The woman at the gym
There’s this woman who goes to my gym. She’s always a few ellipticals down from me. She is very tall, and all of her bones stick out. I try not to look at her more than twice or three times. I don’t want to be rude. She is wearing a tank top that flops. It billows. Her arms pump back and forth, the sinew stringy and sharp, her wrists like glass stems. Her face is gaunt, the skin pulled back.
It’s a little like watching someone cutting herself. Like watching a diabetic, like Bear, eat a bucketful of maple syrup. Except maybe if someone was sitting there with a knife, slicing their own arm open, we could say something.
(source)
We don’t say anything to each other anyway. We walk past homeless people on the street. It becomes easier and easier, the longer you live in the city. Someone is crying on the subway, but it feels too awkward to ask if they are OK.
Part of the problem is that we’ve learned that saying something is almost always offensive. It’s presumptuous. The people who say something are guys on the street who yell things at women. They’re casual acquaintances who make an inappropriate remark about how much weight we’ve been gaining. They are people without tact or sensitivity. We have learned to be very careful, because we don’t know the whole story. Because we know that everyone makes different decisions. Because we’re supposed to respect everyone’s decisions. Because we don’t want to step on any toes.
When I write about weight I have to be careful not to say anything insulting about skinny women. When I write about feeling unattractive, I have to be careful not to say something that might offend people who are very comfortable with their looks, or very stereotypically hot. A few people got offended when I wrote disparagingly about applicator tampons, because they use them.
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I was close with a girl who had been hospitalized with an eating disorder. She became a vegan, and seemed to use veganism as an excuse to not eat much of anything. But no one wants to have that conversation with me, it seems. Because it’s insulting to vegans. Because I shouldn’t suggest that all women who are vegans have eating disorders.
I don’t want to suggest that. But I want to talk about this girl. And a few other girls I’ve known, actually, who were quietly wasting away as everyone around them politely respected their right to be vegans.
There is a point when political correctness hurts us. It prevents us from being honest with one another. It makes honesty synonymous with inappropriateness. It doesn’t even leave much room for careful, caring, thoughtful openness.
I don’t know that if I, or anyone else, approached the woman on the elliptical and expressed concern she would be anything except horrified and offended. She probably would be. Or maybe she’d tell me, “I have cancer!” as if I should have known. There definitely isn’t a convenient answer.
But to the extent that we still tiptoe nervously around eating disorders and pretend we don’t see them when they are right in front of us, something needs to change. Otherwise, how can we keep going back to the gym, and watching women fade around us? And won’t it be that much easier to quietly start skipping meals ourselves? Knowing that first people will say, “Oh, you’ve lost some weight! Good for you!” And then a few of our mothers and best friends will say, “I’m worried about you.” And after that, no one will say anything at all.
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Un-roast: Today I love the way you can see the currents in my hair, flowing different directions, when I look in the mirror after waking up.
Kate on February 8th 2011 in Uncategorized
Dawn responded on 09 Feb 2011 at 6:45 am #
@Meow…I love your idea of body acceptance.
I love life-after-eating-disorder stories like Erin’s.
I wish there was a good answer.
I also wish people could/would talk. When we experience a “talking” moment in a public place, we always say “that was a New Orleans moment.”
jean responded on 09 Feb 2011 at 10:05 am #
This is such an interesting discussion. I understand the desire to say something to a person who seems to need help, but I don’t think you can compare the skinny gym woman’s situation with that of a person ready to jump off a bridge. The difference is that the woman at the gym is very well aware that she’s skinny. She doesn’t need you to tell her that. The same goes for people who are obese. I think Melissa McEwen over at Shakesville put it best in her post on the subject: http://shakespearessister.blogspot.com/2010/09/this-is-so-worst-thing-youre-going-to_02.html
Obese people get “concerned” comments from apparently well-meaning strangers all the time. But pointing out the obvious to someone–“hey, you’re hurting yourself by eating those twinkies. Please think about your health”–is an insult to that person’s intelligence. He or she has almost certainly seen the gazillion articles about the dangers of obesity, just as an anorexic person living in America can’t have missed the news that starving yourself will eventually lead to death. As someone above mentioned, one comment from a stranger repeating what the person in question already knows almost certainly won’t be helpful. In my opinion it might even be harmful, because each random comment could reinforce the feeling that being in public while being underweight or overweight is like walking through a minefield of other people’s opinions and judgments. The only person who benefits from such an interaction is the “helpful” commenter who can walk away feeling she did the right thing by speaking up.
Here’s what I think. If you want to help the woman, smile in a friendly way. Look into her eyes. Get to know her. Giving her your opinion without earning her trust will just make her feel even more self-conscious about her body.
