Take a picture lady, it will last longer!

I never pretend my left arm is normal.  It's not.  I mean, it's my normal, but that's the limits on how normal it can be.

I've had hundreds of comments probably, but for the most part it's almost always good.  Minus a few well meaning therapists who tell me not to use it.

This morning in my water boot camp the lady next to me kept staring.

And staring.

And slack jawed staring.

The whole damn class!

I'd catch her eye, she'd look away.  I'd see her out of the side of my eye just staring away.  I'd move, she'd move.  Quite honestly it was disturbing!  I'm never self conscious of my left arm.  Not bothered by the scars, the wanky movements don't bother me, but her intense staring made me question if I should be.  It was that off putting.

It's bugged me all morning.

I will say, I didn't restrict the use of my left arm.  I worked it just as hard as I would any time.

But next time, if she's going to stare, I'm going to go out of my way to give her something to look at!

It's been a long, long time

It’s been almost a week since I experienced one of the most interesting nights I’ve had in a long time.  My 30^th class reunion.

I almost didn’t go.  I wasn’t popular in high school.  I had my small core group of friends.  Even then the ones I truly ever let myself be me with were limited.  Looking back I guess I’ve always felt like I needed to protect myself.  Protect my heart.

It’s no secret I was not raised with my self-esteem being boosted very often.  Not that I wanted to be celebrated like today’s youth, I didn’t want a participation trophy for everything I did, but some nurturing and the whole “you can be anything” speech now and then might have helped.  Instead I was raised with shame for being fat.  Fat is bad.  Fat is unlovable.  Fat isn’t even likeable. 

Then on top of that there was my personality.  Too loud.  Too inappropriate.  Too quick to make a joke.  Too messy.  Too much running around.  Too much independence.  Too much of so many things.

Then throw in adolescence and what you have is the fat, yet invisible girl.  You know, the one who longs to just have the ground swallow her up, saving her from embarrassing herself or calling any attention to herself because being noticed allows you to be vulnerable.  If no one notices you then they can’t DIS-like you.  They just don’t even know you’re alive.  When you are teased and made fun of, you accept that your tormentors are just telling the truth.  Subtract the swear words and a lot of the messages are the same at school and home.  You suck.  No one likes you.  You deserve it.  People are nice to you because they pity you.

Somewhere along the journey the fat that torments you becomes the fat that protects you.  Its layers insulate you, keeping people out, keeping away situations and relationships that can damage you further.  Fat also becomes your safety net, catching all the blame for why someone might not like you.  See, it’s so much easier to say someone doesn’t like you because you’re fat than to say they don’t like you.  If you don’t like me because I’m fat, that’s your problem.  If you don’t like me because of the person I am, then that’s my problem.

This was how I’ve felt most of my life and every day I have to fight to not be this person any more.  While so much has been shed, there are still these tentacles that hang on tight.  Kind of like gnarled tree roots, they run deep, they surface every now and then to show little glimpses, but they are the foundation of all that growth.

Over this last joining of Weight Watchers, so about the last six years, things have been changing for me.  I can honestly say I am to a point where I can see, yep, that’s when it started.  I surrounded myself with people who not just accepted me, they accepted me as I am, the good and the bad.  Even more shocking is they consistently worked on pulling out the real me and reassuring me that person was ok to be out of hiding.  Like the tree roots, the me inside would surface, but then they’d go underground yet again.  Slowly I’ve learned to trust these people.  Slowly I’ve let them in.  At points I’ve been scared, because I’ve once again been careless enough to be vulnerable, but as the negative voice has subsided, the idea of closeness being careless has slid away as well.  It’s ok to be me.  It’s ok if someone doesn’t like me.  And this is ok, because the people who love me, love me with a fierceness I’ve never known.

So back to this reunion.  I almost didn’t go.  Had no plans to go and even after buying a ticket I told Michael I’d be home early.  Something happened though.  I can’t put my finger on when it happened, maybe as soon as I walked in, but it was nothing like I expected.  That part of me who’s still that girl, the one who holds on to her fat for safety, figured she’d be quiet.  She’d be ignored.  Then when she had enough she’d go home.

Only that little girl got left in the car and I went in.  The me that my friends now think I’ve always been.  The me that they laugh at when I say “really, I used to be shy and quiet!”  That’s who walked through the door.  I don’t think I was even aware of it, because I didn’t make a conscious statement of “just be yourself” when I went in.  It was more of a “here it goes” attitude.  It was also a result of some newer roots that have been growing.  The ones firmly in place of “good enough just as I am and for who I am. “  Who I am is a varation of who who I have always been inside.  Deep, deep inside.  So deep that for a long time letting that version of myself out seemed like I was pretending to be a character.

Meeting my classmates as adults was actually a fun evening.  Letting them see the real me was pretty crazy at times.  The shock from classmates who have no memories of me ever speaking, let alone being funny stunned me.  I’ve always been her.  It’s just I’m not afraid to let everyone else know her too.

I also heard how calling my childhood bully my tormentor made her feel.   I never thought of the rawness those words could have, but we talked about that and the past … and our now.  We hugged and cried over the kids we were and I don’t know that I would refer to her as a tormentor now.  I think in her own way she was equally as tormented by life as I was and as messed up with her choices to act out as I was by my attempts to be invisible.

I ended up getting home late that night.  Really late.  Attended the after party late.  There was a satisfaction to seeing smiles come out of conversations with friends.  There was a joy in hugging someone and really meaning it.   People were willing to share stories and feelings, some quite personal.  I learned how alone a lot of us were, not just me.  I was presented with responses to who I am now and how much I’ve changed.  Some even said drastically.

When I was little I just wanted people to like me.  That’s all.  I could never figure out the secret to making people love you.  I know now.  It’s loving yourself.

A bet

Is still a bet even if it was never said out loud right?

I thought last week if the Cubs can win the World Series ...

I can lose 100 pounds. 

Damn.