Fat Thoughts: Are They Real?

I think I’m experiencing some form of body dysmorphia. You see, in my mind, I’ve already lost the weight. In my mind, this whole gaining-100-pounds thing never happened. In my mind, I’m thin, the way I was for many years. This is part of why looking in the mirror can be so traumatic for me. To see my size, the shape of my face, my neck, my belly sticking out- it’s just a shock, really. And once I see it, I look enormous in my mind. I think of myself as looking like a mountain. I reprimand myself for “parading around” like any thin person, walking down the street, wearing my enormous clothes, oblivious to how huge I am. It seems impossible that I was ever any heavier than this, despite the fact that I’ve lost 30 pounds, because I can’t imagine anyone being heavier than I am right now. When I look in the mirror, I think it’s not even possible to be bigger than I am. And it’s occurred to me that neither one of these ideas is true- the thin-in-my-mind and the fat-in-the-mirror. My body, in reality, is somewhere in between. And by flipping from one extreme to the other, I avoid the fact of what my body looks like right now. It’s like I don’t want to see anything until the weight loss is over, and until I’ve reached that magic weight, I’m just going to delude myself with these extreme fantasies. And while I’m tempted to think that of course I’m shocked and horrified when I see myself in the mirror- I’m huge, after all- there is a part of me that knows I’m not the biggest person in the world, and that even if I was, it does not mean that I need to be horrified by what I see.

There is a theory in Jane R. Hirschmann and Carol Munter’s book When Women Stop Hating Their Bodies that says that “feeling fat” or having negative thoughts about our bodies actually has nothing to do with our physical state and everything to do with our emotional or mental state. In the book, they go so far as to say that thinking you’re fat is never about being fat. It’s just a code we use for something else that’s bothering us. To give an example, Jan gets a promotion at work. Suddenly she looks in the mirror and feels fat. Upon reflection, she realizes that she feels “too big” because she has grown professionally into a bigger role, and is not comfortable with the change. The subconscious shame of becoming “too big” disguises itself as a “fat thought” - the thought that she is too fat. Another classic example would be if Sally got dumped. Her partner said she was too needy and that was why they had to break up. Later, Sally “feels fat” and that thinks that she eats too much. Upon reflection, she realizes that she is ashamed of being too needy for her partner, and that the feeling has nothing to do with her body. These are the most basic examples I can think of, but hopefully they get the point across (for a better explanation and more examples, see When Women Stop Hating Their Bodies).

The theory here is that “fat thoughts” are never about being fat. Even if you are fat. Because it is possible to be fat and not think about it, or even to be fat and feel good about the way you look. When we start having fat thoughts, they are triggered by a metaphorical situation in life that has nothing to do with what we look like. For me, this theory rings true. When I start feeling fat, it’s usually related to feeling self-conscious about my mental illness. There are plenty of times when I’m going about my business, exercising, walking to the cafe, eating a meal, when I don’t think about my body, when I feel perfectly fine about people seeing me in public. These are times when I’m “thin” in my mind, or just anonymous, unnoticeable. When I start feeling fat, it is often because I am actually concerned that other people can tell that I am mentally ill. When I space out mid-conversation, or when I start crying in public. In my mind, fat is code for being depressed.

One way to apply this theory to your own fat thoughts is to focus on the words you use to berate yourself when you feel fat. For me, I think I “look like a mountain” and am ashamed for “parading around” as if I were thin. If I focus on the image of a mountain, I think of its immovability, it’s permanence. When I relate these ideas to my emotional life, it makes me think of the immovability and permanence of my mental illness. I am truly upset by the idea that I will never get better, not that I actually look like a mountain. When I think of the words “parading around,” I think of being in public for all to see, acting like someone who isn’t depressed. I think of “passing” as someone who is healthy. Knowing the truth of my condition, I am ashamed for acting like a normal person. Either the behavior is false, or the illness is false- it doesn’t fit. And this thought is encoded as a fat thought.

Even my “thin thoughts” are code for something else. When I imagine myself thin, I imagine myself as mentally healthy. This is a fantasy for me. I still have many days where I’m unable to leave the apartment, stuck in bed with despair and depression. I am not fully recovered, and my thin thoughts are a fantasy that I am.

This way of talking about our bodies instead of our feelings is a socially acceptable way of expressing ourselves. It is easier to say “I feel fat” than “I feel depressed.” But if we believe those fat thoughts, we miss the real problem, and stay focused on our bodies instead. This may seem easier at the time, and difficult to even be aware of, but in the long run we are denying ourselves a real experience of life. We are denying the truth of our situation and our ability to change it.