The worst thing about weight loss is that I created a more perfect version of myself. When I reached my lowest weight of 170 pounds and looked in the mirror, my reflection spun herself off into her own world of possibilities where she still exists today. No matter how much I weigh for the rest of my life, I will always know that on one day in November of 2007 I was that thin.
I was never a skinny child. I never had a thin version of me to compare myself too. I only had the morbidly obese Jennette who spun herself into her own world of possibilities, one that exists in a parallel dimension from the skinny version. When I was losing weight, I would compare my current body to the fatter version of me. I could hang out with this fatter friend of mine in my mind where she made me feel skinny in her shadow. Even at 230 pounds I was 140 pounds lighter than the fattest me.
This year I've been dealing with chronic pain, the stress of a book release, and a variety of other happenings that are not ready for blogdom. Eating well and exercising shifted from being my top priority to being number four or five in my top ten life priorities, so I gained 20 pounds. On the way down I compared myself to the fattest version of me, but on the way up I compare myself to the thinnest version of me. Instead of seeing myself as 170 pounds lighter, I see myself as 20 pounds fatter.
I know this is silly. I know I'm not obese. I look in the mirror and think I'm pretty. I'm grateful that I can run and squat and cross my legs. I'm in better health than I've been for most of my life. But sometimes I resent making a slightly more perfect version of myself. I hate that I judge myself against her. I hate that other people compare me to her. I hate that I know I could be her again if I worked harder or cared more. I hate that she's out there, existing as a possibility I one day made flesh, but faded out of reality and into the mirror world of what-ifs.
I was close to putting a bunch of those line in bold type, but I think it all just speaks for itself.
4 comments:
Hey Tracy, just came across This website
http://www.glutenfreeglobe.com/
started by a man with Celiac's in hopes of pinpointing all the Gluten free restaurants in the world. Didn't know if you'd have any interest in it or not.
--Eric
http:thriftstoreundies.blogspot.com
Thanks for the link, and thanks for linking to me over at your site!
I feel honored to be recognized as a "food blog" by someone who is actually in culinary school. I'm hoping to learn a thing or two from your blog, especially since cooking is sooooo not one of my talents.
Oh, I'm glad you posted this, 'cause I was just talking about the idea with a guy in my office today. He was saying that he accepts his size because he's been that size for twenty years–never gaining or losing–so he figures his body must be pretty comfortable that way.
And I hate the idea that this is how I'm supposed to look, but I sort of agree with him and think the opposite of the pasta queen. When I was 40 pounds lighter, I didn't feel like myself. And as I started gaining the weight back, I didn't think "crap, I'm getting fat," but "oh, well, I'm going back to normal".
I felt GREAT at 40 pounds lighter, but I didn't feel like myself. Although when I think of myself, I don't think fat. Does that make sense?
I think so, but I tend to feel more like Pasta Queen, even though my situation is different. What depresses me is that no matter what size I've always been, I've always felt fat, even though my lowest weight after losing was still bigger than what I used to weigh when I felt fat in high school and at the beginning of college. So losing weight feels like a big deal, but not enough of a big deal, because I still haven't gotten to that mythical size I wished I was when I was 16 or whatever. God, I wonder if that's how my mom feels. This is no good.
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