I write about weight every single day. Whether it’s a blog post, a patient’s progress note, a journal entry, or a conference proposal, I’m constantly putting pen to paper on the topic of weight.

And without fail, every single time I write the word “overweight” – which let me tell you, is often – I internally cringe. It just doesn’t feel right in my body or my mind. And I think I know why.

It’s not even so much that I think the word is mean or hurtful, though it most certainly can be. It suddenly lumps an individual person into a category of people whom have been stigmatized at every single turn. I think that there are plenty of people who, like myself, use the word clinically to describe a person of a certain size, but do not have any intention of harming someone.

Of course, there is also a large sector of people who use the word with little regard for the person who is tied to the other end of it. They say it with disgust, disdain, or dismissiveness. It’s used as invective and meant to imply something about the individual.

So those things are true. But what I actually don’t like about using the word “overweight” is that it implies that there is a normal weight at which this individual should be. Plenty of physicians might argue with me (and I’d tell them to read Health at Every Size and get back to me next week), but after years of observing people managing eating issues, I can assure you that there is no one right weight.

In the eating disorders field, we often talk about a “healthy weight range,” and many suggest that range to be within maybe pounds. But the truth is that a healthy range is much, much larger than that.

And in fact, research shows that the underweight are at higher risk of premature death than overweight or even obese (the extremely obese are also at higher risk). Scientists believe that a little extra weight can actually be very protective. So if we’re really concerned about the health of this nation, why do we focus on “overweight”?

How often do you hear the term “underweight” thrown around? I’ll tell you. A quick non-scientific review of google search results shows 8,520,000 results for “underweight” and 54,200,000 for “overweight.” That’s almost 6.5 times as many results.

So in all this talk about achieving a healthy weight, the idea of what a healthy weight even means often gets lost. The National Institute of Health defines it through Body Mass Index (BMI). This measurement has inherent flaws, however.  For one, BMI makes no distinction between weight from muscle and weight from fat. That means that people like Tom Cruise, George Clooney, and Tom Brady are all in the “overweight” range.

Drs. Yoni Freedhoff  and Arya Sharma have a definition of what they call “best weight” that I really like. They say that one’s best weight is, “whatever weight they achieve while living the healthiest lifestyle they can truly enjoy.” Got all that?

What I like about this definition is that it incorporates the most important factor in this entire equation – living a healthy and enjoyable life. If you’re in the “ideal weight range” but sedentary, depressed, and/or have poor health indicators (e.g. blood pressure, cholesterol), what’s so ideal about that?

I also love all of the amazing reader responses to the question of “How do you define a healthy weight?”

As I’ve said at least a hundred times on this blog, language is crucial. Words create our realities, and so throwing around terms like overweight that may not mean, well, anything, seems dangerous.

What do you think of the term “overweight”? If you have been called this, what is it like for you? If you use this term, why?

For the “What I Wish You Knew” series over on Rage Against the Minivan, a blog I lovelovelovelovelove (in case you wondered), a reader submission addressed the topic of discrimination against thinner women. [Please note, the author makes explicit mention of weight, and the post could be triggering for some. Use your best judgment.]

Megyn shares her personal experience with food allergies that have caused her to be underweight and the subject of others’ critical stares and scathing comments. She makes some excellent points:

There is so much out there about loving your curves and accepting your body if you’re not thin. But what about us thin women? Is it ok to belittle and begrudge us? To make snide remarks and disgusted looks? Speaking badly of someone’s weight seems more socially acceptable of thin women than of heavier women. It’s hard to love my body when everyone else tells me I too should hate it and be disgusted. That I am wrong and not ok.

Megyn’s right. Discrimination against thinner women is not something that’s talked about very often. Society does seem to think that it’s okay to pour it’s commentary on how skinny women should “eat more” or “put on a few pounds” without a second thought. In fact, one of the very first posts on NTS addressed this issue, because I think it’s so important.

We all too often forget that creating a world in which weight stigma doesn’t exist means creating a safe space for people of all shapes and sizes. The truth is skinny women don’t all want to be that way. Some struggle with food allergies. Others with illnesses that have wrecked havoc on their bodies. Others may have been the victims of neglect or malnourishment in youth. And still others do struggle with eating disorders, but are no less deserving of respect. So, I understand Megyn’s frustration, dealing with health issues that not only cause her to have to eat differently, but to then be scrutinized for it.

Perhaps the comments she bears are born out of jealousy, discomfort, or simply our hyper-focus on others’ bodies. Whatever the reason, there’s work we need to do culturally and personally to address weight shaming.

So here’s where I disagree with Megyn:

I want you to know thin women are prejudiced against just as much as heavier women.

