For all the moments of angst and desperate musings that have been the last few weeks of my life thanks to the wonders of social media a few things have found me to get my head back on. I can’t say that it’s straight but then again it probably never will be…ha ha
Anyway, last week I had my head in a space that doesn’t really exist. I was wishing I had followed through with weight loss surgery so I could be skinny in Mexico. I admitted last week and I’ll admit now it’s mostly a vain wish. Yes, I do want to be healthy. But this wishing was honestly more about vanity. I want to look good in a swimsuit. Who doesn’t?
Then something happened today to knock some sense back into me. The first weight loss surgery blogger I ever liked posted the blog of another woman who has had some very serious complications. She had the Lap Band which was my first choice. She’s lost over 100 pounds. She had to have her band removed because it eroded through her stomach. Her surgeon will not consider a revision surgery to a gastric bypass unless she is back over a 40 BMI. She’s already gained 40 pounds. She’s terrified. She is working with a counselor. But to go through all of that and then be here…this is exactly my concern about the Lap Band. It is why I changed my mind to the gastric sleeve and eventually decided, wisely, to put the surgery on hold until I could have a better measure of control over my thyroid.
From my journey, I know several hundred weight loss surgery patients. Most are doing just fine. But the truth is there are more than a few of that number who are having a variety of complications although none this severe. However, my medical history does predispose me to complications. Those conditions are not a deal breaker but they do increase the risk. They are why I decided to put thoughts of surgery on hold until I could find better control over them.
Then on Tuesday I hoped in my car and drove to Las Vegas to meet a dear friend for the first time. She and I connected through a mutual elementary school teacher and we’ve been fast friends ever since. As wonderful as it was, I honestly wanted to crawl out of my body and back into the one from last July. You know, the one who looked like she was making progress.
Then from one of my favorite inspiring divas came this:
We all should take a serious look at ourselves and realize that beauty is everyone, everything, and everywhere. That’s just how I feel. I wish more of us will let go and be free. I’m still working on it, because my insecurities have a strong grip on my reality – and it sucks. But I’m not giving up~Lakeisha Shurn
Well of course I started bawling like a baby. My eyes are filled right now as I type this.
This Year of Accountability has been about me stripping away the bull snot so here’s a truth I have to accept:
My milky white and dimpled thighs do not make me ugly any more than my eyes make me beautiful.
As the tide of my thoughts started to shift, I went in search of more inspiration. Of course, I found it. Basically it all distills down to this:
If I cannot take my love for myself with me on this cruise I am going to be miserable no matter if I am a size 2 or 22. That number is not me. It is not a reflection of my soul, my talents, my empathy for others, or even how I really think of myself 99-percent of the time. If I cannot hold my head high as I face a long history of feeling bad and being made to feel bad about my size, then I have bigger problems than looking a certain way for one week of my life.
With that, I tried on my swimsuit. It still fits. The last time I wore it I was on the beach in southern California so I let myself go back there and remember how I felt.
First of all, I was 10 days post-op from my hysterectomy…and on the friggin’ beach soaking the sun, looking for seashells and letting the waves lap my ankles.
Did I really care about my thighs?
Yes. I wore shorts over the bottom of my tankini. But do I look back and think, “Oh my God, my thighs are so gross?” No.
When I look back, do you know what I see?
A woman living anyway.
Fibromyalgia had been pronounced. My soon-to-be ex was harassing me to the point I had to call the police twice. My aunt offered her home as a safe haven so I leaped at the opportunity to put myself and my children as far away as possible. If ever there was a moment in my life when I needed the beach, it was that one.
I remember sitting on the beach munching mini sweet peppers, watching the waves, and the seagulls and thinking, “I may have an elephant ass you asshole but I can lose this ass and change but you will always be the same” (The 450 pound man had the audacity to tell me one of the reasons he wasn’t happy with me was because of my ‘elephant ass’. At the time, I was wearing a juniors 19 pants to his 56 waist).
I remember feeling happy. Really happy.
I also remember thinking I wasn’t very comfortable because of the false skirt on the bottoms was bunched up and bulky and about how silly I was being. And by silly I mean giving into years of programming. But, I also did not take the shorts off.
The real me needs to go to Mexico. She’s pretty okay in my book.