Growing up, my smaller frame - especially compared to my family, resulted in me being endlessly described as "tiny" or "so small". For all of 2nd and 3rd grade, my weight stayed the same. I did not grow in height or put on weight. My mom has told me since then that this actually caused her worry.
When people would say these things about my size, I know full well that they were sort of offering some endearing compliment. They thought is was cute or sweet or unusual that I be so small given the family in which I found myself, but do you know what I heard? I heard "weak". I heard "different". I heard "doesn't make sense" and "doesn't fit in". I was also slow along with being small, so I always got picked last for recess sports and gym class teams.
In 5th grade, a lot of the girls started to develop the beginnings of curves...I did not. In fact, there was a very mean little boy who would wait until there was a crowd of other students but no teacher, and he would unkindly shout out insults while everyone was watching. He would call me "flat-chested" and "a carpenter's dream" and then slap me. I will never forget the expression of horror on the other kids' faces as he would say these things. No one stopped him during these moments (although one boy ended up ratting him out. I'll never forget YOU, little boy). They just stood there, stunned.
I think I finally hit a growth spurt for height around the age of 13. I was no longer the shortest in my group of friends. In fact, I was one of the taller girls, and being the mid 90's, platforms and heels came back with a vengeance. Since I'd been sporting heels whenever I could since the age of 3, I took full advantage that I was now allowed to wear these fancy things on my feet. The growth spurt only effected my height, though. I was still flat as a board, as that little boy told me.
Here's where the body shaming came in. For some reason, though there were girls that were skinnier than me, people took many liberties in teasing me about my size. None of this, that I could see or hear, was directed towards the other girls. It happened incredibly frequently. There was sometimes communicated a jealousy that I was so skinny, and other girls wished they were my size, but sometimes it was just that I was "too" skinny. I also went to a very conservative church and school where skirt length was important (yes. pants were a no-no at most functions). That hemline better be to the knee. Well, when your frame is small but you must observe hemline rules, guess what's going to happen. SOMEthing is going to end up being too big. In my case, it was everything EXCEPT the hemline. My poor mother would always buy me clothes that were too big - on into high school. She was just observing the rules - protecting me - but what I felt was the reinforcement of what that little boy had said and what many other people had said. I was "different". I was "weak" and "frail looking". I.....was.....different. I had another skinny friend in high school with whom I would have eating contests. For whatever reason, no matter how much each of us ate, we would put on no weight at an age that some girls are already starting to count calories. We were going to try though! During any break from school, we would eat as many fatty, carb filled, sugary foods as we possibly could to see if maybe, just maybe, the number on the scale would change, but to no avail.
Fashion changed, as it always does, and long skirts became very en vogue. Smaller waist sizes became available in stores in the sections outside of the children's department, so I had a lot of fun with that. I wore clunky shoes, and I had 2 satin skirts the combination of which became my signature. I will never forget someone rounding a building to the bench where I was sitting and saying "I KNEW it was you! I saw those shoes, and I thought 'That's Sarah! Those are her shoes'". I was so ecstatic! I had become known for my style and its signatures rather than my size!
High school ended, but the comments about my size when people saw my very Swedishly proportioned family in comparison to me didn't. But my boobs came in! I was at least grateful for that. I looked less often like I was swimming in every shirt I put on, but I was still very envious of girls with a little flesh around their arms or thighs or girls with any butts at all. So so jealous. They looked so much more womanly than I felt I did. I felt like I just looked like a sickly child.
This continued until I got pregnant with my first child. I became discouraged when, at one of my visits to my OB/GYN, I was told that I was underweight for my pregnancy. "Fantastic!" I thought "I'm not even healthy enough for my baby!". Lots of self loathing. Lots. Lots of old ghosts came flooding back, haunting me.
I did end up putting on the appropriate amount of weight after morning sickness ended, and I kept some of the baby weight after the baby was born. I....was....THRILLED! Finally I got to fill out the clothes that hung on any rack of any store! I gloried in the fact that, after my second child, I could walk even into the plus size section and find things that fit! My body was giving me options! I felt like I'd finally reached womanhood, and people were starting to tell me how alike I looked to my family!
Then I started hearing negative things though. I started hearing that I was actually unattractive because of the weight I'd put on. I heard many times that the weight was a reflection of my laziness and that the only reason that other women (with way different metabolisms, of different ages and different body types) lost their baby weight and I didn't was because THEY worked out and I didn't. This was such a deathless discouragement! Why couldn't my size ever just be right?!
