Work in Progress: An Introduction

Welcome to the place on the internet where I dump all of the thoughts I have on my body issues and other fun things.

Like almost everything in my life, this substack is a result of the ongoing war I’m in with my body. 

I was in the third grade when I tried a diet for the first time. While most seven-year-olds were celebrating proper shoe tying, I was in a dismal church basement, celebrating a half pound loss at the Weight Watchers weekly weigh-in. 

Unbeknownst to my mother (and let’s be honest, most moms of the 90s), there is a laundry list of repercussions that come along with exposing your kid to the idea that they need to change their appearance. And to the benefit of my therapist’s wallet, I am proof that this list doesn’t just go away on its own. This is trauma we’re talking about, not the common cold. 

Through an interesting combination of lived experiences and the aforementioned therapy, I’ve come to realize how insidious all of it really is. It goes so far beyond weight loss, creeping into the most intimate parts of who we are. 

For as long as I can remember, I have never fully trusted my thoughts, decisions, or opinions. I chalked it up to being an indecisive person and had never considered it to be a byproduct of my chronic dieting until I was asked to describe myself in group therapy. The words I used were: a work in progress. 

It was difficult to admit but easy to understand. At seven-years-old, I was sold the idea that I wasn’t the person I was supposed to be, yet. I could get there and I should get there because life only really begins once you’re thin. You’ll be happier, prettier, more desired, which is wonderful because you’ll want a boyfriend someday, right? 

Now when I tell you that I ate that shit right up, believe me, I did. I mean, I was a kid. I was just absorbing the narrative that the world was telling me. So much so that any ability I had to form an identity outside of my body was hijacked by the belief that there was no point until I lost the weight. 

So for over twenty years, I successfully and unsuccessfully dieted. The longest relationship I’ve ever had is with a pair of ankle weights that I found in my mom’s basement in 2006. I also gag at the thought of whey protein and know how many calories are in one bite of a medium sized banana.

Now, you’re probably wondering what happened when the diets worked. Did all of this go away? Did I finally feel like a complete person instead of a living, breathing project?

The short answer is no. 

The long answer, funny enough, is better explained by exploring what happened when the diets failed. 

In 2021, the global market for weight loss products and services brought in a whopping 254.9 billion dollars. Just take a minute to think about that. 254.9 billion dollars. That’s double Jeff Bezos’ entire net-worth in one single year. 

Weight loss is a product that is bought and sold over and over and over again. But we don’t see it that way, which is why our reaction to its failure is unlike any other good sold on the market. 

If I bought a kettle and it stopped working after four weeks because instead of boiling water, it developed a raging eating disorder that forced itself to self-combust, I’d probably get on the phone with Crate & Barrel. Yet, we don’t do this with diets.

We don’t turn on the manufacturer or the company or the 115 pound influencer behind the programs we use. We turn on ourselves. We justify it as yet another reason why we’re flawed, reinforcing once again the notion of being a work in progress. This is just a setback, let me try something else. 

And when you finally find that something else and lose the weight, you’re faced with the harsh realization that you still don’t feel complete. To your unpleasant surprise and to the absolute horror of your seven-year-old self, you actually feel the same. 

You don’t receive the wave of euphoria the world promised you and for the cherry on top? You still hate yourself and can only seem to justify it by thinking you must not be thin enough, yet. So, you continue to diet until your concept of food and exercise is so warped that you give up… but only temporarily. This is just a setback, let me try something else.

In a way, this newsletter is me waving the white flag in a war that I should have never been in. Writing about the experiences I’ve had in my body, both the good and the bad, is a step towards finally accepting who I am and who I have always been. 

Previous versions of myself and perhaps half of who I am right now wants so badly to reject this. Wait no, I’m not supposed to be big. I can fix this, just give me twelve weeks. 

But I am done waiting for a version of myself that does not exist. I know that sounds depressing as hell but don’t mistake it for that - this is one of the most exciting places I’ve ever written from. I’ve never been here before but it feels oddly familiar. I am still a work in progress but for once, I’m going in the right direction. 

Now, let’s be honest, the internet is an insane place but the one thing I cherish it for is its ability to provide perspectives that I need to hear. Words, content, music from people who have lived a life like mine and who have cried over the same things I’ve cried over.

My hope is that these personal essays or what I refer to as “glorified diary entries” will bring some form of value to a community that is tired of fighting an unsolicited war against themselves. Maybe it will be valuable in a “learn from my mistakes” kind of way or a “that made me feel less alone” kind of way. Or better yet, “I’m going to try to love myself too” kind of way. 

Thank you in advance for running your eyes over these words.

Until the next one, 

Taylor x

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