Perfectly Imperfect

Let me start by saying that I know this blog may bring out support, or the trolls, and it's all good. I haven't posted in a while because I haven't really felt called to say anything. But today, when I looked in the mirror and saw a happy (makeup free) face, I was inspired.

I've lost 75 pounds in the last year, and people are beginning to notice. That's nice, most of the time and I'm happy enough about it to post photos of myself, sometimes. People have asked about how I did it, and I'm happy to share. People have noticed my body changing and that's ... interesting.  One benign comment has been niggling at me though - someone asked why I wore clothes that cover me up when it is so hot in the summer. "Why don't you wear sundresses? Why don't you wear sleeveless tops?" You know, I don't even do that when I'm Inside My House. But, yes, it gets to 100 degrees here so it's a fair question.

Here's the dealio - I lost a lot, a LOT of weight when I was 17 years old. It was drastic due to bariatric surgery. How drastic? I lost 40 lbs the first month.  😮 In 9 months I lost over 100 pounds. 😟 That's hard on a body, even a young body.  There were consequences, and there are consequences to this latest loss, even though it has been a slow and steady one.

My body is a testament to the life I've experienced. It shows stretch marks, it sports scars, moles, wrinkles. You know what? So does everyone else's body (except in cases where interventions have occurred, and no judgment there). Even still, I experience some discomfort with the condition of this vehicle I live in.

There's something I know, with 100% certainty about my body - if I show it to some people, they will be disgusted. How do I know? Because people have told me, repeatedly, throughout my life. When I was a kid I was teased and bullied. Fortunately I came up with quite a few good tactics to deflect, avoid, and deal with it, but it still happened. You know what else? I've had it happen as an adult. I've had people who adore and love me say things like, "but you have such a pretty face" or "you COULD be beautiful if...", or say in a sideways manner that they are better looking than I am. Out on fitness walks I've had trucks or cars (usually full of young men) pull over and shout things at me like "Whale", "Fatass", "Fu*kin Fat Bitch" etc. This didn't just embarrass me, it scared me for my life so if you're reading this and tempted to ever do this to someone, just don't. OK?  Sit with your disgust and consider it because I have ... not your disgust, but mine.  My disgust has kept me from wearing shorts when it was sweltering outside. My disgust has kept me out of swimming pools and off the beach. My disgust has kept me from taking a dance class, or yoga class, or belly dance class, traveling,  or myriad other things that seem fun. My disgust has kept me trying to find ways to be invisible.

Here's something sad - my body has done amazing things for me and I've not been very nice to it. I have said awful things about it, and sausage-cased it into body shapers and exercised it to the point of injury. Not kind, really. I'm better now, and my plan is gentle, but again some damage remains.

And then there are my arms. You've heard the term "bingo wings" ... well I've had them since I was eighteen years old. Imagine - never feeling OK when you're young to wear something sleeveless. Even when I was approaching 'thin', I would not have dared. Even when I lived in a town where 110+ degree summer days were not uncommon. Wow, what a lot of fun and life (not to mention comfort) I've denied myself.  I'm really working to get over that. So if you love me, be patient with me, it may take some time to unravel all of this. I know I'm more than my skin, and I know my worth is more than any beauty standard, I really do. But, I'm not sure those feelings are widely held in our culture. You will have to pardon me if it takes time to trust. And if we're strangers, maybe remember my story the next time you see a body that shows signs of some significant life events.

So here, ladies and gentlemen, is some proof. Here are the arms that have deflated, the arms that have held lovers and babies and pets. My arms that house skills and muscle and blood and bone and scars and life. And some of you will cringe, but that's OK. Learning to love Real is good for us.