So I joined a gym, hired a personal trainer and started taking extra classes to drop my weight and increase strength. During the first 4 minutes of a Zumba class, I sidestepped, and something went terribly and utterly wrong. I heard a snap and then felt a pain so intense that my eyes went black and I hit the floor. After several visits to several different doctors, it was revealed that I had torn my ACL completely in half and ripped my meniscus in a way that had caused it to flip into a taco shell shape and wedge itself in my knee joint making it impossible to straighten my leg beyond a certain point. My quest to make my body more pleasing had resulted in extreme injury.
My physical therapy over the next 3 months didn't change the number on the scale either. My body was stronger. With a lot of help and encouragement, I regained the ability to walk without a limp, but that darn scale. My darn appearance. I just couldn't make it right for absolutely everyone.
The thing is, though, I FELT good about the way I looked. I felt prettier having more flesh around my body. There was NO mistaking anymore that I was a woman, but it does begin to wear on one's soul to have repeated criticisms about any part of ourselves.
Over the course of the 8 months that followed my rehabbing my knee, I got a job and did not have a car, so I bought a bicycle. My job was 12.5 miles away from my residence, and it was summer in Florida. Something began to happen. People at work were starting to comment that I looked like I'd lost weight. Given the fact that I'd only ever successfully gained weight and that, once I reached a weight my body seemed determined to stay at that weight, I was skeptical. Either way, I stepped on a scale and found that I'd lost about 10 pounds!
Oh wow, Sarah! Good for you!......Despite the fact that I was receiving praise for this, I was not happy. This weight loss meant to me one thing, and one thing alone - that I was losing my womanly appearance and that I was one step closer to being the "skinny" girl that everyone teased.
Over the course of the last year and a half, I have not lost 10 pounds. I have lost upwards to 45 pounds. I do not know to what exactly I should attribute this loss because the times during which I have eaten the most were when this loss would recur. It has been so hard for me because, every time I stepped on a scale, it would reveal more loss.
I will never forget being at work and realizing that my clothes were too big. I needed to buy some that fit my body. I had grabbed my trusty large and only-sometimes-my-friend-medium and headed to the fitting room only to realize that they were both...too big. I began to breath heavily and feel the blood leave my head. I was going to have to try on a small. I called my sister, nearly in tears and said "Hannah, these are too big!" She calmly said "Well, Sarah, then try on a small. It's just a tag, Sarah. Put on your body what looks nice - what fits. It's okay!". This was very comforting coming from my sister because, in today's fashion culture, unless you are a size 2, being 5' 11" makes it extremely difficult to find clothes anywhere. Hannah has gotten very creative with where she finds her clothes, what size they actually are and how she adorns her body was them. It wasn't okay with me, though. All I could see was everyone's faces while they giggled about how skinny I was. All I could hear in the ear of my memory was the innumerable comments about my size and the distinction that I could not be accepted because of it.
It actually hurt me. I was becoming again, the skinny one.
The other day, after glorying in the fact that I felt sure that the new jiggliness of my belly meant that I'd put on weight, I plopped a quarter in the scale at the mall. I waited with delight hoping I'd find myself once again in the 10's range in which I'd felt most comfortable. What popped up on the digital screen made my eyes widen with disappointment. I'd actually LOST 8 pounds since my last weigh in. LOST?!?!?! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!?!?!
One of the fears I have had over the last year and a half during this loss of weight is, how much weight am I going to lose? Is there something wrong with my body? Am I sick? Probably a lot of the same worries my mom had when I was a child. How small am I going to end up being? I have had moments during this time where I have actually been disgusted by my physique. I don't mind the stretch marks that cover my entire mid-section. I wear bikinis to the beach. I don't mind that there is now loose skin around my armpits. I actually like it. I don't mind the wrinkles around my eyes. I do, however, worry when I notice that there seem to be bones poking out in places where they were cushioned and hugged before by flesh that was the fruit of successfully growing 3 babies in less than a 6 years span of time. The tape replays in my head (and did while I stood on that scale): How small am I going to get?!
Oh my gosh, Sarah! You should be grateful you're just happening to get what other people work so hard for!...Really?....Why? So I can be a cookie cut version of what a woman is supposed to look like? That didn't lend itself to acceptance for me. It drew criticism. Why would I want that just because my version of dysmorphia is opposite of most women or what is spoken of most commonly in our culture?
