This fluent, intimate book is Roxane Gay’s account of her relationship with her body throughout her life, and it touches briefly on some of my research interests as well as my personal feelings about my own ‘unruly body’. She confesses a dark secret from her childhood, that she was gang-raped at the age of 12, but she told no-one and internalised the shame, anger and self-loathing that this caused. She began to gain a lot of weight, in part to protect herself, because a fat, unruly body wouldn’t be a target, right? Soon she was what the medical establishment term ‘morbidly obese’, and she has lived with the societal effects of this ever since.
Similarly to V in my previous post, much of Gay’s relationship with her body is framed in a Cartesian way as if her body is something separate from ‘herself’:
For years at a time, there was me, and the woman I saw myself as while living in my head, and the woman who had to carry around my overweight body. They were not the same person. They couldn't be, or I wouldn't have survived any of it.
She pours loathing upon her body, physically and mentally, despite knowing intellectually that her self-worth shouldn’t be attached to how closely she adheres to a socially constructed image of ‘beauty’:
What I know and what I feel are two very different things. Feeling comfortable in my body isn’t entirely about beauty standards. It is not entirely about ideals, It's about how I feel, my skin and bones, from one day to the next.
It’s truly devastating just how much the repercussions of that henious act committed against her in her childhood reverberate throughout her life, affecting her ability to love herself and others, to function in the world, and to allow herself to feel desire.
My body was nothing. My body was a thing to be used. My body was repulsive and therefore deserved to be treated as such. I did not deserve to be desired. I did not deserve to be loved.
And of course it affects her relationship with food, as this is something constantly policed throughout her life, by her family and others around her. The ‘Hunger’ of the title alluding to this, but also her hunger for affection, acceptance, joy, pleasure and freedom from her past.
I don’t hate myself the way society expects me to until I have a bad day and then I do hate myself. I disgust myself. I cannot stand my weakness, my inability to overcome my past, to overcome my body.
Tellingly, when she inevitably has to encounter the medical profession after a fall in which she badly breaks her ankle, Gay reveals the fatphobia inherent in medicine:
I hate going to the doctor because they seem wholly unwilling to follow the Hippocratic oath when it comes to treating obese patients. The words "first do no harm" do not apply to unruly bodies.
Through the book’s episodic structure, Gay travels along an arc which feels somewhat redemptive towards the end. It’s incredibly hard to stand up to those who make it clear they will only ascribe value to your body if it is smaller, taking up less space in the world. In particular she continues to struggle with the pressures her family place on her, and family gatherings are rarely pleasurable or relaxing. But she indicates a shifting relationship with her body and a growing assertiveness.
Despite the frustrations and humiliations and challenges, I also try to find ways to honor my body. This body is resilient. It can endure all kinds of things. My body offers me the power of presence. My body is powerful.
While she acknowledges that we’ve created a society in which feeling comfortable in one’s body is a rarity, Gay is working hard to overcome the pull of this, and to learn to occupy her deserved space in the world.
I've been thinking a lot about feeling comfortable in one's body and what a luxury that must be. Does anyone feel comfortable in their bodies? Glossy magazines lead me to believe that this is a rare experience, indeed. The way my friends talk about their bodies also leads me to that same conclusion. Every woman I know is on a perpetual diet. I know I don't feel comfortable in my body, but I want to and that's what I am working toward. I am working toward abandoning the damaging cultural messages that tell me my worth is strictly tied up in my body. I am trying to undo all the hateful things I tell myself. I am trying to find ways to hold my head high when I walk into a room, and to stare right back when people stare at me.
This will have been an incredibly tough book to write, and with Roxane Gay’s profile, an incredibly brave book to publish. But I can also see the relief she must have felt to get this out there, to have people know her story, and, perhaps, to leave her body alone.