I was walking my dogs tonight listening to this episode and I couldn’t wait to get home to type this very comment to you.
Last Monday I took my first dose of Ozempic. My husband gave me the shot because he’s a doctor and is relatively unphased, while I was simply too afraid. Immediately afterward I started to cry because I just felt…broken. “Why do I have to go to these lengths?!” I sobbed into my pillow. It was a self-pity party that I’m not entirely proud of, but one that is a not necessarily an uncommon occurrence in a body that needs a lot of special tending to (re: mental health, addiction, weight, etc.).
My husband wishes I loved my body as much as he does. And my discomfort in my skin absolutely affects our intimacy (negatively). It’s a very multifaceted experience being in my body - a body I want to love and care for, and also a body I am just SO OVER having to fuss over. A neutral position in the middle of the road is my greatest hope; however, I cannot even fathom the possibility of it.
All this to say, I do not know what the future holds for me and my body and it’s ever shifting size, shape, and idiosyncrasies. As I trudge the path, however, I’m grateful to have podcasts like yours to lean into. xo
Hi Anna! I love this topic, and it's one I write about often in my own Substack about body image and body culture.
You ask, "If you’ve had a significant weight loss, how’s that affected your sex life?" I lost around 70 pounds about a decade ago, and though I have some 15-ish pound fluctuations every now and then, I've largely kept that off. For me, one of the main drivers behind my gaining a lot of weight in the first place was a binge eating disorder, which stemmed from (and perpetuated) feeling totally disconnected from my own body. Because my highest weight was the result of punishing and abusing myself with food, at that point I felt like I didn't even really have a body; it was this stranger, this "other." That also meant my sex life was in shambles -- I had no harmony with my physical self, so I didn't really enjoy sex at all.
When I lost that weight -- from going to therapy for my disorder, and from getting into strength training, which has led to a mind-body connection for me that's profound bordering on spiritual -- it kind of turned the lights on, sex-wise. It's not because the physical flesh of my body was "better" from losing weight, but the things that ended up causing me to lose weight were also the things that caused me to get to know, accept, and appreciate my own body -- which I feel is a big part of having good sex.
To this day, if I slip into old patterns and feel the connection between my mind and body get a little fuzzy, I feel that in my libido/sex life, too. I would have hated it if someone told me back when I was totally sedentary, but it feels real to me: I have the best sex, and feel like I want to have more sex, when I'm locked in on an exercise routine that I like and that feels good to me.
Thanks for the question, can't wait to see how this topic evolves.
Hi Anna,
I was walking my dogs tonight listening to this episode and I couldn’t wait to get home to type this very comment to you.
Last Monday I took my first dose of Ozempic. My husband gave me the shot because he’s a doctor and is relatively unphased, while I was simply too afraid. Immediately afterward I started to cry because I just felt…broken. “Why do I have to go to these lengths?!” I sobbed into my pillow. It was a self-pity party that I’m not entirely proud of, but one that is a not necessarily an uncommon occurrence in a body that needs a lot of special tending to (re: mental health, addiction, weight, etc.).
My husband wishes I loved my body as much as he does. And my discomfort in my skin absolutely affects our intimacy (negatively). It’s a very multifaceted experience being in my body - a body I want to love and care for, and also a body I am just SO OVER having to fuss over. A neutral position in the middle of the road is my greatest hope; however, I cannot even fathom the possibility of it.
All this to say, I do not know what the future holds for me and my body and it’s ever shifting size, shape, and idiosyncrasies. As I trudge the path, however, I’m grateful to have podcasts like yours to lean into. xo
With gratitude,
-m.
Hi Anna! I love this topic, and it's one I write about often in my own Substack about body image and body culture.
You ask, "If you’ve had a significant weight loss, how’s that affected your sex life?" I lost around 70 pounds about a decade ago, and though I have some 15-ish pound fluctuations every now and then, I've largely kept that off. For me, one of the main drivers behind my gaining a lot of weight in the first place was a binge eating disorder, which stemmed from (and perpetuated) feeling totally disconnected from my own body. Because my highest weight was the result of punishing and abusing myself with food, at that point I felt like I didn't even really have a body; it was this stranger, this "other." That also meant my sex life was in shambles -- I had no harmony with my physical self, so I didn't really enjoy sex at all.
When I lost that weight -- from going to therapy for my disorder, and from getting into strength training, which has led to a mind-body connection for me that's profound bordering on spiritual -- it kind of turned the lights on, sex-wise. It's not because the physical flesh of my body was "better" from losing weight, but the things that ended up causing me to lose weight were also the things that caused me to get to know, accept, and appreciate my own body -- which I feel is a big part of having good sex.
To this day, if I slip into old patterns and feel the connection between my mind and body get a little fuzzy, I feel that in my libido/sex life, too. I would have hated it if someone told me back when I was totally sedentary, but it feels real to me: I have the best sex, and feel like I want to have more sex, when I'm locked in on an exercise routine that I like and that feels good to me.
Thanks for the question, can't wait to see how this topic evolves.