“The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.” Audrey Hepburn
The other morning, leaning over to reach into my dresser, I felt something brush against my upper thigh, which quite startled me. I looked down expecting to see some terrifying rabid rodent with ginormous teeth, but no… It was just my boob. A dose of humility is always a great way to start the day.
Another month has come and gone since I last updated my weight loss progress. Here is the first set of pictures I took in January:
and current pictures:
I thought the towel turban was a nice touch this time. I have a thigh gap! You might need a magnifying glass and a little imagination but it’s there! I have a mental picture now of everyone leaning into the screen scrutinizing the area around my crotch trying to find my minuscule thigh gap. I’m feeling super awkward. Ok, you can stop staring now. Trust me, it’s there.
My current weight is:
I’m down another 5.7 lbs bringing my total weight loss to:
I’m so close to “ONEderland” that I can taste it, and it tastes good!
I definitely see the results in my face. At my heaviest (287 lbs), I remember catching my reflection in a mirror and being shocked at the person staring back at me. Feeling trapped inside yourself is the worst feeling ever. Viewing yourself under the distorted lens of disgust, shame and embarrassment is a burden far heavier than the actual weight you carry. I felt like me, but when I would see myself in a reflective surface, I experienced a moment of confusion trying to work out who the person was looking back at me.
That can’t be me.
I don’t look like that.
I do. I did.
Recently, the cover choice of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition made news featuring the 1st ever “plus-size” model, Ashley Graham. According to Google, Ms. Graham is 5 ft and 9 in tall and weighs 201 lbs. Her BMI is 29.7. Her measurements are 42-30-46. I don’t know how often she works out or what she eats. I don’t know her cholesterol or blood pressure. I can’t really draw any conclusions about her overall health or physical condition, nor do I want to.
Is she beautiful? Absolutely.
Is she healthy? I don’t know.
Did my husband think I was beautiful at 287 lbs? Absolutely.
Was I healthy? Absolutely not.
Beauty comes in all sizes, shapes and colors. Beauty can’t be measured by a number on the scale. Beauty is subjective. Inner beauty eclipses physical beauty. We were all made in God’s image. We are all beautifully unique. Differences should be celebrated. Beauty should be discovered in the things we do, the actions we take for one another or on behalf of one another. We allow social industry to define what is beautiful and then judge ourselves and others harshly when we don’t live up to these ideals. We create buzz words like “fat shaming” or “skinny shaming” to condemn others and ourselves for accepting an image we all helped create and perpetuate. Beauty can be found in unexpected places and people. A smile. A laugh. A sunset. A kind word. A kind deed.
Every person is distinctly beautiful with qualities, elements and attributes that make them uniquely diverse. Diversity is beautiful.
Can you be overweight/underweight and healthy? That is a different question entirely. One that perhaps cannot be judged from the outside looking in, but still an important distinction.
Health can be measured.
Being overweight or obese creates a greater risk for heart disease, high blood pressure, Type 2 diabetes, stroke, sleep apnea, reproductive issues, and more.
Being underweight creates a greater risk of a weakened immune system, fragile bones, anemia, fertility issues and more.
Health is important. We treat the question of beauty and health as if they are mutually exclusive. My husband told me daily I was beautiful, but he worried for my health, because of my weight. He believed me to be beautiful but he also knew my weight was unhealthy. Weight isn’t the only factor in determining health either. There is emotional health, physical health and spiritual health. Many factors influence how healthy we are in all aspects and areas of our life. These are things that can’t always be judged or measured by just looking at someone.
I feel guilty that even though I treated my body like a toxic waste dump, I stayed surprisingly healthy. I think of those that eat right, exercise, do all the things they are supposed to do and then walk away from a doctor’s appointment with a dreaded life altering diagnosis. In my mind, I imagine them sitting next to me at a restaurant. How they must look at me. How I would have looked at me. Why does she get to walk around healthy, treating her body so poorly and shamefully?
My health is a gift. A gift I took for granted. A gift I abused. I’m blessed to have been given the chance to change my outcome. I don’t want to screw this up, which is why I blog about it. To hold myself accountable.
God gave us this incredible vessel and it’s our responsibility to care for it, to the best of our ability. I failed to do this and I’ve suffered for it. Those around me have suffered for it. My children have suffered for it. I’ve passed down a legacy of poor self-image, self-doubt and shame. What do they see when they look in the mirror? How much have I contributed to the lens they each use to view themselves, both positive and negative thoughts and does one outweigh the other and which one? These thoughts keep me up at night. They are my biggest cheerleaders and support system outside of my husband. I’m not fighting to be thin or a certain size or shape. I am fighting to be healthy. I want to be an integral part and active participant of their whole lives and the lives of their children and grandchildren and God willing, great-grandchildren.
I haven’t always gotten it right. I don’t pretend any differently with my children. When I screw up, I say I screwed up. I apologize. I make it right. I hope that while they will never see perfection, they will see someone who never gave up. Someone who learned from her mistakes and wasn’t too proud or ashamed to ask for forgiveness, admit to being wrong, seek to repair and rebuild. I want them to know how much I love them, not just in word but in deed. I want them to know that I learned to love myself. Not just the good parts either. I want them to know that I became someone who looked in the mirror, and liked what she saw. Loved, even. I want them to be proud of me and to know that I’m proud of myself. I haven’t always handled my struggles and failures with grace. In some ways, I hope to serve as a cautionary tale to my children. Time is short. Time is precious. Don’t be afraid to take on life’s challenges. Learn from your mistakes and move on. Be unique. Be special. Just be you. Above all, I hope they always know how much they are loved. Forever and always.
I use self-deprecation and humor to address issues I find painful or difficult. I’ve turned making fun of myself into an art form. I don’t love my loose skin, cellulite or stretch marks. I probably never will. I cope by using humor. I’ll make fun of myself, beat everyone else to the punch. Internal dialogue is much harder to change than physical appearance. My body is less a wonderland and more like a carnival, complete with fun house mirrors, sideshow acts and sketchy rides. My boobs might droop to the ground but at least they don’t rest on my stomach any longer. Progress! I can see my feet again without having to suck in while bending forward. See what I mean! Poking fun of myself has become as natural as breathing.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I can’t believe I’ve lost the equivalent of a 6th grader when it comes to weight. While I do want to change how I see myself, I love that I don’t take myself too seriously. I enjoy my sense of humor and make myself laugh all the time. Sometimes at myself, but that’s ok. The weight signified some serious emotional baggage, and I’m working thru it. Perfection is not the goal. Humor isn’t a mask I wear anymore, it comes from a genuine place of joy. Joy in the space I now find myself. Joy in how far I’ve come. Joy in the little things I took for granted. Joy in the big things I failed to see but now find opened before me. Joy in the faith I thought I’d lost forever. Joy in the fact that God never gave up on me. Joy in the fact that my husband and kids didn’t give up on me. Joy in the fact that I didn’t give up on myself.
I can’t change my mistakes or the errors in judgment I’ve made over the years. I haven’t always been the mother my children deserved. Or the wife my husband deserved. Or the faithful servant God wanted me to be. I’ve found unspeakable beauty in the power of forgiveness. In forgiving myself. In being forgiven. In forgiving others. I took the path of most resistance. It was mostly uphill. In the snow. And darkness. I might have also been naked…
However, I feel like I’m standing in the sun now, and the view is beautiful.
ONEDERLAND HERE I COME!
“There is a kind of beauty in imperfection.” Conrad Hall