Like almost all women of my generation, I've spent my life dieting. That is, to be exact, starting and stopping diets, over and over again. I can hardly remember a long period in my life when I've eaten without feeling guilty.
A few years ago, with the rise of feminism, the fight against normative bodies and aesthetic pressure began to take hold. It began to take hold, I say, as an idea, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say as a slogan. Because in my environment—and I say environment in the broadest sense—women, including the standard-bearers of this discourse, continued to strive to achieve the right size, first a 40, then a 38, then a 36.
For some time now, I've noticed that what's gaining traction is a philosophy that promotes healthy eating. They've tried to make us believe that we no longer have to starve ourselves and that the goal isn't to be thin for aesthetic reasons, but for health. We're no longer bombarded with the need to have a slim body, but rather a healthy one. We're assured, presumably with this laudable intention, that there are foods that are poison, that we should eat little and often, or, just the opposite, that we should do intermittent fasting and go for long hours without eating anything.
You'll forgive me, but I feel as much, if not more, pressure now than before. Whether for aesthetic or health reasons, I feel like I'm required to be thin so no one will give me dirty looks and so I can—and this is dramatic—fit into those one-size-fits-all clothes (which are mostly cousin sizes).
Among my friends and acquaintances, women still obsessively monitor what, when, and how much they eat; these are red stripes and mortal sins. Now, though, sequined frivolity has been tinged with the sensible and positive value of health.
Furthermore, the invasion of social media means that these instructions reach you constantly and very insistently. The frustration of not being able to dress the way you'd like, or of not having the willpower necessary for intermittent fasting, or, simply, of being a few pounds overweight, remains intact, if not increased.
And I would even say that an aggravating factor has been added: before, if you couldn't be slim, you simply fell outside the canons of beauty; now, if you don't eat "well," you are an unconscious person who endangers your health. I have come to note, and on more than one occasion, a great surprise at the fact, which is otherwise quite common, that people who take care of themselves and follow the prevailing doctrine also get sick. How can that be? If they take good care of themselves! And so, the frustration is compounded by the weight of responsibility: you are not doing enough to protect yourself from illness and death.
It's up to you, they seem to say, whether you're thin or healthy. This line of thinking clearly follows the idea that bothers me so much: when faced with some serious illnesses, the important thing is how you face them, your strength, your positive attitude.
If you're fat or sick, it's largely your fault. If the planet dies, it's your fault (because you travel by plane or don't recycle). If Catalan disappears, it's your fault. This is what the nuns told us when I was little: obey, be diligent, it's up to you. I try, I really do, but like that little girl I once was, there's a stubborn, rebellious little voice inside me that screams: leave me alone!
