. I stood out in every way: inside and out. While my family were social butterflies, having no problem making friends, I preferred the comfort of my room and solitude. My first official job was as a page at the local library and I much preferred burying my nose in a book. Another noticeable difference between me and my sisters was our physical stature. All of my sisters had the voluptuous Smith family gene, which seemed to have skipped right over me.
My family members and close friends of the family would often taunt me about my smaller frame. It seemed very odd to them that I came from the same family yet didn’t have the same body type as my sisters. I was divergent by nature, a difference my family just couldn’t understand or accept.
Their lighthearted jests began to wear me down. It seemed as if not a day passed without someone making a comment about my body. My comfortable solitude and soft skin morphed into a mobile bomb shelter to nicknames such as “string bean,” “bean pole,” and other objects void of the dangerous curves so cherished by the African-American community. Even though I knew, and felt, that there was so much more to me than the way my body looked, I could feel the shifts in my ability to feel safe in my own skin. My worth was becoming dangerously entangled with my body, as their fun (at my expense) went on until I jumped ship and headed off to college out of state.
Enter the Freshman 15 20
College was a very different experience: it was the antithesis of my prior home life. In New York, where I was raised, there was always plenty to do and see. Whenever things got too heavy with the teasing, I could easily find someplace to escape. My salvation was a bus or train ride away—away from the fears, the anger, my problems. Or so I thought. Because I didn’t know how to stand up for myself, I ran—all the time. I convinced myself this was the best way to “face” my struggles. Now, those luxuries were gone. My small school now was located in the middle of nowhere, where the public transportation system was far less extensive than back home.
As a natural introvert, it took a while to make friends. It didn’t take long before loneliness, homesickness, and overall displacement discomfort kicked in with a vengeance. Each day that passed found me more and more withdrawn within some corner of myself, in desperate need of a safe haven. With no chances of finding escape off campus (without a car), I had to find another way to pacify myself. I needed something accessible, quick, and effective. After all, I was sinking deeper into depression like quicksand, and reaching for something stable to keep me above ground. After some searching, I found the answer right under my nose: food.
Food was always a cause for celebration in my house. With my father being a chef and caterer, he had us cooking from a young age. One of my favorite ways to escape when I was younger was baking. Eating soft, sweet treats gave me the same type of feeling as getting on the bus or train; it transported me to a safe place. In my home, the only shortage of sweets was the words I craved to hear about my body. I didn’t have a roommate my freshman year of college, so I was fully free to buy and store every kind of sweet and salty treat that delighted me without anyone’s observation, judgment, or questioning. I turned to my snacks quite often in the first few months of freshman year. My snacking sessions felt as if I were working through my problems with a trusted friend.
After a while, I noticed my clothes began fitting tighter, and my hips dawned their first set of stretch marks. As strange as it may sound, this was a badge of honor! I was finally “filling out” and receiving my birthright of belonging: familial curves. I fantasized about the cessation of teasing and the praises I would receive for physically fitting in. This was way before the time of the camera phone, so I excitedly waited for the holiday break to arrive so I could go home and show off my new body!
The “F” Word
As I traveled back home, I visualized the warm welcome I would receive. This would be my rite of passage—the moment when I was recognized as a woman among my familial clan. Although that special time had already officially passed some years ago, unceremoniously, I looked forward to being celebrated by the women who meant the most to me. Needless to say, the celebration began and ended where it started—in my head. Once I crossed the threshold into the house I was met with open mouths and a barrage of questions. What happened to you? Are you pregnant? Were you pregnant? And the most hurtful of all How did you get so FAT?!
I couldn’t believe it.
As I stood there, grasping for the absentee words to answer my family, my joy shattered into a million pieces. There was true concern in my parents’ voices, and I couldn’t understand why. As they circled me, looked at my new shape, I felt like a participant being picked apart in one of those god awful makeover shows for their individual style sense.
My brain could not process what was happening. I had never been on the receiving end of the word “fat.” It felt cruel. It felt disempowering. It felt as though they were talking about anything other than me. I immediately disconnected from my body. Knowing that a negative reaction would be perceived as weakness, I bottled up my feelings and did my best to laugh it off.
But there was nothing funny about it.
Mirror, Mirror
I retreated to the bathroom and locked myself in. I stripped down to my underwear, something I had done quite often while away at school, and stared at my body. It was different this time. Instead of loving the transformation, I started to view my body through the filter made of the montage of comments about my new physique. My new curves went from being soft and beautiful to something that needed to be changed—immediately.
I fell out of love with my body. I no longer wanted to be that person in the mirror. I didn’t know who I should be, who I wanted to be. My body was too small before and too big now. Was there a happy medium? Could I just do some tweaking and achieve that perfect size? What was that perfect size? Was it realistic to think there was a perfect size that would help me, and others, to fully accept me?
As I stared at myself for what seems like hours I vowed to figure out the answer, no matter what it took.
Journey to Health
If eating got me into this (body), then not eating would get me out of it. This sounded perfectly logical to me. I had to regain control over my body and even the playing field by controlling how much I ate. Eating was my comfort, so ending the carefree relationship between me and food was a challenge, but I was committed to getting my perfect body.
Each meal I would eat less and less. If anyone noticed I would just comment that I had eaten previously. Finally, I got to the point where I was barely eating anything at all in a given day. Appetite suppressants and energy pills helped immensely. I managed to drop a few pounds before having to return to school.
