One Step at a Time

Warning:  I just read this over.  It’s disjointed, but so are my thoughts on this topic.  I hope you can get through it.

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I wish I could remember where I read things.  I read around, and can easily get lost on the computer at night, long after kiddies are tucked in bed, reading blogs.  At these times, I rarely comment, it’s my silent reading time, really.  Foolishly, I rarely remember where I’ve been.  And now this post I read two nights ago is constantly on my mind.  So, if I’m quoting you, and you’re reading this, speak up.  I admire you.

I’ll hardly do her justice, but I’ll try.

The writer, a young woman who had lost over 100 lbs, wrote about visibility.  When you’re very overweight, you’re visible in one sense — ie. you might catch your friends checking you out silently to see if you’ve lost or gained (gasp) more.  People on the street look at you, but then quickly look away, because it makes them uncomfortable.  Limited visibility, as it were.  When you emerge as a thinner, fitter you, that visibility changes.  Especially by people of the opposite sex.  People check you out, and they linger.  Their eyes not only meet your eyes, but they seem to have a pass to wander all over your body.  When that’s new, that’s frightening. 

I have a completely warped experience with visibility, and I’ve been thinking about this ever since I read it. 

Here, I have written more about my experiences as a new runner, than about struggling with weight.  But I need to tell you, I have been that girl.  I have lost and gained and lost and gained and lost and gained and lost signifigant (90 lbs ish) amounts of weight in the past years.  And truth is, I’m very naive about being visible.  I was never happy being very overweight, when my boys were toddlers, but I was comfortable with the invisibility of it.  In those days, when a man asked me for the time, it was because he truly didn’t have a watch.  And there were no cuter watch-wearers nearby to ask, frankly. 

I know that I’ve always had an attractive personality.  I get that.  I’m a great listener, and I can work a crowd and make people laugh.  I’ve always thought that those were more attractive qualities than hairs, eyes, legs.

My trouble is, I’m completely naive about being physically visible.  Deep down, I still think of myself as that sluggish big mommy.  I’m always shocked when I find out differently. 

Geez, as I’m writing this, I’m even thinking, I hope this doesn’t sound egotistical.  That’s how warped I am on this.

I’ll tell you about a situation with a man that my husband works with, which rocked my world in this regard. 

A couple years ago, we were hanging out a lot with this couple.  Work, social stuff, kids playing, church.  There was lots of laughs, and lots of social chemistry with us.  The man in particular was extremely flirtatious, and I typically just laughed it off, or thought to myself that he was a guy that really shouldn’t drink. 

Then, one night, he cornered me at a party. 

He talked at length about his attraction to me.  I should’ve stopped him, but I listened.  Because I was stunned.  Me?  Me?  I just sat there, with a quizzical look on my face while he went on and on and on.  He did say he loved his wife dearly, and knows I love Kevin dearly, and he would never act on it, but that he was actually getting professional help because he thought about me way too much.

I told Kevin and he had a conversation with him. I didn’t sit in on that one.  Then, like normal people, we let that friendship fizzle.

That opened my eyes somehow though.  I went through a period of not wanting to wear anything tighter (than a sweatshirt) or short skirts, or anything.  I forgot about make-up for awhile even.  I wanted my invisibility back. 

Here, I had worked my ass off, literally, and now because of one guy’s reaction to me, a part of me wanted it back. 

That’s when I had to do some major soul-searching and think about what the weight loss was about.  Is it about wearing a short skirt for someone else’s pleasure?  Sometimes, sure, especially when that someone is my husband.   But not always.  It’s about getting out of bed with energy.  It’s about keeping up to my kids and being a sane parent.  It’s about being able to run. 

The focus shifted from what the weight loss made me look, to what it made me able.

And that’s how I cope. 

I still struggle, with genuine surprise (and naivity, perhaps) at a stranger’s slow head-to-toe glance.  I literally think, oh my, did I spill something?  But I’m learning.  That’s their deal, and I don’t have feed into it or hide just in case of it. 

Last night, we went to a big kick-off night at the kids’ school.   We ran into a guy from my highschool.  You know the guy, the guy that nobody really remembers, and if you heard his name, you’d have to run home and dig a yearbook out of the basement. 

Well, he says to my husband, and in front of my children, no less … “I had to repeat Math in Grade Ten because I was so busy staring at your gorgeous wife.”

Kevin said the first look on my face was comical.  I was waiting for the punchline.  Even my seven-year-old monkey “got it” and said “oooh la la” (which is his common verbal comment to any matters of romance). 

And at that moment, when Mr. Highschool says that, I suddenly don’t feel comfortable in my skin.  I’m wishing I didn’t wear these boots with these skinny jeans, and that I had a coat. 

Is that normal, even?  Or is that reaction warped?

Kevin and I came home and had an awesome conversation about it.  I’m no further ahead, but I feel better for the sharing.

Thanks, blogger who I can’t remember.  I needed to read what you wrote, and you prodded me to reflect, and to share.  Writing about the tough stuff is important.  You never know who needs to read it.