MWN responded on 09 Feb 2011 at 10:13 am #
I think it can be hard to say something, and you worry about offending a stranger or losing a friend, but it’s better than the alternative, which is staying silent and keeping it taboo. Lots of people have eating disorders, and lots of people engage in other destructive behavior like cutting, for example, and by addressing it, we take it out of the closet. At first the person may feel extremely defensive and lash out, but if we all keep talking about it and showing that it doesn’t have to be this horrifying secret, then it will be that much easier for people to seek help.
At the same time, I know there are definitely body types and health conditions that are super skinny and look ED, and it must be frustrating for those people to have to deal with ED rumors and stuff all the time. But again, it’s better than the alternative. If the price we pay for talking about and addressing ED and other destructive behavior is that some skinny people are going to get annoyed with the gentle, supportive, non-judgemental concerns people are finally voicing, so be it.
Unroast–A roommate just moved out and left behind a lot of stuff to suggest she has issues with cutting and other harmful behaviors. I didn’t know while she lived with us, and I wasn’t sure if/how I should approach it, as we aren’t close. But I decided to let her know that I knew and that she deserved to be happy and get help, and I’m really proud of myself of the way that I acknowledged it, when it would have been so easy to not say anything at all.
Mere responded on 09 Feb 2011 at 4:06 pm #
@ Jean
I loved the way you put that. 🙂
Meredith (Pursuing Balance) responded on 09 Feb 2011 at 9:03 pm #
It is so difficult when you see someone so ill . . . when I worked at Starbucks, there was a similar girl who would come in and ask for 2 venti ice waters and then proceed to spend like 20 minutes at the condiment bar dumping about 100 splendas into them. I always wanted to say something to her, to tell her I had been there and that recovery can be difficult but it is possible and it is worth it . . . but I was behind the counter, and it wasn’t my position 🙁 That was a few years ago, and I still think about her and wonder how she is.
Tabs responded on 10 Feb 2011 at 12:44 pm #
I’ve waited a while before commenting, because I have so many thoughts running around my head when it comes to things like this. I am definitely with you – and agree, that in a perfect world, we would SAY something. We would smile, become friends, develop trust, and change, help, grow. But it’s hard to talk when it’s only considered offensive. And it’s hard to be on the receiving end, when you just want to be left alone (whether that’s “healthier” for you or not). I feel like it comes down to timing. It has to be the perfect moment for one’s words to be heard – or to hear the words, as they are meant, coming from someone else.
A few years ago, when I was abroad in Germany, I was going through one of the worst depressive episodes in my life. I *felt* like I was crazy, whatever that means. I would walk around with pieces of glasses and smash glasses & cups on my bedroom floor, walk all over them, all kinds of obvious disordered behavior. I wandered around at night, lost weight, and pretty much just cried. – This was also a point in my life when I had what I considered one of the best, closest, most open & honest groups of friends. Not very many of them said anything to me. They listened to me talk. They tried to make me feel better, but mostly, I was treated as if I was fine.
The only person who would call out to me if he saw me wandering, ask me if I wanted a hug, or to lie down, was the guy I’m now living with. He would cry when he saw that I cut myself – granted, that there were a few times he avoided me (for understandable reasons) and that it was a heavy burden on him to care for me. But I’m grateful, because I know that if he hadn’t been there, it’s very likely that I wouldn’t be either.
One night, after seeing 1984 at the city theater, I went over to sit by this statue, while my friends gathered, preparing to go to a Sommerfest at my apartment/dorm. Then, they left without me. I sat at the foot of this statue, in the middle of Germany, feeling very lost, without my medicine – and I just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I had tried crawling around (literally), one woman asked if I was okay. I said yes. But then, when I realized I wasn’t and wanted to find her to have her help me, she was gone. So I cried by this statue. And people just walked by. So many people just walked by. – Then a man, himself a foreigner, came up to me and asked me in English what was wrong. And he would NOT leave me alone. I kept telling him I was okay, but he sat by me, got me water, and used my phone to contact someone to come get me. I doubt he understood most of what I was saying, when I was crying to him, but it meant SO much to me. I know that I, personally, needed this kind of …attention – this kind of show or acknowledgment that I existed, mattered, and that SOMEONE – even a stranger – cared about me enough to want to make sure I was okay. It was what I needed (so I’m perhaps biased on how/whether or not to approach people who look like they’re desperate or in need). — I took this experience to heart. Whenever I see someone crying or someone looking hurt or lost, even though I feel shy or scared, I approach them and I try to talk to them. I think it’s too easy to feel alone, and sometimes, even just someone coming up and asking, hey, are you sure you’re okay? Do you need some help? reminds you that you’re not floating, without any kind of tether, to the world around you.
