“I didn’t know.  I should have known, I didn’t understand.  I had no idea.”

These are phrases spoken frequently during the new documentary, Someday Melissa.  This documentary, proficiently crafted by a talented filmmaker, Jeffrey Cobelli, underscores how easy it is for loving involved families to miss the warning signs of Bulimia.  Melissa is presented as a bright, creative, and sassy girl whose self-esteem became completely hinged to her body and her quest for perfection.   Her friends, family members, and clinicians speak frankly about their Should Haves and the impact of Melissa’s death on her loved ones, is apparent.  Also apparent was the connection the audience felt with Melissa as we watched her pass through her developmental stages of latency and adolescence.  By allowing the audience to read Melissa’s journals and view the videos she made, we experienced from her point of view, the heart breaking, and I don’t use that phrase lightly, highs and lows that are  typical of the up and down course that those suffering from Eating Disorders frequently follow. By the end of the film, the audience is also grieving the loss of such a lovely, young, promising, and spirited girl.

In the discussion that followed the screening, led by Judy Avrin, Melissa’s mother, the audience commented on her much they had learned from the film.  Many voiced their understanding that early intervention is essential, while others commented on how long term treatment based on meaningful treatment goals, and NOT brief hospitalizations where inpatient stays are terminated based on lab results, is vital for recovery.  We learned that there is no quick fix for this diagnosis and the statistics of mortality rates that are presented in the film will shock most people into taking the problem of insurance companies discharging patients prematurely much more seriously.  But despite the sadness and heaviness of the material, the audience appeared to leave the theater energized and determined to tell the world how crucial it is to educate people about Eating Disorders. I know I left the theater hoping that Someday Melissa could find its way into Junior High School and High School Health Classes and PTA meetings, especially in Middle to Upper Middle Class affluent Caucasian communities, where Melissa’s story is replicated over and over and The Should Haves is an epidemic in its own right.

If you are interested in helping to spread the word about this important film, visit the Someday Melissa website and please don’t wait until someday.

National Eating Disorders Awareness Week starts on February 26^.

 “I didn’t know.  I didn’t understand.  I had no idea.”

These are phrases often spoken after the fact, looking back with 20 /20 hindsight.  These are the heart wrenching phrases, hand wringing phrases, and the verbal symptoms of a bad case of The Should Haves.

Feb 26, 2012, is the first day of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week.   For those of us struggling with an eating disorder, or treating clients with an E.D. or who have a family member or close friend/colleague with an E.D. the truth is that EVERY week is Eating Disorders Awareness Week. (E.D.A.W.).  In fact, EVERY DAY is E.D.A.D. and EVERY MINUTE is E.D.A.M.  (Not to be confused with the cheese). 

But WE are not the intended audience for NEDAW.  The purpose of declaring a week for awareness is to increase the awareness of those who may not be as intimate with the details, repercussions, and scope of this extremely debilitating disorder and to hopefully raise money along with awareness for treatment and proactive interventions.  The theme this year is, Everybody knows Somebody, which tacitly implies that we may not know that we know somebody, so let’s learn more about E.D. so we can recognize that somebody in our lives and help them.

“I had no idea. I never expected this.  You like me?”

These are phrases often spoken after receiving an Oscar from The Academy.

February 26, 2012, also happens to be the Academy Awards (A.A.) or as Bob Hope used to say,

“Welcome to the Academy Awards, or, as it’s known at my house, Pass-over.”

All self-deprecating Jewish Humor Jokes That I Totally Love aside, the irony that the Academy Awards show is being aired on the first day of NEDAW is not lost on me…the Mayor of Dr. Deah’s Hollywood.  While it may seem like old news by now, some of my readers may remember last year’s Tasty Morsels blog, Friendly Fire, which discussed Portia Di Rossi’s E. D. and the deleterious effects that the pressures of Hollywood have on an actor’s body image.

More recently, those of us who watched the Grammy Awards (G.A.) will remember the derisive comments by Karl Lagerfeld about Adele’s body even though the singer walked away with an armful of the coveted gramophone statues.  More importantly, I hope we remember her fantastic response to Lagerfeld, chastising him for focusing on something that she didn’t consider a problem, and was irrelevant in re: to her music.  It is difficult to ignore the fact that so much of the pre and post Grammy hoopla focuses more on the musician’s body (especially the women) and their fashion choices than on their talents.  Hearing performers like Adele and Kelly Clarkson reject the industry’s paradigm is a relief and hopefully other talented performers will follow suit.

Another beacon of hope that emerged during the Grammy frenzy, if you can call someone coming out as Bulimic a beacon of hope, was Lady Gaga’s announcement that she struggled with an Eating Disorder in her teenage years and continues to struggle with body image issues.  She is quoted in an article in Jezebel,

“It (the purging) made my voice bad, so I had to stop,” she said. “The acid on your vocal cords — it’s very bad.  But for those of you who don’t sing, you maybe don’t have that excuse until it’s too late. It’s very dangerous.”

“Weight is still a struggle,” she said. “Every video I’m in, every magazine cover, they stretch you. — They make you perfect. It’s not real life … I’m gonna say this about girls: The dieting wars have got to stop. Everyone just knock it off. Because at the end of the day, it’s affecting kids your age. And it’s making girls sick.”

