Blowing Steam

Eeeewe! 

I have sweat running down my chest between my breasts.  Not the most comfortable feeling., and very unfamiliar.  I am usually not much of a sweater.  Well, I sweat a little, but never this drops-rolling-from-my-temples kind of sweat.  As a bi-product of having fibromyalgia my body does not usually respond in the normal and healthy way to many normal and healthy experiences.  I can get dizzy sitting in a chair.  I can jog/walk for two hours and not sweat.  I can be shivering in 70 degree weather, and also feel like I’m roasting in 70 degree weather.  I drop things constantly and for no apparent reason.  The repetitive motion of vacuuming puts me into a painful flare-up (where nerves are over-reacting and inflame the muscles and joints, causing pain and exhaustion).  I wake up at least one day a week with a migraine.  I have learned how to type with numb hands.    

But, today I am sweating, like a normal person should after a jog.  J I take it as a good sign, even though it’s gross.

 I have been feeling just a little bit down lately.  A little blue.  I think it is a symptom of being so overwhelmed the past many months.  My days were filled beyond the brim and spilling over, with house-hunting, moving, planning the wedding, starting my son in a new school, worrying about a smooth transition, getting married, and all the other things that need to be tended to.  Now, I don’t have all of that pulling on me and keeping me motivated.  Life is relatively calm.  What do I do with myself when there are no fires to prevent or put out?  I should enjoy it, right?  I should relax. 

Ha!

It is harder than it sounds.

Since I have been feeling blue and unmotivated, I have not taken care of myself as well as I should.  Which is also a reason that I may be feeling low.  It is one of those vicious cycles.  

I forced myself to put on my running clothes today.  It was torturous.  I forced myself to put on my tennis shoes.  I forced myself to leash Daisy.  I forced myself to go out the door.  Once I was out, the rest was easy.  I made sure not to stop after passing the doorjamb.  I barely shut the door behind me, and I just propelled myself forward, first at a long-stride walk. 

In my new neighborhood, I have not yet discovered a favorite route to take.  I have not yet found my “sweet spot” where I feel most comfortable running.  Instead I just scare my neighbors into shutting their blinds while I run around the subdivision, huffing and puffing like a steam engine.   

Toot! Toot!

Let Us Eat

…Let Them Eat Cake.

Does anyone else have feelings of embarrassment or self-consiousness when eating in front of others?  I do.  If you remember my history you may be able to guess why.  As a young woman, a pre-teen (at a healthy weight, I might add) I began to feel very ashamed of my body, and I associated this shame with being too large and associated that with food.  I developed feelings of shame when it came to eating.  I would often not eat at school, not eat in front of other people, and claim to not be hungry when I was.  I felt that a girl who was fat, ugly, and unattractive, like I believed myself to be, was seen by others as not deserving of food.  I felt as though I should not eat.  I would often go without sustenance for two or three days at a time.  When I did eat, I would do it privately.  In secret.  Where many shameful and bad things are done.  Without witnesses.

Despite the maturity gained since then, and the knowledge and understanding I have about food, eating disorders, health, and the definition of beauty, I still feel most comfortable when I am eating alone or with close family.  I still always deny myself a morsel or a treat with a friend when offered.  I still claim to not be hungry when I am.  I believe I do this simply out of habit, simply because I am choosing to remain safely in my comfort zone.  

I no longer starve myself. (Well, not beyond the understandable I-forgot-to-eat-lunch-because-I-had-such-a-busy-day reasoning)  I no longer feel ashamed when consuming food, nor do I hide to do it.  I do not go hungry for long. I eat meals with my family every single day.

 I eat along with everyone else at social gatherings.  I do those things, but never without a twinge of some remaining insecurity.  Perhaps a mere piece of the ideology that says I am undeserving of nutrition, still lingers in my mind somewhere.

As you know, I got married a couple of weeks ago.  Being a bride brought forward so many of my past feelings of a poor body-image.  Being the center of attention, presenting myself to be seen and photographed (in white no less!) brought back some of those feelings of ugliness and shame of my appearance.  I had a fantastic wedding and reception.  I had fun, but every moment in my head I reminded myself of my own worth, and I pushed away those images of an unattractive woman. 

I feel satisfied and happy to say that I won that round.

Fat Suit

Episode 1

The idea of the proverbial fat Suit may possibly be a tired metaphor.  It may possibly be cliché and well overused.  However, maybe it really is accurate.  I completely believe that my fat is not me.  I am in here somewhere.  My appearance, my body, my fat suit does not show the world what is inside and what I am capable of.  My appearance is deceptive.    

