Over the last few years (basically since Himself died, and then meeting Capt) I have seen/experienced significant changes, of a personal nature. I've become more aware of how my actions affect others, and am more conscious (ok, try to be, anyway) of what I say, facial expressions, etc...so I can be more tactful. I can't say I always succeed, as it's a lifelong habit that needs changing. I am about as tactless as a...um...something tactless. (It's afternoon and I'm working on the brain-fog-eliminating coffee). I'm not very good at it but I'm trying.
I've also changed a lot physically. A LOT. My body has shrunk from a 210 pound size 20 to a 145 pound size 8/10. HOW? I quit eating. No seriously. No fancy diet plan, no nutritionist or calorie counting. I just...cut everything down by about 2/3 and eliminated (well, mostly. Some things, like tomato sandwiches, I can't and WON'T give up entirely) wheat. I am not deprived of the really good things like excellent french fries or high dollar ice cream. I still eat chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and gravy. I just... quit eating as much of all those things. Except for the occasional mood-induced consumption of an entire pint of Talenti caramel gelato. I mean...sometimes a woman's gotta just do it. Especially while binge-watching Yellowstone. C'mon. What Would Beth Do?
The problem with the physical change is that the mental acceptance of said change is having trouble catching up. I go to buy clothes, and head straight for the size 12. I mean, when I was a size 20, 12 seemed like the Ultimate. It was the End Goal, the Dream I Didn't Think I'd Achieve. But, putting it on and it's huge. Way too big. Ok, so try a 10. That's better but still a little loose but the ol' brain that still thinks I'm in the late upper half of the 100's balks at anything smaller, screaming DON'T KID YOURSELF, GRANNY. YOU HAVEN'T BEEN AN 8 SINCE 1989. So I console the brain by figuring out how to alter the item to make it fit. (Just buy the 8 you dingus) (no, I can't. I am not an 8. Only slender people are an 8, You know, people that aren't me.)
Now and then I'll actually take time to look in the mirror. It's always startling. I have long hair now, down to the middle of my back, and it's wavy, blond, with streaks of silver. Where the heck did that come from? I don't have that hair. I have short mousy colored hair, in an unflattering-yet-practical cut of the sort busy moms (who don't have time to care for themselves) wear. The blond is a result of the sun, working outside, and not wearing a hat. There's a tan on the skin there too. Also a result of working outside. And I am very uncomfortable talking about liking what I see in the mirror. It smacks of vanity, self-absorption, several other self-pejorative qualities I was raised to abhor. Phrases I heard growing up come to mind.
"It's a good thing you're smart because you'll never be pretty" (A family member)
"Why are you here? No one wants to see your face." (High school)
"Go get a bag to put over your head" (High school)
"You're fat. Go away." (Middle school)
and...(here's the big one. It's what makes this post so awkward and uncomfortable...)
"Nobody cares what you have to say."
Those voices are loud in my head. I try to ignore them, but you know how it is. For some reason your brain gloms onto the negatives and ignores the positives. Those negatives, I don't know why they're so much louder than the good things. Especially since I haven't heard those things since the early 1980's. 40 years. Words are so incredibly powerful. That "sticks and stones" thing? It's bullshit. They do so hurt.
But now I am trying. I am, right now, in the midst of getting new things in my wardrobe. Things that FIT. That fit and suit my kind of oddball sense of style. I like skirts that float round my legs, that have embroidery or beading on them and look good with a fitted t-shirt and a pair of comfortable sneakers. But dammit I will NOT PAY FULL PRICE. No. no no no no no. Thrift store thankyouverymuch. And Ebay. and now there's this new (to me) place called ThredUp. Oh lord what a rabbit hole that has been. The past couple of days, and continuing into next week, there has (and will be) a steady flow of packages with clothes I sucked in my psyche and punched the Size 8 option (gosh that was scary. I can't even tell you how much but woah...) and hit send. And...they fit. Not tight, not loose, and I'm not even planning on the "but I might gain back my weight" in that same corner of the brain that had me getting clothes for the kids a bit big so they could grow into them.
Now, Capt looks at what I get and says things like "that's definitely You." He's gotten me some nice things that fit well, but are a little scary because they aren't the sorts of things I'd gravitate toward, and yet, they're comfortable and I like them! A Lot! I'm not sure if the "that's definitely You." is necessarily a compliment, but I like these smile-inducing skirts with the beads and embroidery and floaty style.
Oh! 2 of them (this is SO COOL!) are made from recycled Indian saris....you know, that long long piece of beautiful silk fabric Indian women wrap around themselves as a garment? That have amazing prints and borders on them? Yeah those! Long hippie floaty wrap skirts that are so cool and comfortable and colorful and I don't even care that it's an odd concept for a skirt because they make me smile. I can braid my hair (that's LONG! What the heck!) and wear a peasant blouse from the 1970's and some Jesus sandals and look like my aunt who was a bona fide hippie in the early 70's.
I'm hoping before too long my brain will catch up with my phyz, and I'll accept what the mirror says, relax, and enjoy it. I'm 57 now, and will never be mistaken for a supermodel. And that's ok. At this age, it's not something I aspire to (never have really...remember the "good thing you're smart..." comment?) but being able to accept the words of the person who loves me best, and whom I love best (Hi, Capt!) as reality, instead of "oh he's just being nice because he has to" is kind of a new thing, and strange, yet wonderful. Buying clothes that are smaller than I ever thought possible, and not having to return them because of size, is also a strange, yet wonderful, thing. Learning to love without self-condemnation and silent internal accusations of Vanity and Pride is...difficult. But it all goes together. Wearing the right size clothes. Looking in the mirror. Allowing love into the brain. Recognizing personal worth as a human isn't based in what someone told you when you were 12, but rather based in the knowledge that you are Loved and Valued by Someone who saw fit to create you and put you on this planet, fearfully and wonderfully made. Psalm 139:14 says "I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
Now, I know my value as a person isn't based on how I look, what size I am today, or anything other than being a child of God, fearfully and wonderfully made. But wow, it is a peculiar feeling to have a body that is of a sort I never thought would happen, to be able to find clothes that fit both my style and my body. To be able to get up off the floor without help, climb stairs without getting winded, even accept a compliment as genuine and not some sort of relational obligation.
