The Zen Leaf

Last week, I talked about becoming size-aware. That size awareness kept me in a place of hiding for most of my life. I dressed to be invisible, in larger sizes to hide my body. I’ve talked about this before. However, a funny thing has happened to me on the way to getting healthy.

Then: Two years ago, I nervously walked into a Victoria’s Secrets. I’d received a gift-card nearly a year before, when I’d hit my goal of losing 100 lbs, but I’d been too self-conscious to use it. I finally had the courage to spend it because, in a month, I’d undergo abdominal surgery, and I thought – literally – that soon I’d finally “be able to” wear cute clothes. Sigh.

Rare have been the moments in my life where I thought I could wear cute clothes. Before abdominal surgery, it had been since early college that I’d last felt that way (left). Even then, it was a short-lived thing, a year and a half or so. Only once I was at a healthy weight and I underwent reparative body surgery did I feel comfortable in cute/fun clothes again.

Now: So you’d think, with all my life-long self-consciousness, that I’d stop wearing cute clothes while/after regaining 50 lbs. Except I didn’t and haven’t. I kept shopping at VS for underclothes. I started playing with patterns and leggings and clothes that made me feel good even at larger weights (below). I kept taking silly selfies and photos with family and friends. And while I still feel size-anxious from time to time, I’ve also spent a lot of time not giving a flying f–k what anyone thinks about how I look.

When I went to Dallas on vacation last month, none of my friends cared how big I was. I doubt anyone even noticed. I certainly didn’t. Not once on vacation did I think about my size or hide from pictures or worry that my friends – or strangers – were judging me. I was having too much fun to think about any of that! A few weeks later, I was at the zoo with family, wearing a completely pattern-clashing hoodie, skirt, and leggings. I saw one stranger visibly look me up and down, and knew they were looking at my outfit, not my size. And you know what? I wasn’t in the least bit self-conscious about it.

I may not be 100% perfect, but I’m getting better at being visible, and at not letting the world’s opinions affect me. I’m learning confidence and body positivity. Recently, I came across a quote from a book I plan to read in 2016 (Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls): “Our bodies are installation art that we curate publicly.” And a similar quote from one of my own novels: “You’ve turned your skin into a canvas. Made yourself into a work of art.” I love this concept, and am trying to internalize it. As the creator, I can make this piece of art anything I want it to be, and never mind that the world will always be divided – as it invariably is – on whether or not it’s “good.”

True Confessions
I used to compare my body all the time to former selves, to friends, to strangers. “I think I’m about the same size as that person.” “I’m the biggest/smallest person in this room.” Etc. This was terrible, because it meant that I was continuously reinforcing size hyper-awareness, and it led to judgy thoughts (toward myself and toward others). Like in that quote from Zoe Heller’s The Believers: “Years of attending to her own physical failings had made her, if anything, more closely attuned to the nuances of bodily imperfections than most.” Exactly! Worse still, it led to judgy thoughts that were cloaked in impassive, clinical observations, so that they didn’t seem judgy, just factual.

I am happy to say that I’ve mostly trained myself out of this habit by now. As I’ve focused less on my body, I’ve focused less on others’, and vice versa. I’m less judgy of everyone, including myself, thanks to trying to break this habit. I’ve also freed up a lot of mental energy, giving me room to notice more important things, like a person’s style or laugh or kindness or quirks.

*****
Dear younger Manda,

There are some people in this world who will judge you on size, shape, beauty, whatever…no matter what you look like, or what you wear, or what you do. Most people, however, pay far more attention to how you behave. If you’re laughing and smiling and playing around, that’s what they’ll see, far more than your size. Remember that quote from The Bell Jar about how if you do something incorrect or strange, but do it in a confident manner, people will think you’re witty and original, not incorrect or strange. It’s true. And really, it’s kinda more fun to take silly, ridiculous selfies and to wear bizarre combinations of patterns than to try to fit into the norm. Forget everyone else, and not only will their judgments cease to matter, but they’ll mostly cease to come your way at all.

Love, modern-day Manda

The first time I ever remember being aware of my size and of feeling “too big” was not long after my tenth birthday. I was at a friend’s party with a bunch of kids from school. My friend’s parents had a zipline set up in their backyard, and the zipline had a weight limit on it. I don’t know how tall I was (somewhere between 4’6 and 5′), and I don’t know why I knew my weight. All I remember is the devastation in discovering that my 74 lbs was just a few pounds over the weight limit. I felt like a whale.

Honestly, I can’t even remember if I stayed off the zipline or if I lied my way onto it, terrified it would snap under my “bulk.” I just remember debating what to do, knowing that everyone else at the party would be going on it, and feeling so much bigger than the rest of them (when in reality, I wasn’t). This was the moment I became hyperaware of my size, which quickly grew worse when my family moved to Texas and I was one of few white girls in a mostly-Hispanic area. I was so much taller than most people, and always felt huge huge huge.

True Confessions
I’ve let size awareness keep me from so many things. Family pictures. School reunions. Meeting up with people who knew me when I was thinner. Getting my license replaced even though it got warped in the dryer. Renewing my passport. Exercising in public. Going into athletic stores for the right clothes/shoes. Participating in 5ks. Etc.

The worse, however, was the time I let a life-long dream pass me by. In 2007, I met several members of my favorite band, and heard one of them play with his new band. Eighteen months later, the lead singer was performing with his new band, and I desperately wanted to go. I knew it was likely my only chance to hear him sing live, so I bought tickets to NYC the moment the concert was announced.

As the date approached, my body-anxiety took over. I’d gained 50 lbs since I’d last met these band members. I couldn’t face showing up so much heavier. Would they have cared? Probably not. But I cared, so much that I ended up canceling my ticket and letting the singer know I couldn’t come after all. He wrote to tell me he was disappointed I wouldn’t be able to make it, and I felt even worse. It’s been seven years, and there have been no more concerts that I know of. An opportunity lost, possibly forever, due to shame.

*****
Dear younger Manda,

Don’t do it. Don’t cancel your flight. Don’t put off opportunities out of fear. Don’t let shame make your decisions for you. Especially not in this case, not when it comes to this band. No one cares about the weight you’ve gained except you. If anyone did care, would it really matter? You’d still have the experience of a lifetime, and no regrets. If you don’t go, if you cancel, you will be a Very Sad Manda. Go. Please.

Love, modern-day Manda