The intersection of racism, patriarchy, diet culture, and motherhood

I’m learning to use exercise to stay in my body again instead of run away from it. Recovery is a life long journey, and I’m starting a new chapter of coming home to my Self: enter motherhood. 

In the height of my eating disorder, I wept to my boyfriend that my face was so ugly. How fat and round it was. How yellow and Asian I looked. “I’m soooo ugly don’t look at me” I sobbed. I wanted to claw my face off and replace it with someone else’s face-  skinny, blue eyes, blonde hair, tan but not too tan, perfect white straight teeth. 

How could I not, when my first roommate in college hysterically laughed at me at a party for how “Asian I looked”. I walked home in the middle of the night that night alone.

Brown eyes are poop eyes and blue eyes are better. 

In high school, a textbook thrown at my head to “go back to my own country you fucking chink”. I laughed it off, because I was afraid of what would happen if I fought back. 

Middle school nicknames: Five Dollar Sucky Sucky and Shrimp Fried Rice.

I wanted to die and be reborn again into someone who was “actually pretty” and deserving of love- the dream girl the patriarchy thirsts for. 

In the height of my orthorexia, top 10 lists of foods to make you lose weight fast, healthiest smoothies that boost your metabolism, and intermittent fasting were my closest friends. 

I wouldn’t go to work unless I had a small bag of only a handful of unsalted raw almonds and my workout clothes and workout gear just in case I had 5 minutes to sneak in an extra cardio session. “Just enough to break a sweat” I’d say. Two, sometimes three times a day. 

“Rest days” were actually just my eating disorder finding sneaky ways to fit in a calorie burn- let’s go for a bike ride! See this is fun! We’re just having fun! (Pedaling a little faster than I needed to.) Maybe I’ll wear ankle weights next time? I wonder how many calories I’m burning right now?

Throughout this healing process, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be pregnant and chunky, to have a baby and *not have time for a two hour gym workout*  gasp shock horror. I’ll make sure I run with the stroller and do push ups over the baby and sit ups with her on my tummy! 

Fast forward many moons and many lessons later.. 

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I sit in the morning light today with my one week old baby. I ask my body, what would feel good? What do you need, my friend? 

I massage my arms. Gentle, light, slow, breathing. Thank you soft and squishy arms, for curling my biceps to birth this baby. I massage my cheeks, my forehead, my lips. This face that scrunched and sweated and screamed to give life to this miracle. I massage all over my body, whispering thank you. Thank you. My calves for doing calf raises during the contractions for three hours straight. My thighs - I still can’t feel one 100% because of the epidural, I give that one extra tlc. My belly- loose, floppy, slapping as I laugh, not a sign of the six pack that I belabored over for so many years. Thank you, squishy belly. 

I trace the curves and lines of my body. I notice parts of me that struggle to do this. Go faster! Do some core or something! Maybe we should do something harder? Should we do kegels even though I don’t feel ready for that today because I should? I acknowledge those parts of me and invite them to let go, coming back to the moment. 

Ahh. The birds are chirping, the sun is peeking through the window. My feet are pressed into the floor. I close my hands over my chest and hum, feeling the beat of my heart, deep inhale and sigh out. I’m taking my time with it intentionally. I scan my body and ask- any parts want to release? Relax a little more? 

It feels like pouring liquid gold down a sandcastle, heavy, pulling me downward. Breath of joy and lions breath. Om, heart reaching forward directly in alignment with my sweet baby, who rests with me. 10 reps and sets of rolling my body around, drinking in the slow sensual motion of the movement. Opening my eyes, I slowly look left to right, scanning the room. Safe. Calm. Beauty. Pictures of my loving husband. Pictures of our loved ones. Pictures of me, in a smaller body- I smile at her- you were doing your best to survive. You just wanted to be loved. Thank You, too. Gratitude. Inhale. Exhale. Workout done for the day. ✅

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I let my mouth water and signal what it needs. Bacon and egg burritos. Juicy ripe strawberries. Explosive blackberries. The bag of green smoothie ingredients thaws and is forgotten, maybe for tomorrow I say. Hot coffee and a cold blueberry muffin. 

I sit down with my baby and breakfast. I take in her sweet face- fat, round, glimmers of Asian. Chunky, healthy, content.

The mystery of what color her eyes are delights me, but her worth has no connection to that. She will know this Brown or blue, she will be loved. 

She will be loved.

I whisper I love you in Korean, Saranghe, and kiss the thick fat rolls of her arms and legs. You are so beautiful, agi. Igoo epoda. Inside and out.