Film Critic, Jan Wahl

Why didn’t they run that clip over and over and over on the red carpet???  And now with one week to go until the Big Cheese (no still not Edam) of award ceremonies hits our living rooms,  I urge all of you to hold on to your Jan Wahl Hats because, “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride!”  The Grammys were just an “amuse bouche” compared to the Main Course Super Size Portion of Insanity served up by the Academy Awards and the emphasis they place on form over film.  It is time to steel ourselves and get ready for the onslaught of media mania that will sadly plant seeds of discontent in many a viewer about their own body as commentators dissect each star who walks the carpet under the search lights.

But wait…let’s do a fade out…

Fade in…We find ourselves in Dr. Deah’s Hollywood.  A saner place where we can take a moment and capitalize on the perfect timing of the confluence of NEADW and The AA by introducing you to a film that fits the bill for raising the awareness of E.D.’s and satisfies the requirement of Good Cinema.

 “I didn’t know.  I didn’t understand.  I had no idea.”

These are phrases spoken frequently during the new documentary, Someday Melissa.  This documentary, proficiently crafted by a talented filmmaker, Jeffrey Cobelli, underscores how easy it is for loving involved families to miss the warning signs of Bulimia.  Melissa is presented as a bright, creative, and sassy girl whose self-esteem became completely hinged to her body and her quest for perfection.   Her friends, family members, and clinicians speak frankly about their Should Haves and the impact of Melissa’s death on those who loved her, is apparent.  Also apparent was the connection the audience felt with Melissa as we watched her pass through her developmental stages of latency and adolescence.  By allowing the audience to read Melissa’s journals and view the videos she made, we experienced from her point of view, the heart breaking, and I don’t use that phrase lightly, highs and lows that are  typical of the up and down course that those suffering from Eating Disorders frequently follow. (It is why, by the way, our theater piece Leftovers is subtitled, The Ups and Downs of a Compulsive Eater).  At the end of the film, the audience also grieved the loss of such a lovely, young, promising, and spirited girl.

In the discussion that followed the screening, it was clear that many of us were convinced that early intervention is essential, and long term treatment based on meaningful treatment goals NOT lab results is vital for recovery.  We learned that there is no quick fix for this diagnosis and the statistics of mortality rates that are presented in the film will shock most people into taking the problem of insurance companies discharging patients prematurely much more seriously.  But despite the sadness and heaviness of the material, the audience appeared to leave the theater energized and determined to tell the world how imperative it is to educate people about Eating Disorders. I know I left the theater hoping that Someday Melissa could find its way into Junior High School and High School Health Classes and PTA meetings, especially in Middle to Upper Middle Class affluent Caucasian communities, where Melissa’s story is replicated over and over and The Should Haves is an epidemic in its own right.

Similar to two other films that I have written about, Miss Representation and America the Beautiful 2, Someday Melissa also draws a direct line from the pressures of The Media and Hollywood to the onset of body dissatisfaction and subsequent Eating Disorders.  If ever there was a cause that the Academy should take under its wing, it is this one.  Can you imagine the impact if each actor who receives an Oscar this year, stepped up to the podium and said something to increase Eating Disorder Awareness?   Remember the coverage that anti-war statements received when they were voiced at the Oscars?  What if each winner admonished the media for writing headlines such as, “Academy Award Nominee Still Hasn’t Lost Her Baby Fat” or,  “Oscar winner looked frightfully thin in her Michael Kors.”

In that case the winner would be…

Everybody

That’s how I feel about Valentine’s Day.  Like a can of mixed nuts.  Remember those cans of Mr. Peanut Planter’s mixed nuts that would magically appear once or twice a year in the living room?  At first glance they looked like the regular dark blue can of roasted salted peanuts, easy for me to ignore, peanuts were never my “fave.”  Why I love peanut butter but can live in the same house with a can of roasted salted peanuts without any temptation for noshing on them still mystifies me.  But this can, upon closer inspection, was the bonus can of “Mixed Nuts.”  If I was lucky to get to the can before my dad, there may be some filberts left.  I LOVED the filberts.  If I got there before my sister, I could still “score” some pecans.  But the true treasures for me were the cashews.  Even rarer was finding a cashew in its entirety and not just a chip of the crescent or a split half; but the full cashew.

I believe my earliest experience in mindful eating came the first time I ate a cashew.  It was the perfect combination of salt, crunch, flavor and texture.  Sweet and salty at the same time and rich with a smoothness of oily munchy goodness.  YUM.  But mostly, the can of mixed nuts was stuffed with peanuts, and someone else always seemed to get the cashews and I was left feeling somewhat…empty…disappointed…and craving something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Valentine’s Day over the years has meant many things to me.  Before I went to school, it was an art project that my mom and I did together, cutting out lacey doilies and scribbling over the textured paper with red waxy crayons to see what shapes came out on the white paper beneath it.  Then my mom would do the most amazing thing.  She would fold the piece of paper in half and cut the paper and when she was finished; she would reveal a heart, filled with my scribbles.  I couldn’t understand how she could cut a piece of paper and still have it come out as a full piece and not split in half.

Valentine’s Day was about miracles with my mom and it was indeed a cashew.

Later on, once in school, Valentine’s Day was about bringing valentines to every kid in your class and your teacher.  The first year I remember diligently cutting out valentine after valentine, my mom having taught me the scissor trick and bringing them into school eager to hand them out.  To my horror, everyone else had brought in Snow White or Sleeping Beauty Valentines, glittery, each in their own perfect tiny envelope; except the one for the teacher which was much larger.

My valentines were the peanuts and I left school that day feeling somewhat…empty…disappointed…and craving something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

In Junior High, while the tradition continued to bring in the mass marketed valentines, now available in super heroes, Barbie, and Charlie Brown versions, what was written on the back of the valentine was the true valentine.  Most of them were just “peanuts” signed by the person who like me had used the class list and written name after name on each card, so as not to leave any one out or hurt someone’s feelings.  But once in a while, you would get a note on the back that was different.

