In my mind, they are the body part that reflects all of the changes my body has undergone in the past 11 months the most.
The rings I wore last year at this time no longer fit, so I now wear different ones.
My knuckles protrude more than they ever did, when I make a fist. Or fold my hands in prayer.
They also become icy cold quick. My one coworker loves it when I grab his arm to prove to him how cold the building is.
The other night, I noticed how prominent my veins are now.
I remember a book I read years ago, called One Fat Summer. There is this moment in the book where the protagonist is thrilled because after unintentionally losing weight, he realizes he can see his veins.
I can relate to his excitement. It thrills me to see those blue lines, running under the pale surface of my skin. It's almost addictive, as those dark rivers being visible prove to me that the insulating layer of fat is dissipating.
The more my collarbone emerges also delights me.
Odd that these are the ways I measure my physical transformation.
I don't see that big of a difference in photographs.
Kind of ironic, considering I post more pictures of myself these days than I ever have in my time on social media.
And when I do post pictures, I feel like I'm whoring myself out for validation.
I also think I need to go ahead and start a kickstarter fund for plastic surgery when I look at pictures of myself, as I just see the loose skin that needs to be removed and tightened.
Yet, although I don't like pictures of myself, it is still kind of a big deal that I even post them, as for many years, I never wanted my picture taken. I don't even have a picture of myself with some of the people nearest and dearest to my heart as I never would pose for a picture with them.
Anyhow, yesterday marks the one year anniversary of the day I began my pre-surgery liquid diet.
14 days of optifast shakes. 20 pounds erased.
The way I was treated on the presurgery diet should have given me a clue of how people were going to treat me postsurgery.
The friends who thought I'd be back to normal within a couple of weeks of having 75% of my stomach removed. The ones who thought I'd still eat all of the same food I used to eat, just much smaller portions.
I did try pizza again the other week. We are still on a timeout, my old love and I. I am now thinking that the break is going to become permanent, but I'll survive.
One of the hardest things about this surgery has been the removal of layers.
Or rather, the reorganization of people in my life.
A very smart woman said to me the other week that it's as the people in my life are in a pyramid and I'm moving people to the base, moving others further up as I knock other completely out of the pyramid.
God is the tiptop.
Then comes my family. Chosen and blood.
Then comes friends.
And you get the picture.
And when I say removal of layers, I'm thinking about the people who used to be part of the pyramid, that are no longer there. People I thought would be major parts of my life forever.
Some days, I miss them. Most days, I miss pizza more than the conversations I used to have with some of the missing.
Conversations isn't the best word though to describe those interactions I had with them. Conversations are supposed to be two sided.
I don't want to rant and sound bitter, because ultimately, it has been my choice to remove them from my pyramid. Kick them off the island, so to speak.
I just wish that there was a way for me to let them know why they're no longer part of my life because of how toxic they were for me. However, in my experience, toxic people never accept blame. And I don't want to waste any more time on them.
I've been thinking a lot of this quote I enjoy, that is attributed to Buddha.
"In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you."
By altering my pyramid, I am definitely loving a lot more. I am learning to love myself. I am learning to forgive myself. I love the Lord. I love my tribe. I love my family. I love a lot more of the people in my life than I used to, as I have more energy to love, now that I am not being sapped dry by spreading myself amongst people that were draining me.
And I am learning to let go.
I used to always have to have the last word.
Now, I am better about just walking away. I am better about not needing to be right. It's not easy, but I would rather be at peace than fighting.
There are other things in my life I need to let go of gracefully, things that are not meant for me. I am confident that I will do so, in time, as it does get slightly easier everyday to put myself first. To surround myself with people that feed me instead of starve me.
As long as I feed myself with the love of the Lord. As long as I practice self care.
I still shake my head over how the importance of certain things and people in my life have grown so small.
The words of others don't hurt me as much as they used to. The insults of others. The passive aggressive comments and commentary.
Or maybe because the worst offenders in my life are the people I've jettisoned or made minuscule in their importance.
Their "friendship" was not meant for me. Their "love" was not meant for me.
And I've let go gracefully.
And with these hands that don't look like mine anymore, I pray. And relish all of the positive changes in my life over the past year.
And pray I can continue to have the clarity to let go of what is not meant to be in my life.
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