Nadja responded on 14 Feb 2011 at 2:36 am #
It gets touchy, walking up to and talking to someone about a visible thing like weight, because on one hand, we don’t want them to suffer in silence, but on the other hand, concern!trolling is one of the most offensive things you can do… If one more stranger strikes up a conversation about my weight and how I should lose some, I think I’m going to utterly lose my mind in public. I keep “Health at Every Size” in my purse to whip out as needed and I’ll happily go head-to-head with someone who feels that my weight is a matter of their concern. Smiling, saying hello, and striking up a conversation, even asking if one is okay, is about as far as I will go, because if one more person slips a piece of paper with Weight Watchers’ info on it to me…
Kate H responded on 22 Feb 2011 at 9:26 pm #
If it’s any consolation, having said something might have done more harm than good. Your concern is touching and well-placed, and as a recovering sufferer of an eating disorder I’ll be the first to say that the sincere concern of others can save your life, but it can have a nasty back swing. There have been days when I have felt good about myself; sublimely happy with my body and taking real, un-ashamed joy in nourishing it that have been ruined by a well meant comment about how thin I am. Just being reminded about my body in that way sometimes can bring a good moment crashing down- I suddenly feel guilty for liking myself as I am (which is truly paradoxical, considering that these people probably want very much to feel a healthy sense of self acceptance), and in some cases, that feeling of emotional discomfort can put me off my food entirely. Suddenly, what had been a pleasant snack or relaxing lunch break feels like being on stage in my underwear, with everyone judging.
I always told my parents (and my therapist backs me up) “If you want to help me, support me. Don’t yell at me or guilt trip me or scare me with medical statistics. I’m as scared as you are, believe me, but if I look at it that way, I’ll panic. And when I panic, I relapse. It’s a control thing. So don’t make me feel ad about it- just be here for me. If I feel safe and happy and cared for during all this, it will be much less threatening and much more successful.” And I stand by that- when I’m feeling happy, safe and peaceful, I eat. I don’t worry so much.
It’s when something or someone butts in- whether it’s the perfect stanger in the bread aisle who felt the need to comment on my grocery choices (that happened and I felt awful for hours) or the relatives who didn’t believe I was full and fed me my fifth dessert nearly against my will (Yes, it was delicious, but did it warrant the debilitating stomach ache? Not so much.)- that trouble starts.
Eat the Damn Cake » The Evil Voice in The Gym responded on 22 Mar 2011 at 11:45 am #
[…] in the gym, where it hangs in the sweaty air, gurgling with evil glee, and oozing down over the deathly thin woman who is always slashing through her routine at a frantic pace, as though she is running over her […]
Tamara responded on 28 Mar 2011 at 1:24 pm #
@tabs specifically and everyone else too
This is not a new phenomenon. It was addressed long ago, during a discussion that included this synopsis of God’s law: Love God with all your heart, soul, and strength and love your neighbor as yourself. That last part was challenged by a lawyer who was present: “so…WHO, exactly, is my neighbor?”
The following answer was given:
A guy was traveling from one town to another and along the way a gang jumped him, beat him up and took everything he had. They left him half dead and naked on the highway. No car, no cellphone, no money, no clothes…and bleeding.
It was late at night and the highway was pretty deserted, but a car did come along. The driver, a self-improvement guru who regularly told others how to live “good” lives and was supposed to be “good” himself, saw him and slowed down. He got a good look at him, naked and bleeding in the road, changed lanes and sped by.
Another car happened along. This driver, a man with widely publicised good intentions, slowed, got a good look, and also changed lanes and sped by.
Who knows what these guys were thinking. Self-preservation (what if that gang was still around?)… they were late already… it wasn’t their business… someone else would surely stop and help…? Endless, understandable reasons, but the man is still dying naked on the highway.
Another car eventually came along. The driver, just a normal human guy, not outstanding in any other way, saw the man and had compassion. He pulled over, got his first-aid kit from the trunk and stopped the bleeding, called 911, and went with the man to the emergency room. This guy even paid all the co-pays for the man’s medical treatment since the man had nothing on him. Before he went on his way, he left his name and address in case any other medical bills needed to be paid.
A question was asked at the end of all this: Which guy was a neighbor to the robbed, beaten, and left for dead man? “The last guy, of course!” was the answer. Yes.
So…go and live that way.
Eat the Damn Cake » the upper middle class made me eat it responded on 06 Feb 2012 at 1:08 pm #
[…] minds, at every moment. I am always the only one in the room who doesn’t belong to a gym (I tried it briefly). I am usually the only one to take a second helping of […]