“To the prettiest girl in Homeroom, Love, Gary”

Wow…that was a cashew, a filbert and pecan all rolled up in one!!!

Into adulthood and Valentine’s Day became about true love, romantic love, intimate sexy hot passionate love.  And of course if that was not in your life, it became about, why am I alone? Why don’t I have a valentine?  Where is my Gary now?  If I were thinner, I’d have a Valentine, I would think to myself as I mindlessly and angrily ate a piece of heart shaped candy that was given out at the hospital where I worked.  This whole February 14^th thing is just a Hallmark Opportunity to sell cards and make money.

NUTS!!!!

When my son was three, he and I sat at the kitchen table dutifully making valentines for all of the kids in his preschool.  Surrounded by doilies and red crayons and construction paper, we scribbled and cut and pasted enough valentines for each and every kid in his group and made special bigger ones for his teachers.  I showed him how to fold a piece of paper in half and cut it so it came out in ONE piece shaped like a heart.  His eyes were wide with wonder and glee.  We used glitter and stickers and he made one extra for himself.  I smiled when I saw that.  It had never occurred to me to make a valentine for myself, but somehow it felt right.

When I dropped him off the next morning, all of the other kids were marching in with their arms full of valentines.  Some were home made some store bought, I grinned.  I left feeling somewhat…full…hopeful…and satiated…as if I had had my fill of cashews.

Whatever Valentine’s Day means to you, whether we like it or not, we will be bombarded by the media’s message that it has to do with buying the right gift, and being loved or loveable enough.  I say, it is about connection.  And the most important connection we can make is with ourselves.  That is not selfish, that is not narcissistic, and that is not arrogance.  It is healthy.  The most important valentine we can receive is the one we give ourselves, from a place of self love.  Then we can open up to the love of others and be able to love others as well.

Imagine having enough cashews to go around??

“Your voice is one of the most important instruments in your personal orchestra,” the teacher would remind us. “Not everyone is Marcel Marceau and if the audience cannot understand you, then they will walk out and the playwright deserves better!”

So there we were, a room full of 15 year old Eliza Doolittles, our mouths full of marbles or mini marshmallows, cheeks bulging and earnestly repeating meaningless phrases over and over.  The giggling was infectious as marshmallows and marbles spewed from our mouths like bb’s as we repeated, “Sushi chef sushi chef sushi chef,” or, “She makes a proper cuppa coffee in a copper coffee pot.”   But my favorite was, “Unique New York, Unique New York, Unique New York” because as a native New Yorker from Queens and later on LonGIsland I was in love with the grandeur of New York City.  And like most New Yorkers, I was indoctrinated into the cult-like belief that New York is indeed the center of the universe.

Case in point; I have lived in the Bay Area for over 30 years and my family still thinks I am just going through a phase and continues to ask, “When are you coming home?”  In some ways I still carry that “programming” with me.  Each time I go to New York it’s as if my body recalibrates and on a cellular level, I am home.  The smell of the Van Wyck Expressway, the pace of the pedestrians on the city streets, the nonchalant way I ride the subway with The New York Times folded effortlessly in thirds…

Unique New York, Unique New York, Unique New York.

I have been fortunate in my lifetime to travel fairly extensively, and I have learned that there are many amazing places in the world that shine with their own brand of uniqueness.  Until recently, one of the cities I never had a chance to visit was Chicago.  It took me over a half century but I finally made it. I was visiting my son for his 20^th birthday.  Zak is there for a two month internship, a component of his college program, at a fabulous music venue called The Society for the Preservation of Arts and Culture of Evanston, aka, S.P.A.C.E.  Not only was it the first time I had ever been to Chicago, but it was the first time in my “mommy” role that I had ever been someplace that my son knew more than I did.  From the moment I arrived he took on the role of tour guide with great relish (which we will get to later) and showed me around his “new hood.”

I don’t know whether it was my aforementioned “New York centricity” or just my previous paucity of exposure to anything about Chicago, but my expectations were surpassed on every level.  What a vibrant city!  The lake, the view from Sears, (now Willis) Tower, the music scene (and not just the place Zak is working at) were all delightful.  We visited the Field Museum and the Museum of Science and Industry, which were superior, in my opinion, to many of the renowned museums I’ve been to in D.C., Paris, London, and yes…even New York!

Then there was the food.  Wow, I have never seen a town that took its pizza so seriously.  Gino’s  has a deep dish sausage pizza and because they put a sausage patty, which is the exact circumference of the pizza, on top of the dough and then cover it with sauce and cheese, you are guaranteed to get a bite of sausage in EVERY mouthful.

And don’t get me started on the hot dogs. (I told you we would get back to the relish.)  Having grown up in the land of Sabrett’s and Nathan’s carts on the corners of NYC I never expected to be impressed by a hot dog in Chicago!  But they have elevated the dog experience to a whole….nudder….level!

Another highlight was the famous, Second City Comedy Club.    It was like visiting Mecca.  Meaningful for me because founded in 1959, the Second City is where Violin Spolin originated the theater games I have used in my careers as an actress and expressive arts therapist; and super cool for my son because this is where many of his favorite comedians (Dan Akroyd, John Belushi, Eugene Levy, Katherine O’Hara and Martin Short) got their start.

