My Prom Dress

As I write this, I'm wearing my prom dress. I find clothing sizes confusing, as they are different from brand to brand and year to year. Last March, I was wearing a size 20 or a 22. In October, I could wear 16s in most things, the smallest size I'd worn as an adult. Two or three weeks ago, I got a new winter coat. I'd been trying on Extra Larges but I was at an outlet and not everything came in every size. The one I really loved was only in Large, so I tried it on. It was a little snug, but not too, and I'm still losing weight, so I went ahead an bought it. I kind of thought it was a fluke. But this afternoon I went out to take advantage of our crumbling economy via sales at Macy's. It turns out I'm a size 14 now, or a Large in almost everything. I mean, I didn't like everything I tried on, but there wasn't anything that didn't exist in my size. It's an incredible relief and also kind of surreal. I remember that I was a 14 in high school, or maybe that 14 was a little too small for me, but it was always the biggest size -- I didn't know clothing sizes came bigger than 14. And I didn't want anything that fit me properly then anyway -- I was wearing oversize T-shirts and long flowing skirts with elastic waists. I wore men's jeans from thrift stores. So I'm not sure what size I really was and I'm not sure if a 14 then was like a 14 now. But my prom dress was made for me and right this minute, it fits perfectly.

I'm pleased to fit into it. But it's also bringing up stuff I don't want to remember about being a teenager. I thought this size, the size I am now that feels pretty comfortable, was disgusting. I thought I was so fat that everyone was ridiculing me, that no boy could possibly be attracted to me, that I couldn't try to wear flattering clothes because I would look like I wasn't ashamed of my body. And I was supposed to be ashamed of my body. It makes me sad to think that I allowed myself to feel that way, and that no one else tried to make me feel differently. A lot of it came from my mother, who was and is far too concerned with my weight. Some of it came from the usual public places -- fashion magazines, movies and TV shows that not only starred beautiful and thin actresses, but that openly ridiculed overweight women and girls. I lived in Los Angeles, where being thin is valued over almost everything. There was no other voice. I look around now and even though the actresses and models are thinner than ever and we hear about "The Obesity Epidemic" from doctors and journalists and kindergarten teachers, there is also another voice. There is a pretty loud fat acceptance movement. There are so many more places to buy decent and sometimes adorable clothes in bigger sizes -- not enough, mind you, but infinitely more than when I was a teenager. There are women of all sizes blogging about their relationships with food and their bodies. I think if I were seventeen now, or even twelve, I would be finding some of that. I would be hearing more voices, voices that encouraged me and accepted me and told me I was beautiful, I was fine, I was not alone. I wish I could give those voices to my younger self.

Not Recognizing Myself

I was looking through the pictures on my sister's camera last weekend during her birthday party. I wanted to see one she had taken one of me holding my baby nephew -- he was playing with my glasses and we were both laughing. As I clicked through all the photos, I passed the one I was looking for twice because I didn't immediately recognize myself. It's true that the viewer on her camera is pretty small and also that I wasn't wearing my glasses in the photo, which changed my appearance. But mostly, I just look different. I don't look as I expect myself to look. Sometimes when I catch my reflection in a mirror by accident, I don't immediately know it's me I'm seeing. It's a pretty disconcerting experience.

There's this whole mythology of transformation connected to weight loss in our culture. The ugly duckling becoming the swan. The ubiquitous Before and After photos. We are supposed to look like a whole new person after losing a lot of weight and that's supposed to be a good thing. And I'm not saying I'm immune to that -- vanity is certainly part of the reason I want to lose weight. I'm happy with how I'm looking these days and I was less than happy with how I looked a year ago. But I don't think it's a healthy part of this process to look at pictures of myself from a year ago and marvel at how huge I was, how horrible I looked, how grateful I am not to look like that anymore, not to be that person anymore. That attitude is so prevalent in our society -- in the weight loss industry, in fashion and fitness and celebrity magazines. Part of the story of successful weight loss is: I used to be fat and disgusting and now I'm a whole new, thin and beautiful person. We are supposed to be motivated to lose weight by how much we hate our fat selves, how much we want to get rid of that part of ourselves.

