‘That makes sense,’ I said, not adding that I still had doubts that I’d ever be able to accept myself.
Chapter 35: I Didn’t Even Use a Spoon
Let me start by saying that Oliver’s mum and my mum are polar opposites. In fact, I don’t think it would be possible to find any two women of the same age who are so completely different in every single way.
As you know, my mum is skinny and glamorous and, let’s face it, kind of vain and self-obsessed. There is no way she would have Oliver over for dinner and not wear any make-up or leave her roots completely untouched and go shamelessly frizzy and grey. Nor would Mum wear one of those long Indian skirts with bells hanging off the drawstring waist and she would definitely not give Oliver a hug upon first meeting him and act like she was his favourite aunty or something.
But that’s exactly what Anita was like. Warm and dowdy and sparkly-eyed, with a kind face and not one iota of fashion sense. She definitely didn’t do Botox, though I’m sure if Mum met her she would recommend she give it a shot.
‘Winter,’ she said, beaming, ‘wonderful to meet you. Thank you so much for coming over. I know that meeting your boyfriend’s mum for the first time is not exactly easy.’
‘Hi.’ I wasn’t sure what else to say. Was I supposed to admit to being nervous, or would that be total TMI?
‘Luckily for me, I never even met Oliver’s dad, let alone his father’s mother!’
She made me laugh. Anita was funny. I started to relax.
‘Mum!’ Oliver nudged his mum, whispering, ‘Sorry,’ in my ear.
‘Oh dear,’ Anita said. ‘Doesn’t she know about the sperm donor situation?’
‘She does,’ Oliver replied sternly.
‘I promised I wouldn’t embarrass him, you know.’
‘Too late,’ Oliver mumbled, but he was smiling.
Anita had made some kind of Moroccan tagine filled with chicken and olives and prunes. She told us about the homeless women she was working with and about the shelter she managed. Like Oliver, she was compassionate and kind, but sensible. She wasn’t all about saving the world, even though she looked after displaced people every day. Unlike my mum, she had no idea who Bruno Mars was and she’d barely heard of the Social Landmines franchise or roller derby or Perez Hilton. She was earnest and warm and daggy, the kind of woman who would burn incense and buy Indian carpets and paint her lounge room bright orange, just because she felt like it one morning.
‘So you and Oliver met at that dreadful party?’ she asked.
‘Yeah,’ I answered awkwardly. How much did she know?
Everything, it turned out. Well, everything about Hannah getting drunk and falling off the balcony and ending up in a coma and almost dying. I prayed Oliver hadn’t told her about the fact that I vomited into a pot plant because I was so intoxicated. He and his mum certainly seemed to be into sharing stories.
Still, while Anita had a worthy job and no interest in popular culture or fashion, she wasn’t the judgemental type either. She just chatted away, asking me questions about myself like I was her equal, not just some teenage girl who happened to be dating her son. It was easy, but disarming. Anita made me feel so at ease I found myself telling her all about working for Mabel and my fashion dreams and how I was worried I didn’t have what it takes to work in such an image-driven industry.
‘Maybe you’ll be the one to help broaden our narrow ideas about what constitutes beauty.’ Anita looked me right in the eye. ‘We all need talented young women like you.’
‘You sound like Rosie, this lady I know.’ I almost blurted out that she was my shrink, but luckily I stopped myself just in time.
‘Who’s Rosie?’ Oliver looked at me quizzically.
‘Oh, just some friend of my parents,’ I lied nervously.
‘Well, you should listen to her. Trust me. I used to work in an eating disorder clinic and I’m telling you, it was very depressing. All those wasted lives. I mean, these were clients with serious and complex mental health issues, but body image anxiety is practically forced upon all of us. It takes strength not to get caught up in that stuff, especially when you’re surrounded by it all the time.’
‘I guess,’ I muttered.
‘Now, time for dessert and a nice cup of sweet mint tea,’ Anita said cheerfully as she left the table.
