Coming to Terms with the Quarantine 15
I’ve always been self-conscious about my weight. Always. It’s a numerical measurement that has haunted me since I was at least eight years old. Every year at my annual physical, my doctor tells me that I’m technically obese, I must lose weight, and I need to see a nutritionist. It doesn’t matter that I’ve tried Weight Watchers, changed my diet multiple times, or started practicing yoga. That number is always there to taunt me, and it’s only gotten worse due to the COVID-19 pandemic.
Like most people in the country, I started teleworking from home in March. Every day, I would wake up and make the long journey from my bed to my couch to send emails, participate in pointless conference calls, and claim technical difficulties during Zoom meetings. During that time, I coped with my isolation by reading books, blazing through my Netflix queue and…eating my fucking feelings. What else I was supposed to do? The world was a shit show, I was faced with the real fear of catching COVID and dying alone. There was literally nothing else to do.
As the months went on, I spiraled into COVID-induced anxiety and depression. I spent days on my couch too tired to move even though I had barely done anything with my day. The CDC and WHO said stay the fuck inside, so that’s what I did! I followed all the social distancing guidelines and barely left my house except for my weekly grocery store trips. All of my routine activities such as walking to and from the metro, endlessly wandering around the city, dancing at parties with my friends, drunkenly stumbling from the bar to my house and going to random festivals and events was gone. I wasn’t moving like I used to, and I didn’t even notice it. Honestly, I spent so much time and willpower trying to keep my shit together mentally that I totally neglected my body. I didn’t realize that I was severely affecting my health until it was too late.
I’ve seen people say on social media that it’s okay if you gained a few pounds during the quarantine, and that you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it. I agreed with that until it was time to put on real pants for the first in time in months. At first, I giggled when I struggled to pull my jeans up my thighs and button my pants. Those giggles turned to disbelief and sadness as I came to the conclusion that my clothes, which fit me perfectly a few months ago, were too little. I’m not too vain to say that I was devastated. I wiped tears from my face as I peeled those too-tight pants from my legs and traded them for a pair of yoga pants that skirted the line between leisurewear and business casual.
As I went about the rest of my day, I somehow made this one incident into a metaphor about the rest of my life. I’ve let myself go. I barely recognize myself anymore. Eve, I can’t believe you let it get this bad. What is wrong with you? No wonder you’re quarantining alone. Blah blah blah. I’ve always been told that I’m my harshest critic, and baby, when I finally had the courage to step on a scale, I put myself through the damn wringer. I picked myself apart in the mirror and pointed out every noticeable physical difference in myself. I took a tape measure to my hips, waist, and thighs. And even though I genuinely knew that an increased number on a scale didn’t mean that I had fundamentally changed as a person, I wasn’t kind to myself. It took me way longer than it should have to move from anger to action. I’ve since flipped my scale over face down, and I don’t plan on looking at it anytime soon.
Although, I’ve made a conscious effort to be more active, make healthier food decisions, and ask myself, “am I really hungry or just bored,” every time I go to the kitchen, I’m still coming to terms with the Quarantine 15. In this shitty world we’re currently living in, there’s so many things over which I have no control. I can’t control black people being killed or harmed by police brutality, our country’s leadership failing to acknowledge the pandemic, white supremacy, peaceful protesters being attacked by the very officers who were sworn to protect them, black holes, aliens, abrupt deaths of beloved black heroes, or any of the other shit that’s happened in 2020. Hell, I can take all of the social distance measures in the book and still can’t control whether or not I get COVID! Lord knows that damn virus has a mind of its own.
I can’t control anything of the crazy things happening around me so the one thing that I actually do have some autonomy over, my weight, should be easy light work, right? Clearly not. I’m sure a therapist will tell me that my fixation on this one numerical value is nothing but an attempt to hang on to some semblance of normality in this crazy, ever-changing world. I can practically hear my best friend saying, “have some grace with yourself Eve,” and I’m trying. It’s just harder than I thought it would be. I guess that’s 2020 for you, huh?
I wish that I had some step-by-step solution to share with you, but I don’t. It’s hard to have a solution for anything in 2020 that doesn’t equate to some version of “take it one day at a time.” If you’re struggling with any form of weight gain or loss in 2020, just know that I understand you. The world keeps changing and so does our bodies, I guess. Thank your Creator for every day that you’re able to draw breath and do your best in all the rest. At some point the world, and my waistline, will return to normal…hopefully.