I feel like a beautiful, capable, intelligent, and talented woman.  I feel sexy, and pretty, and tall, and graceful.  I feel like a thoughtful, helpful, and active human being.

 I am not lazy.  I am not dumb.  I am not slow in thinking.  I am not helpless.  BUT, I think my appearance often portrays those things. 

It is very difficult not to think of myself in the way that society treats me.  It is difficult, but not impossible.  I have been working on how to handle it, how to deal with it, and how I should feel about the judgments that others make when they see me as just an overweight, incapable, less intelligent member of society. 

I met a friend for lunch one day.  We stood in line at the Paradise Bakery, my friend ordered first.  The employee at the register was a young man, possibly of Asian origins.  His shoulders were about the width of one of my legs. 

“Would you like a Coke with that?” he asked my friend and she accepted, swiped her card and shuffled over.

“Would you like a Diet Coke with that?” he asked me and waited politely for my response.

“No, water’s fine, thanks,” he charged me for my chicken salad and bottled water then put two complimentary chocolate chip cookies on my tray without my consent. 

We sat at a small, teetering table across from one another.  She eyed my tray. 

“Hey! How come you got two?” she asked and retrieved both cookies, knowing that I often forgo eating sweets. 

“The kid was confused,” I said simply, and smiled.  “More for you, I guess.”

            I have often wondered about that difference in offering me a diet coke, and my firend a regular coke.  I had watched the man go through the line of customers asking the average and small sized customers if they would like a drink, and asking the customers with a few extra pounds if they would like diet.  His criteria seemed odd to me.  It was also very odd that he gave me an extra cookie when the meal only came with one.  Did he believe I should be on a diet, but then also believed that I would like additional dessert?  Where did this variance in treatment of the customers stem from?

One time I was shopping at the mall.  A woman who passed me by smiled kindly and gave me a compliment. She said:

“Oh that is a lovely top!”  I smiled back and began to nod my “thank you” when she added, “You are so brave for wearing such a bright color at your size.”    

Both of these types of situations are not uncommon.  We could very well assume that the insensitive remarks and attitudes are just a simple case of people being ignorant.  But, how can the majority of a society be so ignorant as to think that a large person should not wear bright colors, or that a large person will only want to drink diet drinks?  I understand this was just one man at a restaurant and one woman at the mall, but I see and hear and am shown this type of prejudice by people over and over and over again. 

I like to think of people as good and kind, in general.  I try to be unbiased in my treatment to others.  I could easily judge someone, but it makes no sense, simply because I have no earthly idea what brought them to where and who they are today. 

As members of a very diverse society, I feel it is more than ignorant to make judgments based on appearance.  I feel the habit of assuming a fat person is less intelligent because they don’t appear to understand the concept of calories in versus calories burned, to be a tragic assumption.  The individuals who make those types of assumptions may be wonderful people, and may have a lot to offer the world.  But, what will they miss out on by continuing to feel as though overweight people are inferior? 

How often do we make assumptions based on someone’s appearance?  How often do we miss out on really getting to know and really learning about someone else because of our ignorant judgments getting in the way of seeing a person for what they truly are? 

I know that humans beings are capable of looking past the fat suit, and past the poor suit, the uneducated suit, the dissabled suit, an all the other suits that do not define who a person is on the inside.

Out of Town

There is nothing exciting to my blog entry today, nothing remotely profound or intensely interesting. I am writing this from a balcony, sitting in the sun in seventy degree weather, with a cool breeze and amazing mountain views.  I am on my honeymoon in Sedona.  But, I must submit something. 

I don't yet have pictures to share of the special day, but I may post a photo of this view.  I may not. :)  That’s the great thing about being on vacation.  I don't HAVE to do anything.  J

I have had a little time to look back on Friday, and reflect on the events of my wedding day.  It was definitely not perfect.  First I will tell you of the things that went wrong.

 1 .The wedding favors (160 lovely white boxes filled with 1200+ home baked Italian wedding cookies and chocolates, wrapped in bowed ribbons with a ring and love bird tied to it, and a monogram P, for Partridge) were all destroyed.  They looked beautiful stacked in two pyramids on the ends of a long decorated gift table the last time I saw them, but by the time the reception started (indoor reception) they were covered in ants. 

2. My mother forgot how to tie up my train.  We were an hour late for my own photos because she and my sister could not figure it out.  It was a European bustle with a color coated system which is a serious of four buttons and loops to put together beneath the back of the dress to let the material fall in precise drapes.  I walked around half the reception with people stepping on me or having to carry my train over my arm, before a good friend of mine fixed it for me.  Her head shoved up the back of my dress for ten minutes outside the reception hall.  :)  Sorry Mom and Sis.  Thank you, Erin. 