But something else struck me as we traipsed around the city.  Most of the people we saw in the museums, restaurants, and shops were bigger and body shapes and sizes more diverse than those in N.Y.C. More people looked like me than didn’t.  It reminded me of when I was in Ireland surrounded by redheads and I felt an unfamiliar but delicious sense of belonging and acceptance. Funny thing about being unique; it can be a good thing, but if you are unique in a way that society doesn’t appreciate or accept, you can become a target for bullying and teasing and left feeling like an outcast or outsider.  So as the days passed in Chicago, I found that a part of me really relaxed in a milieu that I experienced as less competitive and more accepting of my size and shape.  Of course I don’t know what the internal processes or self esteems of the individuals may have been, but the visible evidence of  fat, fashionable, casually comfortable Chic-cagoans really added to my positive experience of The(ir) City.

The challenge, of course, is to carry that sense of comfort and self appreciation with you when you leave a place where you feel you belong and continue to generate self-acceptance from the inside.  It takes practice and determination but the benefits of cultivating love, respect, and appreciation for our individual qualities and uniqueness without relying on other people’s opinions and attitudes are enormous!

With Valentine’s Day close at hand, feeling lovable is on the radar for many of us who frequently feel unloved because of our body shape, size, or body image.  But we don’t have to live in Cheek-cago to remember that it is up to us to define what is lovable about ourselves and NOT measure our self-worth by how many valentines we receive or what other people think about our bodies.

The most important, intimate valentine any of us can receive is the one we give ourselves.

But then, in 1993, the movie Groundhog Day came out and similar to the old Hitchcock flick, Gaslight, the phrase Groundhog Day took on a new meaning.  If you are not familiar with the Bill Murray film, he is thrust into a reality where he keeps re-living Groundhog Day over and over and over.  Each morning he wakes up and it is the same day.  Each day he knows what is going to happen and eventually begins using the predictability in ways that are helpful to others.  He transforms into a more aware and less self-centered person as he plays with the hand that fate has dealt him.

One of the meta messages of the film was that for all of us, in some ways, life is like Groundhog Day.  Each morning when we wake up, we have a chance to pay attention more closely to those around us and tune in to events that sometimes seem invisible to us because we are busy, distracted, or just unconsciously going through our daily routines. We assume that things may be the same because they look the same and we are not used to digging deeper.  In fact, I am sure that some of you may have experienced a bit of that just now when you zoomed in on the billboard of the fat kids from Georgia.

“Enough already with this Deah, we’ve read about this already…so nu?   You’ve decided to just keep writing about the same thing over and over and over?  What is this…Groundhog Day?”

Well, yes…it is!  But that’s just a coincidence.  The reason I am writing about the billboards again is because there is an amazing event taking place TODAY!                     PLEASE READ ON!

If you haven’t heard about it yet, Children’s Hospital in Georgia is running an anti-obesity campaign that uses billboards of fat kids.  In my last blog I wrote about the  controversy surrounding these ads and the growing popular opinion that these billboards are more destructive than helpful.  Whether or not you feel that there is an obesity problem among children, the question being asked by many is whether a shaming campaign is a reasonable solution?

Today there is a powerful action taking place to put a billboard opposite one of the Strong 4 Life’s billboards that challenges their use of shame as a healthful intervention when it also gives a message to bullies that it’s o.k. to shame fat kids.

Ragen Chastain has teamed up with several people and has ignited a campaign today to raise money to buy that billboard in Georgia.    She writes about it brilliantly in her blog  (Ragen Chastain’s blog post)  and offers the opportunity to donate anywhere from 1 -100 dollars.  The goal is to get 1000 people to donate, in order to trigger Jay Solomon’s More of Me to Love matching fund of $5,000!

THIS IS AN OPPORTUNITY TO TAKE A STAND AND BE A PART OF SOMETHING REALLY MEANINGFUL FOR AS LITTLE AS ONE DOLLAR!!!

Look, I wouldn’t be asking if this wasn’t really important.  I NEVER use this blog for raising money, I have no advertisers, and barely plug my own book on this blog (www.leftoverstogo.com).  So if I’m breaking one of my blog tenets to do this, trust me, it’s a big deal.

In Dr. Deah’s Hollywood, The Georgia Billboards, LapBand Billboards and Bypass Billboards would all disappear.  But for now, I will settle for one billboard in Georgia STANDING up for the rights of the kids.  Won’t you join me?  DONATE NOW BY CLICKING HERE

And if you haven’t heard the song  STAND!! by Sly and the Family Stone for a while, after you have made your donation, go to You Tube and check it out.  It’s inspiring!

These are all descriptions that people have shared with me about Facebook and I can’t say I disagree.  But as Tevye would say, “On the other hand…”  For me, it has also been a portal to people and organizations adding knowledge and depth to my personal life and professional pursuits.  Occasionally, the two overlap.

I reconnected with a childhood friend via Facebook and after the usual reminiscing of boys, teachers and most incredible concerts of the 70’s (Sly and the Family Stone at Madison Square Garden and Janice at the Fillmore) we found ourselves in present time.  This is a turning point in The Facebook Friend Continuum.  Once the past is rediscovered, like a safety deposit box of memories, gone through, validated, dusted off, blanks filled in, and carefully put away, what is left in terms of continued meaningful contact?

Sometimes, differences in politics eclipse the common bond of childhood and you pack the person away as part of your history but no longer check their updates.  Other times you may actively defriend someone realizing that they have become (or always were but when you were 10, who knew?) too abhorrent to have their posts show up on your page…or wall…(I’m a bit embarrassed to admit but I am still unclear what the difference is between my wall and my page).

