Small Victories

Since passing through the hell that was puberty in my early teens, I have had a love/hate relationship with my body. Not just the typical "I'm soooo fat" view, as plagues so many women. I have simultaneously adored and loathed it. At just fourteen years old I fell in love with my physique; my musculature and flexibility have been a source of pride, and judo offered me an outlet to showcase all my body could do. While feeling so strongly that I was amazing, I still fell prey to the knowledge that, according to our cultural standards, I was just too big.

As an adult I have weighed anywhere from 160lbs to 260+lbs, and the one thing consistent at all of the weights in between was my firm belief that I needed to be smaller. What is hilarious to me is that my hatred of how I look in clothing has been fairly undeviating whether I was a size 12 or 22!

In my quest for the elusive thinness I desire, I have tried every fad diet, starved myself for lengths of time, and even had a brief flirtation with bulimia... though I must admit, I wasn't very good at it. I was a champion binger, but when the time came to purge I would say, "I'm so comfortable on this couch! I'll puke later." And of course, later never came. I have had small successes over the years; losing some, gaining it back and then some, losing a portion of the new weight again. And through it all I have felt like my body is the cell in which the real me is imprisoned.

Shopping for clothing has been a hassle at best and traumatic at worst for as many years as I can remember. The year before I got pregnant, I had managed to lose some weight and needed new clothes, so I hit the stores with high hopes... only to once again find myself crying in a dressing room, feeling defeated. I had resigned myself to this as my fate. Until tonight.

After McGee was born I gained all of the weight I had previously lost back, and reached my all-time heaviest weight by June. For myriad reasons, I elected to have a Roux-en-Y gastric bypass in September. For the first time in my life, I am losing weight without misery! I eat what my doctor has asked me to eat, and I am never hungry. I workout as much as I can, and I am seeing consistent results. It is amazing.

My family will be sitting for a portrait in a week, so what to wear has been on my mind of late. Most of the clothing hanging in my closet is either only appropriate for the gym, or is baggy. So off to the mall I went this evening, McGee on my back in his Ergo carrier, all too aware of the tears I would soon be crying.

I passed my favorite store, White House / Black Market, and my inner masochist urged me to stop in. I grabbed a cute shirt and a pair of velvet pants and headed to the dressing room. Even as I was buttoning them, I knew I would hate how I looked when I turned to face the mirror. But I didn't. I loved how I looked! I stood there, dumbstruck with the realization that, for the first time, I felt beautiful in a dressing room! I tried on several outfits, and experienced the same results. I cried just a little, overwhelmed with joy.

I spent hours wandering around the mall, going from store to store trying on clothes (an activity which has never held joy for me in the least). Every garment I donned brought the same giddy reaction, and I reveled in being able to shop in straight sized stores for the first time in years. I feel like a whole new world has been opened up to me - a world in which I am good enough, a world where I have a love/love relationship with my body.
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