3. The punch bowl did not make it to the reception.  I spent hours making 64 gallons worth of real fruit punch, only to arrive to the reception (45 min late) with a room full of guests and no drinks at all. 

4. The catering was late.  It took an hour and a half instead of 30 minutes for the catering to arrive to the reception because the delicious, but obviously low staffed, Italian restaurant did not have everything ready when my sisters went to pick it up.  So, lots of guests, no drinks, no food. 

5. Something happened to the best man, he got lost, held for ransom by pirates, abducted by aliens, or something.  He never showed.  (We found out later he had a valid reason.  Let’s just say he was released with only a small bounty paid). 

6.  My grandmother ended up holding my purse during family pictures and left to go who-knows-where.  The keys to our car were in my purse so when the formal photo shoot was over I had no way of getting from the Temple to the reception hall. 

7. Towards the beginning part of the party some running children knocked over the DJ's external hard drive, efficiently breaking it, losing the prearranged song plans for our reception. 

With all those minor, but troublesome, events that took place to overthrow our wedding reception, it was still a success.  No one seemed to care that there were no wedding favors.  The food, when it arrived, was delicious and well consumed.  The bride and groom coming in late seemed like the plan for a grand entrance.  The drinks were also delicious and consumed.  The DJ did a fantastic job of winging it, and the dancing was entertaining, hilarious, and fun. 

After a rough start, it was a beautiful ending.  The best thing of all is that I am now married to my Brian, and my son is ecstatic over it. 

It was perfect in all of its imperfection.  Just like me, just like us all, and just like this life.  Beautifully imperfect. 

Fat Bride

 I am getting married This Friday.  J 

Blog entries, homework, and going to classes have gotten more difficult with all the running around, taking care of the last minute details.  Being engaged and planning a wedding has been a wonderful, exciting, stressful, and sometimes infuriating process.  With a little boy to consider and also his 7^th birthday to celebrate sufficiently, I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed.  It is all falling into place, though.  The last 8 months of planning will culminate into me and Brian being married, and, in the end, THAT is the whole point. 

It can be easy to forget at times, and easy to get wrapped up in the superficial parts of the process.

I imagine that every woman wants to be beautiful on their wedding day.  No matter how society advances and no matter how un-traditional a woman is, I believe every woman wants to be beautiful on the day they get married.  I want to be beautiful. 

Many standards of beauty includes being thin, which I am not.  I dreaded trying on dresses, but was also longing for that exprience.

Being plus-size and searching for a wedding dress presents a few challenges.  Many dresses I tried on were made to show off the large woman’s breasts.  I understand why, but I was not interested in wearing a foot of cleavage when I get married. I found that if the dress was not spilling my breasts out in front of me, then it was enveloping me in loose flowy fabric.  Maybe for those big women who want to hide their bodies.   It was also challenging to find much selection.  I went to 4 places in the valley that claimed to have sizes 14 and up.  What I discovered was, out of hundreds of dresses from their entire store they had maybe 5 dresses that were in that size range.  

I wondered if I was doomed to wear an Ursala-the-Sea-Witch-bursting-forth-from-the-bosom-of-her-disguise dress.  (A reference to the Disney film.  Seriously obscene moment in The Little Mermaid) Or, I would end up looking like I draped myself in gigantic doily with angel wing sleeves.  Eventually I found a dress that I thought encompassed everything I wanted (with a few tweaks needed) and I bought it. 

Do you know how much wedding dresses cost?!   Did you also know that large people have to pay more for clothing, in general?! 

I digress.

Back to the dress.

 I found a lady who does dress alterations.  She came highly recommended.  As I stood looking at myself in her trifecta of mirrors surrounding me, I had all the chance in the world to hate my body.  My hips were too wide and the dress would not slide down exactly where it was supposed to be.  The sleeves were too tight around my upper-arms.  The dress fit like a glove around my ribcage and waist.  It was barely long enough in my bare feet.  I could have hated my body, right then.  I could have said; “Never mind, I will exchange this dress for the winged doily” or “Forget it! I do not deserve to get married to a man who loves me.  I am not perfect enough.”  BUT then…the fifty-something, long-fingered, pinch-lipped seamstress did something.  She patted me on my right hip, and said “Someone needs to start walking,”

I laughed at her little joke, as did my mother who was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.  I suppose that is what this lady thought when she looked at me. 

 I looked at myself in the mirror again and saw what my Fiancé might see when he looks at me, and tells me I am beautiful and desirous and sexy.  I saw a statuesque woman who had a prescence not like any one else, who wore a stunning white dress which accentuated her curvy body, and who was not afraid to be exactly who she was on her wedding day.  I saw, just me, and I loved it.