Delightfully rare is when you find someone that even as adults you share common ground and if you were to meet that person for the first time today, chances are you would be friends.  I recently had this experience with “Vee” who unbeknownst to me, had been reading my blog and keeping up with my posts.  She messaged me that she found great comfort and inspiration in the size acceptance, health at every size® message that is woven throughout most of what I write.  I in turn deeply admire her paintings that she shares from time to time. They are poignant in their frankness and familiarity of subject.  Honest and clear, qualities that she appreciates in my writing I value in her art.

Indisputably, Vee is talented successful and educated.  In Dr. Deah’s Hollywood, these are all characteristics of someone who would be confident and self assured.   Sadly, in the real world, it came as no surprise when she wrote to me about how she feels like a failure because in her mother’s eyes, Vee is too fat.

                                                                                                “But, do you still love me?”

This was the question Vee asked her mother recently when she took an emergency trip to Florida to tend to her mother’s every need after Mom’s 7 hour spinal fusion surgery.  A woman in her mid fifties puts her life on hold, during the holidays, takes a taxi from the airport directly to the rehabilitation facility to be with her 80+ year old mom.  Mom, who is immobilized, incontinent and, in my opinion, inexcusably inconsiderate, greets her daughter with,

“You look disgusting, why don’t you lose weight?”

INCONCEIVABLE! 

But NOT inconsistent.  Ah, if we could blame it on the pain medication or some cognitive disorder that had her mother blurting out crazy incoherent insults to anyone who walked by.  But this was completely in sync with her mother’s normal affect and typical lack of affection.  The familiarity of the reproach did nothing to soothe the sting but for the first time Vee changed her lines in their script.  She looked at her mom, and inquired,

“But Mom, do you still love me?”

Think about this scenario…a woman is there to provide unconditional love and help to her mother.  Her mom whose body is in complete disrepair yet still feels superior to her healthy helpful daughter based on the singular criteria of weight.   And because Vee, an accomplished talented grown woman is still, as most of us are, invested in our parent’s love and acceptance she is brought to tears by her mom’s words.  Vee is not alone.  So much of our fat shame and self loathing is really about not feeling loved.  Not feeling worthy of love.  Not being good enough, right enough or thin enough to be loved. It doesn’t matter that we know how ludicrous these judgments are because we have been abused and brainwashed for so long, we instinctively try to defend and justify our weight and bodies.

“After I popped the question, she dropped it but meanwhile I overheard her telling 2 different nurses that I used to be so pretty. Plus her aide told me she talks about my weight to her friends all the time. For Christ’s sake, I’m 145, not 245! Okay, so my ideal weight is 118, realistic weight is 125. But I’m 55 going through menopause, not looking for a husband so I could use a break, thank you very much.”

So I ask you…

Why all the hate? Why do we, as a culture, continue to assault and insult our daughters, sons, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, co- workers for having bodies that are fatter than we think they should be for whatever reason or justification we may think supports this behavior?

So I beseech you…STOP! 

You are breaking someone’s heart.  I guarantee that your well intentioned, “I’m just doing this because I love you,” script is causing more harm than health.  And heaven forbid some day you find yourself lying in bed after surgery and you are lucky enough to have someone there to care for you, try this on for size.

Be happy their body is strong and able enough to transfer you to a wheelchair, or lift you up to change your bed pan.   Be grateful that they love you, even though your body is no longer “perfect.” And be open to the idea that maybe…just maybe…that person may have a chance to be happier with a little dose of appreciation and acceptance.

In Dr. Deah’s Hollywood, Vee’s mom would have just said,

                                                   “Yes.”

Here are two wonderful blogs about love and acceptance that you may enjoy.

 Dr. Pattie Thomas discusses the importance of human empathy in Psychology Today

Erylin writes to her dad in her FFF blog post.

And here is the link to STAND 4 KIDS, a campaign against the Strong 4 Life Campaign that is shaming children in the name of helping them.

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I have been battling a most pernicious bug since the first day of the New Year.  Perhaps some strange kind of karmic pay back for the blog post I wrote expressing my disdain for New Year’s Resolutions…or mere coincidence, either way, I don’t get sick very often, and when I do, I don’t do sick well.

(Wow, a head filled with mucous and I can still squeeze out an unconscious oxymoron).

I’m not sure anyone really does sick well, but some folks are able to give themselves over to the invasive bug or virus and hunker down into the healing mode.  I just can’t do that, it’s a flaw. There is always something that needs my attention and is more demanding than my sniffles and sneezes.  So even though the words are swimming in front of my eyes as I type this, I am determined to meet my deadline and fulfill my obligation for this blog post to the best of my ability.

Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you look at it), the Georgia S4L anti-childhood obesity ad campaign has supplied me with an enormous amount of content to share with you, making the task of writing this blog, a bit easier.  If you have missed this ad campaign, it has had journalists, bloggers, activists, mental health professionals, parents, medical practitioners, etc. all engaged in a heated discourse.  And with today being the first day of Healthy Weight Week (see public service announcement below) this conversation is very timely.

The Strong 4 Life ad campaign consists of commercials and billboards of fat children bemoaning the fact that they are fat. The billboards, like mug shots of fugitives scattered along the highways, are defended by many as a necessary intervention for addressing the critical epidemic of childhood obesity and saving the children.  Opponents of the campaign, adamantly assert that shaming a person, especially a child is no way to facilitate positive change in anyone.   Adding injury from insult, this also results in sanctioning bullying of fat children under the guise that it is “for their own good.”  No surprise that I am aligned with the latter point of view of having already written about these types of  shaming campaigns  in Tasty Morsels,  FFF’s website, and on the Leftoverstogo Facebook Page. 

