12:34 a.m. - Tuesday, Aug. 14, 2012
A Body Confession
Six months ago I weighed 260 pounds. It was the heaviest I had ever been. I didn't want to be alive. I didn't want to feel my body, look at my body, even have a body. Sixty five pounds later, at 195 pounds, I'm closer to what I weighed in high school. I have never known a normal weight. And now I'm coming to terms with the fact that even if I do one day know a normal weight, my body will never be conventionally beautiful because of the extreme changes it has undergone.
So tonight I took an inventory. I don't own mirrors. There is one small mirror attached to the wall above the sink in my bathroom. Tonight, after a workout and before a shower, I stared at the mirror.
I have short, light brown hair that's very fine. Sometimes in pictures, I can see how thin it is because I can see my scalp through my hair. Once, in my banking days, an obnoxious coworker gave me a hair thickening serum as a gift. It was humiliating.
Tonight in the mirror, I didn't mind it. It looked normal. Curly at the ends, tucking nicely behind my ears. Cute.
I know my face is thinner than it used to be. My boyfriend did a before-after face shot with photoshop and it's obviously much thinner. But the fat below my chin is exactly the same. Identical. He said it was just skin. If that's true, it will always be there and I'll never have a normal face. But looking in the mirror, I thought it was pretty anyway.
I'm starting to see my collar bones, which is exciting. I have a new scar on my left breast from where my bra rubbed my skin raw on a long distance run a few weeks ago.
I never felt like I had breasts. They were just mounds of fat. Never perky, always flopping off to the side. Never sexual. I hate them being touched. Looking at them in the mirror, they are more of a triangle shape than round. Big nipples, lumpy. Pushing 30, it may be time to accept the fact that I will never have firm breasts.
My arms and hips have always been the fattest parts of my body. Once, at a music festival, a total stranger came up to me and said, "Can I ask you a question?" I innocently answered yes, not knowing what was coming. "How did your arms get SO BIG?" Ironically, I was standing alone because I was waiting for friends who had gone into an ice cream tent to get free samples. My attempt to avoid judgement by being a fat girl in an ice cream tent had resulted in judgement for being a fat girl who was living and breathing. I wanted to sink into the earth. I wanted to disappear. It took every muscle in my body to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks.
I climbed onto the toilet seat and shifted the mirror so I could see my body. It was most painful to look at my stomach. I used to not be able to see my belly button. I have two stomachs. One above my belly button and one below. I could see my belly button, but the two stomachs still exist. I can't go into detail about my stomach and my vaginal area because it's still too painful. I can say that I don't shave. My pubic hair is dark but thin. Hate it.
My thighs are thick. My knees are becoming bonier. My hips are much thinner. My legs are veiny. Ugly. But I can wear skirts now - and I do.
I turned around on the toilet and turned my head over my shoulder to look at my back. I could see the little folds of fat from my stomach. And my butt and thighs are dimply . . .but actually . . .seeing my chubby body from the back was OK. I thought I looked like one of those women from old paintings . . .getting into a bathtub or pulling a towel behind them. I felt like a woman. A normal woman. It was OK.
I don't need to be coddled and told I'm beautiful or sexy when I'm not. I don't need to be told that people find all kinds of shapes and sizes attractive - because that doesn't matter. I guess I just needed to seriously look at myself. Really see my body.
It's hard to be in transition. Stage one complete.
Are we who we believe we are - or are we who other people believe us to be?
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