I look at pictures of myself at my very heaviest and I take comfort in still being exactly the same person. If I couldn't do that -- if I needed self-hate to be part of my motivation, I would fail. If I hated my fattest self, I would have to hate my current self and my thinnest self, too, because I know they are all Me. The truth is, I think I look better, but it freaks me out a little to look different. It's disturbing to look at my reflection or my photo and not recognize myself, even if it's just for an instant. I visit a pre-school class twice a month to read stories. Some of the same kids I saw last spring are there again now. This week one little girl said to me, "Miss Jamie, you look different," and it made me kind of sad. I'm not someone else and I don't plan on being someone else when I'm done losing weight.

I'm sure I'm not the only person to lose a significant amount of weight and feel uncomfortable about looking different -- to find it creepy not to be recognized. But I never hear anyone talk about it. I wish someone would.

I Have Both a Vagina and Biceps

Are you surprised?

Apparently Frederic Delavier would be. He is the author of two books I came across this week, Strength Training Anatomy and Women's Strength Training Anatomy. They are apparently quite well respected books. The book for women includes chapters on abs, back, legs, and buttocks. That's right, no arm, shoulder, or chest exercises. No information about the muscles in the upper half of our bodies. In the first book, with the big strong man on the cover, the diagrams and exercises are supposed to apply to men and women, but in the upper body chapters there are 132 images of men (both big and small) and 16 images of women, all but one of which are tiny little inset diagrams.

How fucked up is that?

Hibernation

I've been thinking about bears a lot this week. I am envious of the fur coat, the full belly, and the cozy cave in which to sleep for several months. It is dark and it is cold and I want to hibernate. I believe that's a natural urge. I believe in living, eating, resting seasonally. But I have to live in the world. It's hard to balance.

I usually eat a snack around 11:30 and have lunch at 2:00. On Tuesday, I ate the snack I'd brought to work at 11:30 and then ate most of the lunch I'd brought. At 2:00, I went out and got more lunch. For dinner I ate a whole small pizza. I really needed to keep eating. The rest of the week, I've tried to plan around being a bottomless pit. I have brought extra but healthy snacks to work -- some stir-fried veggies, two apples instead of one, two bags of popcorn instead of one. My lunches have been hot, hearty food that should fill me up. It feels okay. I believe I should eat if my body is telling me to eat, and while it feels a little weird to eat so often, and to keep eating at the end of the same meal that filled me up last week, I think I've been pretty successful at not eating too much crap.

Wednesday, I never recovered from the trauma of getting out of bed. It was dark and I was comfortable and I got up anyway and went to the gym and met my trainer and spent a whole hour with him, thinking about my down comforter. I went to work thinking about my down comforter. I was ready to get into bed the minute I got home (but had to eat first, because I was also ravenous). Thursday, my alarm went off at 6:00, I got up, brushed my teeth, and got back into bed and re-set my alarm for 7:30, choosing sleep over the gym. It felt like the right thing to do. It's been about seven months now that I've gotten up early and gone to the gym five days a week. This was maybe the third time I'd skipped a work-out on a day I'd planned for one. It doesn't feel lazy -- it feels like listening to my body. As I type this, it is 8:30 on Friday evening and I am planning to get into my pajamas as soon as I'm done.

I plan to sleep in tomorrow as late as my body wants and then I plan to eat a big hearty breakfast and then I plan to go to the scary class at my gym and if I need to afterward (which I usually do) I plan to lie on the couch for the rest of the afternoon.

It's a struggle. I want to rest and I don't believe that makes me lazy. I want to eat, and I don't believe that makes me gluttonous. But I still need to keep a schedule, which doesn't allow for as much rest as I want. I still want to lose weight (or not gain, at least) and that doesn't allow for eating as much as I want. I am trying to honor it -- the urge to hibernate -- but not give in to it entirely.

Right now I'm going to bed.