Perhaps you will have a different opinion, however, and I am curious as to how my readers weigh in on this subject.  The former University Professor in me is assigning all of you an extra credit reading assignment.  I am providing you with a  list of blogs and articles to read, a Facebook page created by Atchka devoted to fighting the campaign, a petition to sign  created by Chevese Underhill of BEDA protesting the campaign, and a letter writing campaign created by Dr Pattie Thomas of Psychology Today, should you decide to voice your opinion, pro or con on the issue.

Whatever side you wind up taking, I urge you to take the time to get educated on this vital topic and make your decision based on fact checking and vigilant research.  If you have additional links, please share them with us as well.

ARTICLES

•  http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/01/04/anti-obesity-ads-won-t-work-by-telling-fat-kids-to-stop-being-fat.html
•  http://www.abc2news.com/dpp/news/health/controversial-ads-encourge-overweight-children-to-lose-weight
• http://www.salon.com/2012/01/03/why_is_georgia_shaming_fat_children

•   http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/02/georgia-child-obesity-ads_n_856255.htm

BLOGS

• http://healthateverysizeblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/05/the-haes-files-georgia-on-my-mind/

• http://www.moreofmetolove.com/blogs/entry/fat-meth/
• http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/i-take-space/201201/weight-is-social-identity-according-new-research

• http://harrietbrown.blogspot.com/2012/01/whats-wrong-with-georgias-childhood.html
•   http://fiercefatties.com/2012/01/05/hammer-time/
• http://danceswithfat.wordpress.com/2012/01/07/georgia-disney-and-the-wave-on-my-mind/
•  http://www.ajc.com/opinion/obesity-ads-serve-as-1300929.html

Thanks to Duckie Graham for these phone numbers:

•   Director of the National Institutes of Health (NIH): 301-496-2433 (Dr. Collins)

•   Director of the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH): 301-443-3673 (Dr. Insel)

• Director of the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development (NICHD): 301-496-3454 (Dr. Guttmacher)

• Director of the National Institute of Minority Health and Health Disparities (NIMHD): 301-402-1366 (Dr. Ruffin)

HEALTHY WEIGHT WEEK CELEBRATED JAN. 15-21

By the third week in January, New Year diets are dumped, the rebound binge is over and people are looking for balance to get their lives back on track. They can find it in the 19^th annual Healthy Weight Week that begins Sunday, promoting lifestyle habits of wellness for people of all sizes and shapes.  “It’s a time to say ‘I’m okay and so are you.’ Let’s stop dieting and get on with living in normal healthy ways,” says Francie M. Berg, MS, licensed nutritionist and adjunct professor at the University of North Dakota School of Medicine, who chairs the event.

Healthy Weight Week features two sets of awards. Adele, the young British singer, topped the Women’s Healthy Body Image Awards. The Slim Chance Awards for worst diets of 2011 went to a 23-year-old self-made millionaire, HCG hormone treatment, Sensa weight-loss crystals, and a plastic bracelet set with hologram discs.

During Healthy Weight Week, people are encouraged to improve habits in lasting ways by eating well, living actively and feeling good about themselves and others. For more information see www.healthyweight.net/hww.htm##

CONTACT:
Ronda Irwin or Francie M. Berg
701-567-2646
Healthy Weight Network
402 South 14th Street
Hettinger, ND 58639
www.healthyweight.net

“Drop it already Dr. Deah that’s old news!!!  It doesn’t happen anymore. Move on to another cause.”

With Healthy Weight Week around the bend on January  15^th and little change to be noticed, I find myself in the position to once again post this classic video from the Tri Delta folks.

I am not saying that this year has been void of remarkable strides in the size acceptance and HAES ^(sm) communities.  Thanks to the hard work of the following people and organizations:  NAAFA, About Face,  The Body Positive, ASDAH, NORMAL, Fierce Freethinking Fatties, Linda Bacon, Paul Campos, Darryl Roberts, Jon Robinson, Jay Solomon, Judy Matz, Ellen Frankel, Ragen Chastain, Golda Poretsky, Marilyn Wann, Kim Brittingham, Frances Berg, Joanne Ikeda,

(ooops, they are playing the, “Get her off the stage before she starts thanking everyone in the academy by name music”)

fabulous inroads were made into the most ossified institutions including:  media, fashion, health and big pharm.    But as the recent ad campaign in Georgia  illustrates, we still have a long way to go.

What is great about this Tri Delta video, is how it reminds us that we don’t need to be visible or esteemed enough to infiltrate the news, magazines, or  halls of congress to make a difference.  Any activist knows that changing other people’s minds is difficult and most of the times impossible.  As Ragen Chastain of Dances with Fat says,

“I can explain it to you but I can’t make you understand.”

Activists also know there are changes we can make on our own that may cause a ripple effect and eventually a wave, and ultimately a CONSTRUCTIVE tsunami of attitudinal adjustment in this society.

In the spirit of throwing that first pebble in the water, I ask you to please take a moment and watch this video.  Even if you’ve seen it before, consider it a booster shot and go into the New Year loving your body, nurturing your body, and not taking crap from nobody about your body.

And maybe in January, 2013 I won’t have to post this again?

I can dream can’t I?

11111112.  No I’m not writing this blog in binary.  That would have a zero in it I think…math…not my thing.  Numerology? Also not my thing.   But it’s hard to ignore that I am writing this blog on 1/1 and it is my 111 Tasty Morsels Blog Post and my first blog of ’12.  Hence 1111112, and for some reason, that’s just cool.  

