Earlier this year, I wrote about my experiences with people who see illness as punishment for character flaws or alleged incorrect behavior, and believe that if they act a certain way they will never get sick.
The lone person who commented on the post (well, other than those offering to sell me designer purses at a low, low price) pointed out, rightly, that this is part of the cult of “positive thinking,” and that this mindset can be quite insidious to people who randomly got sick.
I’ve always had mixed feelings about weight-loss diets.
The first time I went on a diet was when I was 11 years old. It was a crash diet, and truly unhealthy. But effective. My mother supervised.
It was summer, and I had gained enough weight over the past year — up until that I was stick thin — that the adults around me, from family to family friends, were appalled.
Yes, I was chubby. I’ve always had a round face, partly because the RA curtailed the growth of my chin. And I had a belly, much like many little girls entering pre-pubescence.