I mentioned in passing in an earlier blog that I was trying to lose weight, which is a reasonable goal that more than 70% of the population shares with me. But I think there’s this thought that goes along with trying to lose weight, that at some point I will arrive and suddenly be thrilled with my body. It will look like the stars that I admire, people will love me more, and suddenly my life will be perfect. (Or if not perfect, at least a lot easier) I know that’s silly. I know that it is fundamentally untrue. But I had a strange experience about 3 weeks ago that got me thinking. Since coming out to South Dakota again, I’ve lost about ten lbs. It’s not a huge amount, but it did involve dropping a size over my entire body. Which left me with a sloppy looking professional wardrobe.
A few weeks ago I had some free weekend time, and so I went to Rapid City partially just to get off the rez and get some of my feeling of anonymity back, and partially because I needed some new clothes. For the first time in quite a while, I was small enough to shop at mall stores that weren’t plus sized. (Not all mall stores because I maintain that hollister’s skirts look like headbands) Yes, I was still on the largest end of those mall stores, but there was a certain freedom to being able to shop ALMOST anywhere. I took my newfound freedom for a spin in the Rushmore Mall. And in Maurice’s I found it. Perfectly cut to make my boobs look great and my stomach look flat, it was a pretty, flowy tank top. I tried it on, and fit perfectly. Then I looked at the price tag, and it took me exactly 3 seconds to determine that $34 is way too much to pay for a top, no matter how good it looks on.
It wasn’t until I was driving home, kicking myself that I started thinking hard. I have always been the fat kid. I distinctly remember the hell on earth that was bathing suit shopping. My mother is a saint for all the years that she put up with me crying in dressing rooms because I have hated the way I looked since… well I remember melt downs as early as 7 or 8 years old. And somewhere along the many years of crying in dressing rooms because other people get to have cute stuff, cute bodies, and feel good about themselves, somewhere in there I internalized the message that I don’t deserve nice stuff. I don’t think anyone ever said it to me, that my body was something to be ashamed of and mocked, or treated poorly. But there it was all the same, when push came to shove the voice in my head said “you don’t deserve to have nice things, look nice, or feel good about your body… cuz you’re still fat” and I believed it.
The more I thought about it, the more I kind of realized that this is true for a lot of the women I know. Fat people tend to have fat friends, because they make us feel ok about ourselves, like we’re not being judged as harshly. Some of the most wonderful people I know, wear slightly bigger clothes, and if asked would say that they don’t dress up, they don’t try with their appearance, because they instead focus their energy into places they can be successful. I don’t know which is worse, that we believe we don’t deserve nice things like skinny girls, or that we believe our best bet is to cut and run when it comes to our appearances. Either way, it’s remarkably sad.
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