I wrote my first blog post a year ago after Leftovers To Go’s web designer, Rocky Laber of DSD Interactive, advised that blogging would help generate traffic to the website and more people would learn about and purchase the Leftovers To Go Workbook/DVD set.  I had never “blogged” before, rarely read other people’s blogs, and didn’t know how blogging would differ from my past writing experiences. My curiosity was piqued and ready for the challenge, I made the commitment to blog for one year.

I began by commenting on news stories and special events that focused on eating disorders, size discrimination and health at every size®.  During the process, of researching sources and topics for blogs, it did not take me long to find that every day in some newspaper somewhere there was something to comment on.  I found I was unable to postpone the gratification of commenting long enough to write my blog posts and began adding my voice in the reader’s comments sections.  I gathered there was a greater likelihood the authors and other readers of the articles would “hear” my point of view there, rather than trust that the mysterious world of search engine optimization would bring people to the Leftovers to Go website.   In doing this, I discovered an entire community of HAES^(sm) and size activist bloggers diligently working to educate and offer support to the public.  Therapists, Dieticians, Dancers, Doctors, Activists…all blogging away!  Who Knew??!! I was so impressed with the mother lode of articulate and sane voices out there that I began using my blog to promote other people’s blogs, webinars, organizations and websites.  While this did not accomplish the original goals of  my blog (to increase book sales and other commercial endeavors) there was no turning back.  I was on a mission and if there was a way I could use my small piece of the “interwebs” to fight size discrimination and promote self-acceptance, then I was all for that! How difficult could it be? There was no scarcity of material to draw from, and it is a controversial and important niche for engaging readers in constructive discourse and active diablogue.  Piece of cake, right?

Wrong!

Don’t let anyone tell you that blogging is easy.  It isn’t.  I know many people think that a blogger just sits down at the keyboard,  perhaps free associates or employs a technique of writing their thoughts down in a stream of consciousness as if they were talking to someone, and twenty minutes later they hit the publish button.  But it really isn’t like that and I am in awe of people who blog daily.  IN AWE!  With time a valuable commodity, and never enough of it, I’m lucky if I write one post a week.  Writing a blog is labor intensive and each post, a labor of love.

It isn’t easy on an emotional level either.  Publically posting personal material puts the writer in a vulnerable position.  (Wow, sorry about the alliteration!) There is a bond that develops between a blogger and their audience, a sense of trust and intimacy that builds up as people share difficult material.  It is public and private at the same time.  Over the year, I have expanded the voice of Dr. Deah’s Tasty Morsels from strictly an op. ed. style to include more personal stories about my work as a Therapist, Professor, Actress, Author, and Activist and it is a challenging balance.  Too much disclosure is unprofessional in the therapeutic community, not enough personalization, and your empathy is unconvincing.  Too many facts, you are writing a mini dissertation, not enough you are just ranting. Blogging is an art form that is developing as we speak, or write…as it were.  As part of their teacher training programs, colleges and universities have developed new curriculum on how to use blogging as a gateway to literacy and a vehicle to facilitate improved social interaction and communication skills.  What started off as a radical fringe journalism movement, has gained credibility and wide spread approval and acceptance.  The parallel between the successful mainstreaming of blogging and the fight for inclusion that the HAES and size acceptance movements are currently engaged in is easy to see.  Perhaps that is why blogging is a logical medium for communicating these “radical” concepts to dispel the prevailing myths about the obesity epidemic in our country.

On January 7^th, my year is up. I have written 111 Tasty Morsels blog posts and am syndicated on several websites.  I am honored that in a world filled with so many choices and so little time you select a “Dr. Deah’s Tasty Morsel” to savor.  I am thrilled when you take time to add your voices in the comments section.  Supportive or argumentative, either way, it means I have ignited a thought, a feeling, a reaction and provided YOU the opportunity to find and share your voice and opinions.  For me, it has been time well spent, and I may just re-up for another tour of duty.

Warmly,

Dr. Deah

CHECK OUT THESE OTHER SOURCES FOR  BLOGGERS :

LEFTOVERSTOGO.COM  

MORE OF ME TO LOVE`

HEALTH AT EVERY SIZE WEBSITE

FIERCE FREE THINKING FATTIES

You say, “____________.”

Before I moved here in 1989, I called the local police and checked in about the crime stats.  After all, I would most likely be raising a family at some point and wanted to hedge my bets proactively.  I was told that the neighborhood was,

“relatively safe with the occasional drive by.”

With that knowledge tucked under my belt, contracts were signed and I moved in.  Two weeks later, the Loma Prieta Earthquake hit and my tiny little one story house, nonplussed, re-emerged safe and sound. It was like the airplane scene from The World According to Garp…I have lived here ever since.

The crime in my neighborhood has had its ups and downs over the years with the increases in crime seemingly in sync with economic downturns and desperation.  I’ve been robbed once and on another occasion had a SWAT team (no, I’m not exaggerating or using poetic metaphor) in my back yard.  But I still “hella love” Oakland. 

One of the gems of this iconoclastic city by The Bay, and especially close to my heart, is Lake Merritt.  The Lake is a remarkable place of refuge in the midst of a city known for its turmoil.  It is a bird sanctuary, children’s playground, nature and science learning center and the walking, biking and running tracks for many an Oaklander.  I joined that “team” of Lake Walkers in 2002 after a serious back injury and have been walking the 3.4 mile circuit almost daily in order to stave off the immobilizing back spasms.

