That’s it. That’s the post. 🎉
This journey that I’ve been on is a journey of self-preservation.
It’s more than just an interest in losing weight. It’s about reclaiming my identity.
I’m not looking for a mate; I’m postmenopausal.
I’m looking for myself. I’m looking to become, again, the person that I was before life’s tragedies interfered with my body type.
So it’s bigger.
It’s a bigger, bigger challenge and a more interesting path that I’m on.
Losing the weight I’ve carried all these years is a monumental step toward the healing I’ve been working on the past few years.
It’s a way, metaphorically, to erase– to disappear– all the layered anguish and self-protection.
To allow myself to be myself free from fear.
Addendum: I’m currently at the lowest weight since I began this blog in 2008. I’ve also finally broke through into the 30s in BMI. So, it’s working. Slowly, but surely.
My daughter said this to me recently. I thought about that for some time. On the one hand, she’s correct. For an eyesore of a female, I have far too much self-confidence, self-love that deflates the prevailing belief that women’s identities are inextricably linked to their appearance, at least more so than men.
But in the end, I think she’s wrong. Hating, absolutely hating, what I look like has no bearing on what I think of myself as an individual. Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring about what I looked like because it was a battle waged against me by some unknown force. It was probably weight-gaining pharma drugs, genetics, dumb food choices, lack of exercise, but I like to think it’s a wicked curse some former girlfriend or wife levied against me when they found out I was dating their lover. I picture some woman secretly having a voodoo doll in her closet that rather than sticking pins into, she wraps it with layers and layers of material– more and more every year. I hate that woman. If I had only known, I would have dated her Dad too. 🙂
I guess being fat is no joke, but it is comical to me in so many ways. In my young adult life, my looks and sexuality were a powerful combination. I recall very specifically the “heads turn” moments when I walked into a room. Beautiful women know what I’m talking about. It’s like living with celebrity all the time. It’s somewhat addicting. Now, I didn’t have a killer body, but I was pretty and smart and sexy. That was enough to get a lot of attention.
Professionally, my looks either got me a job, or got me into trouble. A lot of the time, it was both. There’s a lot I have to say about this, but I will do it in another forum. Sometimes I wonder if, psychologically, that’s one reason why I stay so obese. There can be no mistake that I’ve earned all my professional accomplishments strictly on the merit of my own intellectual achievements.
I’m considering “coming out” with this blog, as I’ve been writing it stealth for some time now. It’s risky. What if I never lose this weight? It will be the failure that haunts the rest of my life. On the other hand, it may just take a global village of friends to help me get my sexyback. I’m seriously considering it. Ah, hell. What do I have to lose?