![]() ![]() And if I’m really struggling in my ongoing quest for body peace, I tend to reach for a book. ![]() When that happens, though, I have plenty of tools at my disposal, from therapy to running to cooking, that help me to anchor myself in the wider world. ![]() These days, my attitude toward food, exercise, and my weight is healthier than it’s ever been, largely thanks to my recent breakup up with diet culture and focus on pursuing physical activity that actually makes me feel good that said, I still wake up some days (okay, a lot of days) hating my body. I knew I was being unnecessarily cruel to myself, but still, I couldn’t seem to stop. I’ve been small enough to fit into sample-size jeans and big enough to qualify for the COVID-19 vaccine based on my BMI, but the one constant that followed me up and down the scale was fear fear that I’d gain weight, fear that I’d stop losing weight, fear that I’d get-or stay-fat, and thus, to my mind, unlovable. Broder writes some keen anecdotes about religion, sexuality, food, maternal relationships, and womanhood, but as a whole, Milk Fed sort of fell flat for me. For longer than I care to my remember, my relationship with my body was a war of attrition. Melissa Broder's writing is beautiful, albeit slightly unnerving and grotesque, and I enjoyed the brief chapters that made the book feel more fast-paced than it was. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |