I know. That title isn’t exactly original, but it’s where I’m at. I’m exhausted from lugging around a public persona that’s heavy on self-deprecation because I think it will somehow make other people feel comfortable when in all likelihood the opposite is true.
I’ve always been conscious of my body’s shape and size. I became self-conscious around age four. My mother’s greatest fear was that I would grow up to be fat, even though no one in our family was obese. Not even me. But her constant recurring mantra of, “Keep eating like that’n you’ll be as big as a house,” is tattooed on all the parts of me you can’t see.
You’ll hear more of my story in the coming days and weeks but for now, suffice to say, the discrepancy in my real versus imagined body size has consumed far too much of my time on this planet.
That stops today.
Ha, ha, JK. Who am I kidding? I’m starting a blog about my body and weight! (See how good I am at lying to myself?)
Okay, how about this: today I’m going public. I’m going to get these untruths out of my head and onto the page, and along the way share observations and insights that may feel familiar to you too.
The first belief I want to address is one I’ve accepted as fact and have been carrying for more than a few years: the to-the-core conviction that it’s over. That the clock has run out on any more chances to successfully care for myself and live life in a body I love. I sincerely believe I’ve used all my chits – exercised all my options. That I’ve worn out The Universe’s patience and it’s done with me once and for all.
I realize, physiologically, that makes no sense. Of course, if I put in the time and take out the crap my body will respond in kind. Yet that sick, unhealthy, wounded, (fill in the blank) part of my brain insists it’s over. For over a decade that’s been my guiding truth.
This week, while trying to muster the will to give health another chance, I caught myself saying, “Well…I guess it ain’t over till the fat lady sings,” and I had to agree. I may not have been a fat kid, teen, or young adult but the fact is, my mother’s prophecy has been fulfilled. I am now The Fat Lady, and since I’m still here, I guess it ain’t over.
By the way, I’ve always wondered, is the fat lady in question the singer at your funeral thus rendering “it over” or is it a reference to the iconic zaftig diva who has the privilege of singing the final aria in an opera? I don’t know. But in the immortal words of the indubitable Yogi Berra, “It ain’t over till it’s over,” therefore, it bears repeating, if we’re still here, it ain’t over.
Sending you hope – Rebecca