I always walk in the same direction which means that I have, over the years, met about a dozen or so people who are “walking The Lake” at the same time as I but in the opposite direction.  It’s amazing that hand waves and one to three word exchanges each day over the course of ten years weaves relationships with people whose names I don’t even know. But it does. When one of my regulars disappeared for a few months, my head was filled with questions about what happened to him…was he okay, had he moved, or merely changed directions?  When I saw him one morning back in his regular spot, I waved, “Are you okay? I was worried about you!” He smiled and we high fived each other. Over the course of the week, as we walked past each other, I learned of his close encounter with a stroke and gradual recovery.  Goosebumps ran up and down my spine as I realized that he and I are as much a part of the ecosystem there as the pelicans, cormorants and grebes who have their own special sections of The Lake and come and go with migration patterns as predictable as our daily walks.

But a few weeks ago, things changed.  I was the victim of a drive by shouting.  No, it wasn’t the first in my lifetime, but it was the first time at The Lake and it cut through me like a scalpel.  I was happily walking my route, savoring the sun and grateful for the crisp breeze against my face.  As a transplanted New Yawker, I still get a satisfied feeling each December when I can leave my house without a snow shovel and in a tee shirt.  I had just passed one of my favorite regulars, a young man in his late twenties perhaps, who sports a pony tail and a black suit.  It took about a year before I could elicit a brief two finger forehead salute from him and another year before the wave was accompanied by a smile.  Today he actually said, “Hi!” and I was filled with a sense of satisfied connection.  Suddenly a car, going in the opposite, direction sped by.

The driver aimed and fired,

“Walk it off Baby, Walk it off!”

And he was gone.

Gone before I could respond. Gone before I could recover. Gone Gone Gone.  I was left fuming, stewing, hurting. Now please trust me that I do NOT take violent crime lightly nor do I think that a drive by shooting and a drive by shouting are the same.   I know they are not.  But if you would indulge me and work with my metaphor, you’ll understand why this type of “assault” is such a big deal to me.  His words eclipsed any and all feelings of pleasure that I had been experiencing.  I began to spiral down into a very bad case of the “should haves.”  As I trudged along I went through a mental rolodex of:  I should have said this, I should have said that. If I had his license plate number I’d find him and tell him this, or that.  My imagination on fire, I was in Dr. Deah’s Hollywood.

“Hello officer, I’d like to report a drive by shouting.”

“You mean shooting?”

“Okay, yes…A drive by shooting off of a mouth.”

“Yes there were injuries.”

I even crossed into the territory of blaming the victim.

“Deah, why are you so sensitive? Why can’t you just let these things roll off your shoulders?  Why give him so much power?”

My Big Ole Booty

I also considered his point of view… perhaps he felt he was helping.  Maybe he imagined himself a male Jillian Michaels on wheels and was convinced he was shouting out supportive coach-like positive reinforcement because after all wouldn’t the ONLY reason that I’d be out there power walking around the lake be to walk off my big ol’ booty?

But in the end I kept coming back to the anger.  If I saw him again I’d be prepared. I’d head him off at the stop sign. I’d lean in toward the car.  I would aim and fire,

“Did I ask for your help??? What you said didn’t help. I don’t want your help! Your help is based on assumptions and a one sided point of view.  How dare you intrude into my world only to wound me with your misguided bullets of support. The only thing I had to walk off, Babeee, was the anger, hurt, and humiliation you left in your so called helpful wake.”

Sigh.  As if…

As a person who has devoted decades to repairing wounds inflicted by other’s good intentions, it is startling to find that I am still vulnerable when I am the target of an emotional drive by.  But I am human and hence, an on-going work in progress.  For a few days after the incident I noticed that I was more hyper-vigilant. There was less of a jaunt in my step, and I felt vulnerable.  I wondered if everyone assumed that my walking regimen was motivated by my need to fit in to what society expects a woman’s body to look like?

I thought of T-shirts I could wear.

Don’t Help!

OR

Walking 4 my Health NOT 2 B a Size 4

OR

Who Asked U?

OR

Occupy my Big Fat…

Well, you get the idea…

The good news is that my recovery time is quicker than it used to be and I no longer punish myself for not being perfect in the eyes of others.  The inner “should have” voices are quiet again and the P.T.S.D. (Post Traumatic Shouting Disorder) symptoms have faded. I’m back at The Lake walking and reveling in all she has to offer.   Yet as I write this I find myself back in Dr. Deah’s Hollywood where this post goes viral and finds its way not just to my fellow “victims” but to the perpetrators.  In a cinematic montage we see the people who believe they are doing a good deed, through their unsolicited coaching and commenting, having an epiphany.   In a classic light bulbs flashing scene we witness AHA moments, one after one.

• “I get it…she isn’t a project that needs fixing.”
• “Eureka!  She has her own valid definition of beauty!”
• “What is that you say? A health focused approach to living life and NOT a weight focused approach?”

We see them in their cars steering clear of The Lake, or if they do drive by, they smile a knowing smile, keep their comments to themselves and do not disrupt The Lake’s placid ecosystem.  Change is in the air and all body self-consciousness has evaporated; cormorants fly by and we fade to black.

But until then, here in Dr. Deah’s Oakland, when I walk, I wear my ASDAH T-shirt  and if anyone asks me how I feel about walking around Lake Merritt, my answer will be:

“It’s a great neighborhood, relatively safe, with the occasional drive by.”

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AND HEY…MAKE THIS POST GO VIRAL!!!!  CHANGE STARTS HERE!