‘Mum’s chocolate pudding is the best,’ Oliver said as we waited for Anita to return. ‘You’ll love it.’
‘Yum!’ I exclaimed in an enthusiastic attempt to hide the anxiety I was feeling about downing a tonne of empty calories.
Still, I forced myself to eat every single mouthful of the chocolate pudding (and ice-cream!) that was placed in front of me. It was a relief when we finished eating and Anita asked Oliver to walk me home.
‘Your mum is so nice,’ I said to Oliver as we walked through the park. ‘I had no idea.’
‘She liked you,’ Oliver replied.
‘Really?’
‘Why wouldn’t she?’ Oliver kissed me in the moonlight like a character from a cheesy romantic novel.
‘Because I’m superficial and want to be a fashion designer.’
Who worries way too much about the fattening nature of desserts, I silently added.
‘You’re not superficial,’ Oliver retorted. ‘What are you talking about? You’re amazing and creative and kind. I wouldn’t love you if you were just some bimbo fashion girl.’
I felt confident that Oliver really liked me, so when we reached my front gate I decided to tell him everything.
‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ It was time to tell the truth. ‘Rosie is my shrink.’
‘Oh.’ Oliver looked perplexed. ‘I didn’t know you saw a shrink.’
‘I just started after I came out of hospital.’
‘Hospital?’ He was getting super confused now.
So I told him about the laxatives, the diet, the fact that I lied to him about the flu. And it felt good, letting it all out. A relief. Now I didn’t have to hide things from him anymore.
‘Oh, and before we got together properly, I kind of kissed George. Just once.’
I figured I may as well lay it all on the table.
I reached for Oliver’s shoulder, but he pulled back.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked, noticing the pissed-off look on his face.
‘What am I supposed to do with all of this? Who are you?’
‘Oliver, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I was ashamed.’
I tried to touch him again but he wouldn’t let me.
‘I’ve gotta go.’ He turned away, cold.
‘Oliver,’ I pleaded.
‘I’m really tired,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll see you later.’
And that was it. Oliver walked away without turning back. I stood, leaning against my front fence, thinking that Oliver would turn around, that he’d at least want to talk some more. But he didn’t return. I checked my phone. No messages. There was nothing left for me to do but go inside.
Like a zombie, I headed straight for the fridge. Shaking, I grabbed Dad’s cookie-dough ice-cream. To my relief, there was plenty left. I ate some with my fingers, not even taking the time to grab a spoon. I just dunked my hands into the cold, gooey fat-filled tub and shoved as much into my mouth as I could. Over and over again until the tub was scraped clean. I wanted more, so I searched the pantry for Mum’s no-longer-secret stash. She knew how to hide her binge-eating supplies, though, because all I could find were chia seeds, quinoa and a packet of activated almonds.
Useless.
I decided to have a shower, wash it all away. I looked down at my stomach. Fat and bloated and disgusting. If there were still laxatives in the house, I would have taken them. But I had no choice but to let the pudding and ice-cream sit inside me like a punishment, reminding me of what I’d done.
‘Who are you?’ Oliver had asked.
I didn’t know how to answer.
Chapter 36: How to Achieve a Better Body Image 101
&
nbsp; I wasn’t scheduled to see Rosie for another two weeks, but there was no way I could wait that long. So I called her. Desperate. Maybe it was because I burst into tears as soon as Rosie picked up the phone, but she let me come and see her straight away.
‘I’ve ruined everything,’ I blurted out. ‘I told Oliver the truth and now he hates me and I ate an entire tub of ice-cream and I didn’t even use a spoon.’
‘Okay, Winter.’ Rosie looked worried. ‘Why don’t you slow down and tell me exactly what happened?’
So I did. And it sounded so terrible I couldn’t stop the tears from falling down my face.
Rosie sat and listened patiently, handing me a box of tissues so I could wipe away the tears.
When I finished, Rosie said calmly, ‘You had a setback. You used food as a source of comfort and that’s okay. Eating a tub of ice-cream might not be ideal, but it’s not the end of the world. It’s happened. Forgive yourself and let it go. Right now.’