Perhaps I’m splitting hairs here, or playing right into the Pain Olympics (Waaa! We have it worse!). But I think that this statement is 100% untrue. To me, it’s like a white person saying, “I want you to know that I am just as prejudiced against as a black person.” I just don’t buy it. [Am I opening myself for a firestorm here?]

Everything that I know from reading countless research studies, following the HAES movement, working with patients across the full weight spectrum, and living as a person in a weight-focused world tells me that fat people have it worse. Period.

Larger folks are shamed at nearly every turn – in the workplace, at the grocery store, on the internet, at restaurants, on the playground, in the voting booths, and in their own families, as a start. While perhaps (and I say that tentatively), the comments are more underground when it comes to people we consider overweight or obese, the effects (in salary, opportunities, respect, etc.) are profound.

I think it’s important that we take a cold, hard look at the discrimination happening against larger people. We have to recognize privilege as it exists, or we are doomed to live blind and biased. That’s all.

Now that I’ve stated that fat people have it worse, I recognize that it’s not all that helpful to pit one side against the other, and that’s not what I mean to do. Really. It doesn’t make what’s happening to Megyn better. I just think that making the comparison doesn’t have to be part of her argument.

This actually shouldn’t be a battle of who is more shamed, because the real victims here are women in general. When fat people or thin people are shamed for their weight, we are all hurt. If we grow up fearing being anywhere but in the dead center of the weight spectrum, we perpetuate the stigmatization and we become terrified of letting our bodies find their natural rhythm.

My heart aches for Megyn and her struggle, because no one deserves to be stared down for their size.

What do you think?

[Speaking of not pitting people against one another, one of the best posts I’ve read recently also appeared on Rage Against the Minivan – Where Is the Mommy War for the Motherless Child? Go check it out.]

{credit prettystuff; via pinterest}

I used to wear glasses, and when I did you could frequently find me running frantically around my house, late for work as usual, as I searched for them. If you were looking in the window during this charade, you would undoubtedly laugh, as I would estimate at least forty percent of the time they were on my face or folded on to my shirt. To me, this demonstrates just how disconnected I was from my own body. I could have glasses resting on my skin, making my vision clearer, and have no awareness in the moment of what was, literally, right in front of me.

Thanks to LASIK and mindfulness practice, I am much more connected to myself these days and don’t lose any glasses. I know that I’m haven’t been alone in this disconnection, however. Every day I see individuals who are utterly unaware of their bodies unique signals, and I see how this unawareness wrecks havoc on their ability to properly care for themselves.

When it comes to feeding ourselves, our bodies have an absolutely incredible system for keeping us healthy. Many of us believe that if we really listen to our bodies, it will tell us to eat Hostess cupcakes all day long and send us spiraling into a state of obesity. In fact, our bodies just don’t work like that. That belief itself is worth exploring, and is often tied to messages that we’ve gotten throughout our lives about how bodies just can’t be trusted. We’re told this by our parents growing up (“You can’t be hungry yet – you just ate!”), by our friends (“Watch out or your Twinkee addiction is going to catch up to you.”) and by the diet industry (“Trick your body into losing weight!”), and even by the government and food industry, (“Follow these food pyramid guidelines, not your hunger! Don’t worry that they are the result of dairy and beef industry’s advice to the USDA.”).

What we often fail to hear through all the white noise is the sound of our Inner Nutritionist, despite the fact that he or she is wailing to get our attention. Our Inner Nutritionist is comprised of all of the internal wisdom that resides in our amazing bodies. It’s built on millions of years of collective evolution and decades of your own personal experience. To put it frankly, it knows what it’s doing – a heck of a lot better than your Aunt Sally, Slim-Fast, or the USDA.

Our Inner Nutritionist tells us things like when we are hungry and when we are full. The Inner Nutritionist even has cool hormones at his or her disposal that can make certain foods more or less appealing.  Linda Bacon talks about the restrained eater, the subject of many studies, in her book, Health at Every Size. The restrained eater is someone who has kicked their Inner Nutritionist to the curb, and instead responds to external cues to determine their eating. The restrained eater responds to things like the amount of food available, peer behavior, and their emotions to determine how much and what they eat. While these things can influence all of us to some degree, those with a tight relationship with their Inner Nutritionist are able to observe and acknowledge these factors and return to their own sense of what’s right for their body in the moment.

Utilizing this resource can take a lot of practice, particularly for someone who has long ago fired the Inner Nutritionist. Bringing it back happens when we can practice mindful eating and develop a more balanced relationship with our bodies. An Inner Nutritionist packs his or her bags when her boss doesn’t believe she exists, ignores her, or, worse, berates her.  Just for today, practice being curious as to where your own Inner Nutritionist might be.

Do you believe you can trust your body for your food choices?