I'm learning that the anger phase of my recovery is still very much present.
Today, as I entered a room, excited to spend time with some of the dearest people in my life, a woman I don't know all that well commented that she thought I had lost weight since I saw her last.
I just smiled, said I had, and prayed that the conversation would end.
Of course it didn't.
"How are you doing it?"
I hesitated, as I struggle with wanting to be open and with wanting to be a smart ass. Mail order tapeworm was what I wanted to say.
My mouth opened and out came "I had weight loss surgery."
Of course, that didn't stop the questions. I was curt with my answers. She got the hint, finally.
And ended the weight loss conversation with "well, I wouldn't have recognized you on the street, that's how much you've changed."
Here's the thing: yes, it's nice to be complimented. I would be a liar if I didn't say I appreciated the compliments.
But it irks me that people need to know how I'm doing it. At least people I barely know.
Because when you boil it down to the basics, I'm losing weight the same way almost everyone does: I eat less and try to move my fabulous booty more. There is no magic formula, no secret menu I got from a person in a back alley weight loss clinic, no pill I'm taking, no combination of food I'm partaking in.
You don't ask a pregnant woman how she got pregnant, because you assume you know how that happened. Truth is, you have no idea if that child was conceived by tab A going into slot B or in a test tube.
And when you comment on someone's weight loss, here's another facet to think about: you don't know if it's a good thing. Weight loss isn't always intentional. Or wanted.
Truth is, I'd rather be complimented on my hair. Or my butt. Or my sense of humor. Anything but my weight loss, because I don't want the only thing I'm commended for to be losing weight.
I have two master's degrees. I've auditioned for Jeopardy! three times. I've backpacked through Western Europe solo. I take pretty string and pointy sticks and create beautiful things. I've built an engine. I make delectable chocolate chip cookies. I'm kind to animals. I can swear in German and Italian.
Point is, I'm so much more than my weight. And it burns me up that losing it is what gets me complimented. Because there are so many other things I have done or can do that deserve praise.
However, society has us trained to be obsessed with appearance and size.
And it's not fair, to be judged on such superficial things. I think of my beloved friends and family. I don't care how big or small they are. I think of what I consider to be their stellar traits. My Lori is one of the most accepting people I know. My Amy is one of the funniest. My Susan is a wonderful listener. My Shelley is one of the most positive people I know. My Kate is one of the most generous people I know. My Danielle is one of the nicest. My Erika has known me for over 30 years and seen me at my worst, but still loves me. My Karyn is always there when I need her.
Their appearance means nothing to me, because they're all beautiful to me, for who they are.
And I just wish that we could all see each other the way God sees us, because he doesn't care if we're 150 or 550 pounds, if we have flawless skin or are riddled with acne. If we're tall, short, etc. he loves us all the way we are.
I just wish that physical appearance wasn't so okay to comment on.
So, next time I get asked about how I'm losing weight, I'll probably continue to be honest with how I'm doing it, as there's no reason not to do so. Or I might tell them it's thanks to cocaine. Or a tapeworm. Who knows what the spirit will move me to do.
I just want to make it one week where I don't have to discuss my weight, because honestly, my weight loss is the least interesting thing about me. If you want a good story, ask me about the great rabies scare of 2014. Or how I once skied through a man's legs. Or where the scar on my forehead came from. I am so much more than my size.
No comments:
Post a Comment