‘But what about Oliver? He hates me!’
‘Good relationships are built on trust and honesty. You told him because you needed to, because you care about him and you wanted to share your experience with him. It’s up to Oliver now. If he decides he can’t handle it, you need to accept that he isn’t the right boy for you.’
‘I guess,’ I muttered. It was okay for Rosie. She probably had a husband. Me, I was destined to be a fat virgin forever. ‘It’s just that I really, really liked him and I thought he liked me, too.’
‘I don’t know him, but it’s possible he felt betrayed by the fact that you hid so much from him.’
Not what I wanted to hear.
‘But I was embarrassed!’
‘He might need a bit of time and space,’ Rosie reassured me. ‘He’ll come back when he’s ready. And if he doesn’t, that’s his choice.’
That made me cry even harder.
But Rosie didn’t let me dwell on this. Instead, she got up and grabbed a pamphlet from her shelf. It was from some health organisation and included tips for developing a healthy body image.
‘I think you might find this useful.’
Tips on how to improve your body image
• Shut down voices in your head that tell you your body isn’t good enough.
• Embrace and appreciate all the things your body can do.
• Never compare yourself to others.
• Look at media and social media with a critical eye.
• Hunt down images that depict beauty in a diverse and body-positive way.
• Surround yourself with positive people.
• Write a list of the top 5 things you like about yourself and read it everyday.
• Your weight does not define you.
• Wear clothes that make you feel great.
• Never feel guilty about eating. Enjoy your food and nourish your body.
• Treat yourself with kindness.
Rosie and I went through the pamphlet together.
‘It may seem a little obvious,’ Rosie said, as if sensing my scepticism, ‘but a lot of clients find referring back to the list when they are feeling down really helpful.’
‘I’ll try,’ I said to Rosie as she showed me out the door.
It’s not like I had anything else to lose.
Chapter 37: The Gym
‘Why don’t you come to the gym with me this morning?’ Mum looked at me expectantly. Even though she was wearing her perfectly coordinated Lululemon performance outfit she looked vulnerable, as if she were fearful of rejection. ‘Not because I think you need to do any extra exercise,’ she added quickly. ‘You look great. I just thought you might like it. It’s actually a lot of fun, something we can do together. I even checked with Rosie to see if it would be okay. I mean, I don’t want to trigger you or anything.’
I instinctively wanted to say ‘no’. I was still feeling pretty awful about the ice-cream binge two days ago, and working out with Mum at 7am was not my idea of fun at the best of times. But the look on her face was so full of hope that I couldn’t help but feel that rejecting her offer would crush her spirit somehow. She was so clearly trying to reach out, connect with me by involving me in her life. Besides, I remembered the advice from Rosie’s pamphlet: Appreciate all the things your body can do.
Of course, the other, more unhinged side of my psyche figured it might help me lose some more weight.
‘Okay.’
‘Really?’ Mum was so excited I thought she might start to cry. ‘I even bought you some gloves, just in case.’
‘Gloves?’
‘Yeah. It’s boxing today. We are going to have a blast.’
With her toothpick arms Mum hardly looked like boxing material. She never came home with black eyes or concussions or anything. What was she talking about?
She must have noticed the look of fear in my eyes. ‘Don’t worry, we don’t fight each other.’ She laughed. ‘You just punch a bag or focus mitts. It’s a seriously awesome workout. Cathartic, actually. Really good for your head. It might be just what you need.’
It was pretty obvious that Mum was a regular as soon as we entered the gym. Everyone seemed to know her. The staff, the other fitness freaks, regular-looking people in daggy shorts and what were no doubt complimentary oversized T-shirts with logos advertising telephone companies or universities or beer.
‘Sienna!’ said a huge, orange-hued man whose muscles bulged like walnuts. ‘You’ve brought a guest today!’
