I just read Vickie's post about "real bodies." She said she always felt as though she were encased in a fat suit and wanted to unzip it and get out. Not me brother (sister). I feel protected by my fat. It is pound for pound who I am. It is my cocoon. I am not yet ready to be a butterfly.
I remember being thin. What a lot of hassle.
With a host of other sexually abused girls, I learned to relate to men through sex. I didn't know there was any other way to "know" a man. So I began having sex early and often. Until I got fat. Then they left me alone. I was finally at peace in my own skin. No one bugged me. I was invisible. But who wants to be an invisible fat 20 year old? I lost weight, and took up where I left off. What a lot of crap I went through in the next ten years. Then I got fat again. Safety in scale numbers.
When you are thin you are normal and are not cut any slack. You have to compete with your peers and be judged by them. I always felt like I would/could never ever measure up in any way to my normal sisters. If you are fat you are frequently given a pass in life's races. It is assumed at the outset you will be incapable of completing the task, so you are not required to try. I loved this. I had an excuse for not competing, and in all likelihood, failing. More safety in numbers.
After I lost 70 pounds I found myself constantly telling people about it. It seems like I was instructing/encouraging them to relate to me as my former 250 pound self rather than this unknown 180 pound person. While 180 pounds seems huge to many people, to me it seemed to be on the verge of normal. I was no longer obese. I was just plain ole fat. So were and are a lot of other middle aged women. I had not been normal for thirty years. I was a stranger in a strange land.
I seem to have stabilized at 198 pounds. I go up if I eat real stupid, and down if I drink a lot of tea, but in a short time return to the 198 mark. I hate to say it, but I am psychologically comfortable here. I am obese again, but without much effort I am staying below the dreaded 200 pounds. I am back to shopping in the fat ladies' section. I wear elastic waisted peg leg jeans and denim jumpers. I feel like me. I wish I didn't.I want to feel like I am encased in a fat suit. Trapped in an alien body. I want to walk through the world and not need/want my layer of protection. But until I get the fear sorted out I think I will be at home in my fat.
We are going yurting this weekend at a hot springs. Mark is looking forward to mare's milk and a yak dung fire. Ha Ha I am not looking forward to the damn bathing suit. I dug out my new last year's suit. It is a beautiful suit. It still fits, sort of. I have to wear a bra under it because those soft cup things hold up nothing. Well, what with the too smallish suit, the bra that shows, and my white vieny blobby body, our much anticipated vacationette was turning into a nightmare. Decision time.
Since I can't change my bod before we leave, I have decided to change my mind. I am going to have a good time, and how I look is how I look. I know I will be judged, but I guess as long as they don't start throwing stuff at me, I will survive. I am not going to be made to stay at home so as not to offend anyone with my size. If they don't like the way I look, they can look else where. And I bought a really BIG towel.
Now, about my unworthiness. I have had an epifanny. (That's for you Kim) I have gone on ad nauseaum about the lousy mothering I received as a kid and young woman. Hereafter I am going to give those women a break. I think a huge part of my problem is not having had a father. Any kind of a father, anywhere. None of the women who raised me had men actively on the scene. Yes there were the perverts around the edges, but no men who routinely participated in my upbringing in a healthy way. I didn't think this mattered. "A woman (and children) without a man is like a fish without a bicycle."
In the past week through a series of very strange events I have come to believe the above statement is (excuse the language) HORSESHIT. Many of my primal fears come from existing in a world devoid of responsible men. Having no father has also made it almost impossible for me to relate to God as Father. But things are a'changin. Part of our long weekend will find me sitting in front of the yak dung fire reading several books I received out of the blue about fatherless daughters. I am so looking forward to this trip that the darn bathing suit issue has been downgraded to a minor hassle instead of the feature event.
I will be letting you know what I learn. Also how mare's milk tastes. Take care. Love Bea