I have a friend who has battled with body image as well, and, though the nature of her battle has been opposite of mine, the guts are still the same. The lies, though they are opposite, are still the same. So I asked her one day what on earth I could do to stop the tape from playing in my head. Do you know what she said? She told me that it's going to be a constant battle. No matter what the rules are in my mind versus those that exist in the minds of others, it will probably stay, so I should just know that. She also told me that, when I have these moments, I will need to consciously choose not to engage. Instead, I should change my perspective from being inward to going outward. "Help people. Give to other people", she told me. I am to focus on helping others because isn't that what is most beautiful in this life anyway?
And as far as the body shaming goes, I have two daughters. One of them is taller for her age and her 3 year old body is deliciously squishy. My other daughter, however, has always been small and slight. She is my introspective, smart almost 9 year old. Her understanding of the world has always been beyond her years. She has experienced exclusion already over the fact that she is small. She too has been chosen last for things because of her size and been left out for being small. What would it say to her if I presented smallness as a negative thing?? It would make her feel like I did so long ago and have found myself to feel recently.......defective.
So let's dissect that. If I truly believe that women are beautiful for their character AND their physical makeup because it brings variety to the world, why should I worry that my contributions won't bring the same? Right now, my body is small. The other day, right before I stepped on the scale, I went underwear shopping, and the store clerk discouraged me from buying the underwear that I'd selected because she thought they'd be too big "because you're pretty petite". I looked at her like she was crazy. I feel bad about that now! Turns out though, she was right. If I'd have purchased my preselected pretties, they would have slid down my hiney and frustrated me. I had to redirect my reaction in a split second so I did not hurt HER feelings for giving me a professional and correct opinion.
What truths do I give myself, and what example do I show my daughter? In the words of C.S. Lewis, "You are not a body. You do not have a soul. You are a soul that has a body." This encasement of our soul is going to be the vehicle with which we change the world. Full stop. We are responsible to keep this vehicle in good condition so we enable ourselves to use that vehicle for as long as possible, and even then, bodies fail. Disease strikes. In some cases, parts of that vehicle even have to be removed and replaced with synthetic versions and not because of any failings on our part - just because. Bodies are temporal. They wear out. Let's concentrate on our bodies being the vehicles for our souls.
As far as the aesthetic qualities go, why must we insist that they do not bring pleasure? I have often been distracted by the fact that, despite 2 years of braces and headgear (oh man...the headgear), my teeth are crooked. Do you know that someone told me the other day "you have the best smile!". Hmmm. The giver of this compliment made no mention of my teeth. Also, the other day I was laying on the couch and my husband traced his finger over my belly that had become bare where the flannel shirt I'd stolen from him had fallen away - that place right above my belt line. "Your pretty belly.." he said. My belly - covered in stretch marks and now the loosest part of my body, the part of my body that sort of spills over any pair of pants that I put on no matter how much weight I lose and the part that leaves a line under dresses that are meant to have lines with no interruptions, the part that has never seemed to be....right. A light switched on in my brain. This therapy - this taking apart and laying out every part of my mind - has begun to show some repair. I realized this because.....I believed him. I do not think that my body is universally pleasing. I just know this - it's pretty....to him. I flipped over and looked at him. "What?" he asked - probably worried that he'd tripped a negative trigger for me. I just smiled. "I believed you", I said. Then I buried my face in his side and shed a couple tears for knowing that I've healed a little.
So this world of our bodies is two-fold. We are a soul that uses a body. We should ALWAYS remember that, but we also can't discount the fact that even the most dilapidated of structures can bring pleasure to someone that happens upon them. Glory in your smile. Glory in compliments. Glory in the fact that, even if your body does not bring pleasure in the realm of a romantic relationship that someone may just enjoy the "pretty" that you bring to the table. Your smile or your hair or your pretty long fingers or adorable short ones aren't necessarily things that people love IN SPITE of what you consider to be shortcomings. They may just love them BECAUSE they are exactly what they are.
Don't forget that there are many parts of you that are beautiful - inside AND outside. And don't forget to give to others. If there is some part of them that you love, tell them. If there is some part of them that you can see is just on the cusp of a growth spurt, tell them about how you can see that they are growing. Finally, never stop growing yourself. Traversing this world is full of lessons, and we never stop learning. Embrace them. Love the ways that you change. Love the things about you that will forever stay the same.....because other people have already begun to love those things. Join their company. This party is a really wonderful place.
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