The man’s voice boomed whenever he spoke, his teeth unnaturally white, like someone from a TV show. His head was shaved and he was covered in tattoos of birds and retro-looking women in sailor outfits and wiggle dresses. Good God, I couldn’t help but think. Are you and Mum having an affair? Still, his smile seemed genuine and he acted like he was really pleased to meet me.
‘Winter, this is Sebastian. As you can see, he works out. A lot.’
Sebastian grinned. ‘I have heard so much about you!’
‘Winter’s just sold her first piece of commissioned work.’ Mum was positively beaming. ‘She’s crazy talented.’
Was Mum showing me off? She was acting kind of weird. Proud.
‘So you’re working out with your mum today? She’s the best.’
With that, Sebastian walked off. ‘He’s totally on roids,’ Mum whispered to me. ‘But he’s a sweetheart.’
Mum took me to what seemed to be the boxing area and handed me a skipping rope.
‘Now, the first thing we need to do is warm up. Like this.’
Mum skipped like she was dancing, one foot, then the next, fast, elegant and, well, impressive. I tried to copy what she was doing, but the rope kept getting tangled and it was so exhausting I thought I was going to pass out.
‘Mum.’ I was panting. ‘How do you do this? It’s so hard.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Mum reassured me, not even puffed. ‘It took me weeks to get the hang of it. Let’s try it slowly. You go left, then right, left, then right …’
But I couldn’t get my feet over the rope. They kept missing and getting all tangled.
‘Let’s just try without the rope,’ Mum suggested. ‘We’ll work on the feet.’
Mum was patient. And kind. She didn’t laugh or tell me I was hopeless. In fact, she kept saying things like, ‘You’re going great’ and ‘It’s really hard. Nobody gets it right off the bat’ and ‘Awesome work’. People she knew kept coming by and saying ‘hello’ but they weren’t able to take her focus away from me.
‘I’m training my daughter,’ she would say. ‘She’s working it like a pro.’
George, Melody and I went through a boxing/fighting movie phase last year. Million Dollar Baby, The Wrestler, Rocky (only the original), Karate Kid 1 and 2. They’re great stories. All about how discipline, focus and determination can raise a person from underachiever to champion. We danced to the Rocky soundtrack in George’s living room and expressed awe at Hilary Swank’s body. But I never considered myself to be a fighter, let alone someone who w
ould do boxing for fun. With. Her. Mother. Until now. There I was, throwing punches at the woman who had raised me and loved me and fought with me and made me feel like shit more than once.
And it was awesome.
Besides, Oliver still hadn’t called and it made me feel better to imagine the focus mitts were his face.
‘Jab, cross, jab, cross,’ Mum urged. ‘Come on, you’ve got more in you than that.’
I hit hard.
‘You go, girl!’ Mum beamed. ‘You’re a fighter.’
I’m not going to lie. It was exhausting. I punched and ducked and shuffled until I couldn’t hold my arms up any longer. My shoulders ached and my back hurt. I felt like I was going to die.
‘Let’s cool down,’ Mum said finally and we did our stretches. Afterwards we went to the café for smoothies.
‘Boxing saved me when Grandma Joan died,’ Mum admitted. ‘I just didn’t know what to do with myself.’
‘I still don’t get why she did it. I mean, I know she was sick, but …’
‘You know, Winter …’ Mum looked serious. ‘I think I understand why she did what she did, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. I will never do anything like that to you. I know I’m not the best mum in the world. But I promise, I am going to try and be better. And I’ll never, ever top myself.’
Silence.
I looked down. It was terrible, not funny at all, but still. I could feel the laughter brewing, bubbling to the surface like some kind of insidious molten lava. Mum and I sat in silence. But then it started. She let out a snort, then a giggle and before we knew it, we were laughing so hard my banana smoothie came out my nose and tears dripped from my eyes.
‘Here’s to my mother.’ Mum raised her protein power smoothie.
‘To Grandma Joan.’
And we laughed again. We must have looked like two crazy people and when Sebastian sauntered by, this time dripping with sweat, he said, ‘Looks like you ladies are having a good time.’
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