It was much easier to not eat while at school because I wasn’t under any watchful eyes. The weight continued to come off, but other unexpected things started to happen too. I became weak, forgetful, and irritable, and it was starting to affect my work. I didn’t like the person I was becoming. It took several months for me to realize that I couldn’t go on doing this to my body; it wasn’t worth it. I felt so sick at times that I thought I was going to die, and for what—to fit into someone else’s unrealistic mold? Even if those someone’s were my family, I decided that it was not worth it. I needed out as badly as I needed to breathe. I needed freedom from the entrapment. I had to take ownership. I needed to nourish myself: mind, body, and soul. I was desperate for it now. It took almost two years to get into a healthy rhythm with my body. But I made it.
The beginning of my two-year journey felt like hell. There was a lot of mental back and forth, so much so I learned to listen to my thoughts. I was surprised at the amount of negative chatter within. My ego got into the driver seat and challenged me every step of the way, but I kept trying. One day I came across a magazine article that spoke of the power of positive affirmations. At first, I didn’t believe that saying positive things would change anything, especially if they weren’t true. Out of curiosity, I decided to try the daily affirmations as suggested.
I sat down and wrote all of the negative things that I felt about myself. That hurt; then, I changed it to the positive opposite. Each morning, I would look at my body in the mirror and say I am in perfect health, I am the perfect size for me, I love my body as it is. As I continued to affirm each morning (even on the days I didn’t want to) I felt a shift. The words weren’t just words, I started to believe them. And as I did I stopped focusing on my body and started to appreciate it. I learned to ignore comments about my body’s fluctuations. As long as I felt good in my skin it didn’t matter. Finally, I felt powerful and beautiful in my skin.
Yoga—My Saving Grace
I found yoga in 2001, while pregnant with my daughter. I was under a lot of stress at the time. I was working a full-time job and doing my best to deal with the physical demands of pregnancy. It was also a highly emotional time, as I lost a dear friend in the 9/11 tragedy. The old feelings of loss of control started to creep back in. My previous method of regaining control through eating, or rather not eating, was not going to work, and I knew it. I needed a new strategy: one that would be safe for me and my baby.
I was introduced to yoga, by a coworker. She knew I was going through stress and shared how yoga helped her to manage her high stress. As she spoke about the long list of benefits, I looked at this woman, tall and thin, and thought she was crazy to think I could do yoga. I was never flexible, and the thought of me putting my leg behind my head—no way! Not one to be rude, I humored her and said that I would consider giving it a try. She gifted me with two yoga VHS tapes—Yoga AM/PM with Rodney Yee and Patricia Walden. The tapes sat atop my television for a few days before I got curious enough to at least watch them.
Just minutes into the tapes I felt something move inside of me. The sound of the instructor’s voice was soothing, and I began to follow the breath instruction and a few of the gentler stretches. After I felt calm, relaxed, and at peace. I continued to practice as much as I could and it helped me to remain balanced during the last stages of pregnancy. My practice was limited to my living room, and there were many things I was unable to do, but I still felt wonderful. As the physical pains of pregnancy subsided, my mind went from fear to acceptance of what was. I concentrated on my health and well-being, knowing that this was the most important thing at this time.
When I had my daughter, I knew that I didn’t want to pass on my body image insecurities to her. I wanted to give her the support I had needed as a child. I knew that I had to be an example for her, that I couldn’t teach her anything that I wasn’t actively practicing. I saw my new post-pregnancy body as a work of art. Every line and dimple had a story, a role in the growth and birth of my beautiful daughter. I embraced my body; I was proud of my body. I went through one of the most intense things a woman can go through naturally. I made it through the birthing process and my beautiful body held up. The love and appreciation for my body grew, and I made the promise to myself to always keep it growing.
YES! Yoga Has Curves
My yoga practice continued to grow over the years. I was stronger and more flexible, and I felt better in my thirties than I did in my twenties. I was blessed with a son in 2011, a full ten years after my daughter’s entrance into my life. Those old body image issues were long gone as I joyfully watched my body change shape once again. Yoga was there for me once again to help in the pre- and postnatal process.
As yoga gained popularity over the years with more people beginning to understand its benefits, I started to notice a disturbing trend. The media began promoting the “perfect yoga body.” The covers of magazines were full of thin, extremely bendy women who supposedly represented this ideal stature. Gone were beautiful bodies in all shapes, sizes, and hues. Almost every popular yoga outlet promoted this generic and, for most of us, unattainable body structure that represented yoga.
It was discouraging to many bigger-bodied students who wanted to try yoga but knew they could never fit this mold. I was frustrated because this trend was not representative of my relationship with yoga at all. Yoga embraced my body at all sizes. From high-priced clothing to yoga as competition, the true message was being lost. Yoga does not discriminate: it embraces you where you are and people needed to know that. I wanted a way to show the masses that there was more to yoga than what we were seeing. I wanted to create something that would encourage yogis of all sizes, ages, abilities, and races to practice. My offering came about in June 2013—YES! Yoga Has Curves. I meditated and prayed that the right people would come forth and help me carry out my mission. And they did. Women from all parts of the world in all beautiful shapes and sizes came to lend their beauty to the project.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that yoga isn’t perfection; it’s a practice—one that can take you from the lens of “otherness” into presence. Yoga has a history, it has its mars as do we, but it is a growing, living science embedded in the heart of human awareness, and it will grow with us and in us as we commit to growing within it. The journey of self-love and acceptance is yoga.
Dana is a certified Yoga Teacher and Trainer, Master Life Coach, and Holistic Health Practitioner specializing in Reiki and Thai Yoga Massage. She believes that yoga is a powerful tool on the path of total wellness and all can practice regardless of size, age, or ability. Visit her at www.spiritualessenceyoga.com. Author photo by Wanakhavi Wakhisi Photography.