How BMI can create a life-long struggle with food

When I was just 11 years old, I began to develop breasts. It was December; I remember because the day I noticed was the day my best friend was staying over during winter break.

That summer, I went through an outrageous growth spurt. My girl friends started referring to me as "bubble butt." Fat started to redistribute on my body, and I began to gain in my hips and thighs against my will (and against my expectations- they didn't really cover body shape and weight gain in health class by this point, only menstruation and how the reproductive systems worked).

And then I entered middle school. It was a fragile time for me- I was very impressionable, as most kids that age are. I was trying to fit in and started to develop an interest in dating. For the first time, I realized that people could form an opinion about me based on looks alone.

That year was one of heartbreak for me, both in my social circle and within my family, and I had my first doctor's appointment since hitting puberty. In a fragile state of sadness, loneliness, and uncertainty, I had no idea what I was in for when my doctor said to me, "You're overweight."

She wasn't wrong, according to the BMI, which is what she used to justify this statement. 

I didn't feel overweight. I didn't even feel like I looked overweight. Sure, I wore a pants size larger than my friends to fit my bubble butt and strong, muscular calves into. And sure, I wore a shirt size larger- my breasts had developed quite a bit at that point, and they wouldn't fit into a size extra small anymore. But these were specific parts of my body that carried this weight, and my doctor didn't know how to take that into consideration. As far as my measurements indicated, I was indeed overweight.

At that point, I began to spiral. What if I wasn't fitting in because I was overweight? The person I liked actually liked someone else- was this because I was overweight? The person they liked was so tiny in my eyes (news flash, they were about my size but shrunken overall, shorter but the same build appropriate to their height). Maybe I could be tiny too.

I began skipping meals. "I don't feel good," became my go-to excuse at dinner time. I wouldn't buy lunch, and would often go the entire day without eating. Sometimes I allowed myself to have a Pop Tart in the morning so that I would have the energy to go to school. After school, I took naps to compensate for my energy loss.

And then my friends started to notice. They tried- and failed- to reassure me that I certainly was not fat, that there was nothing wrong with me. And when that didn't work, my best friend at the time threatened me. She was going to tell my parents.

That was enough to scare me into submission, and I began to eat at lunch again- after all, she couldn't see what I ate at home. I would just skip breakfast and dinner then.

But that's when I learned to binge. I remember how delicious that first hot lunch was when I proudly showed her that I was eating lunch that day. It was a bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy. It was so warm and flavorful and salty and delicious- I had no idea about carbohydrates at that point- and what's more is that it felt good. The chewing, the swallowing. It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside in a way that food previously did not make me feel.

I figured that all food was equal- and for the most part, it was. I still had the metabolism of a 13 year old.

Once I started to eat lunch again, food became an addiction. I began to eat dinner again. I would have seconds and thirds. It was as though a switch had flipped inside my brain. In my worry that I would stop eating again, I essentially destroyed my own will power and my appetite increased, as though my brain was stocking up for later, urging me to eat as much as I could, whatever I wanted.

In a way it makes sense, but on the other hand it was cultivating terrible eating habits that I would carry with me for the rest of my life.

From then on, I was afraid to limit my eating, lest I stop altogether once again. If I wanted something, I would have it. I destroyed my ability to say "no" to food.

I carried these habits and these fears with me all throughout high school, and every year I continued to be about ten pounds overweight, but I didn't look like it. I was curvy- truly curvy- in those feminine areas, I still carried those thick ropes of muscle in my legs- which all accounted for the initial ten pounds in the first place that put me into the "overweight" category. 

When I hit senior year, life became extremely stressful. I began staying home from school a lot. I began eating even more. That year I was 15 pounds overweight- and for the first time, I was actually overweight. I carried a little extra pudge.

Throughout these formative years, I continued to hate myself for it. Not a day went by when I was not focused on my weight and how I looked to other people. However, I continued to be afraid of limiting myself- of dieting, and what was more is when I did make any meager attempts, I failed almost immediately. I had ruined my will power.

College was even worse, and without the day to day activity of walking to and from classes like I did in high school, I began to pack on weight fast. There were some flukes, some ups and downs, in my early 20s in regards to my weight, but still I kept adding about 10lbs to my existing weight each year- only I wasn't getting taller anymore, like I was up until I was about 16. I was simply gaining weight, and I had no concept of how to deal with it.

Today, I am truly overweight. I have a hard time controlling my food intake- for me, food is a comfort, and one of the only things I can consistently rely on when it comes to making me feel better. And yet my self hatred in regards to food increases every single day. Every bite I take, I judge myself. I often avoid leaving the house if I'm feeling extra fat that day- even though I am still at the national average for size and height. Is that technically overweight? Yes. But there are more people my size out there than ever before. I should feel right at home surrounded by people my own size. Instead, I simply feel ashamed, like I'm not worth anyone's time of day simply because I'm no longer "thin."

What's my point? Here's my point: stop using BMI as a reasonable way to determine whether someone is at a healthy weight. Stop telling little girls that they are overweight when they don't have the physical or mental tools to deal with that information and do something about it. Stop assuming that your medical "opinion" won't have lasting negative consequences on a person's mental health, causing them to develop habits that will backfire and destroy their psyche