i keep mentally preparing myself for the scale to go up again, since we all know it's a bouncy thing - and my period is due soonish, as well.
but this morning the scale said 147.4 - which is 0.4 down from yesterday.
i feel i should pinch myself.
i have to admit, that along with the joy as i get closer to goal, i am feeling some sadness as well. i can now see that i actually have a really good figure. very curvy, very classic - and that's even with the 15 pounds or so i still have to get rid of. and along with being happy that i'm finally accessing it, i'm feeling very very sad for the teenage me, and the young adult me - and heck, the me me - that i never got to have what many girls do have - which is that actual body as it actually should have been, *when* it should have been. and even now, while the shape is becoming more and more pleasing, the skin is irrevocably damaged. oh, i'll deal with it, but sagging skin and stretchmarks are not attractive. if it wasn't for skin issues, for example, i would now have no problem wearing a bikini. walking around in lingerie. my legs are still a bit fat, and my bum has a bit of an odd shape, although it's getting better and i reckon once i've lost the rest of the weight it'll be normal. and the rest makes up for that - or would do, if it wasn't for the skin issues.
i spent so much of my life hiding; clothes were for covering up a source of shame, not enhancing what i had. there really are some girls (my sister, included), for whom growing up, developing, was a source of pleasure. exploring their bodies was something positive. and i'll never have that back. even if i can deal with the demons and stop worrying about the bad skin, i'll never have that time back - i'll never have that time, never have that body that i could have had, if it wasn't for this problem with insulin. a problem nobody ever knew about. a problem i can't blame myself for.
i know some people have had similar issues to me, but there seem to be a lot more who put on weight later in life, and at least had some time in which they felt comfortable and positive about themselves (as much as any women can in this world). i just do not have a time i can look back on and say 'ah, but at least i looked good then'. when i was 13 we went on a family holiday and i think i may have been about 140 then, maybe a bit less, and i know that i got attention on the beach. but being 140 as a 13 year old i still felt fat/was told i was fat - and attention from adult men was not something i wanted, anyway, or knew how to handle. and by 14 i was already hiding my thickened body under t-shirts on the beach while my sister swanned around in her as-sexy-as-she-could-get-away-with swimsuit.
i'm not feeling bitter, more sad. so much time and life wasted. and no matter how much weight i lose, i will never have the body i should have had.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
New Low!
This morning at 8am the scale said 147.8lbs.
That is a completely new low that I have never seen! It deserved its own entry. I wouldn't be surprised if stress over this potential new relationship is 'helping' out...but my weight loss *is* still within entirely reasonable parameters - 5.4 pounds in 23 days puts my BMR at 2000 calories a day instead of the 1800 i was estimating a week ago. And I'm quite prepared for the loss to slow down again, for the scale to go up again...but just seeing that new low is a wonderful thing.
I don't look half bad in sexy underwear, either ;-)
That is a completely new low that I have never seen! It deserved its own entry. I wouldn't be surprised if stress over this potential new relationship is 'helping' out...but my weight loss *is* still within entirely reasonable parameters - 5.4 pounds in 23 days puts my BMR at 2000 calories a day instead of the 1800 i was estimating a week ago. And I'm quite prepared for the loss to slow down again, for the scale to go up again...but just seeing that new low is a wonderful thing.
I don't look half bad in sexy underwear, either ;-)
Monday, February 5, 2007
Small steps
I have to say, I don't usually spend a great deal of time contemplating my lower legs. But in the past couple of weeks as I've spotted them in mirrors every so often, I've wondered if maybe they've got a bit thinner. I am losing weight, slowly, but one tends to look at waist and hip circumference rather than ankles and calves to judge progress.
Well, this morning when I zipped up my black ankle boots, my suspicion was confirmed. Until now, they didn't quite go up all the way. The zip stopped about a centimeter away from the top. Not an issue, since they always go under trousers and you can't see. But today they zipped all the way up. Cool!
Talking of progress, weight was at 148.8 this morning. A new low. I'm really beginning to hope/believe that this time I might actually make it to goal. Not that I know exactly what goal is, since I haven't been at goal *ever* - last time I was anything close to this weight was when I was around 12 years old. There's no "I wish I looked like that/was that weight again" for me, since there was never ever a point where I had a good figure. So I'm assuming anywhere between 130 and 140 for an ultimate goalpost - I just can't tell till I get there. Now that I'm only 8.8 pounds away from 140 I can't imagine I'll be done when I get there, so it's more likely I'll keep trying to go down into the 130s. But now it actually is beginning to feel like this discussion might not just be academic; in another couple of months maybe I'll actually be at that stage.
God, I hope so. Five years is a long time to still be trying to get to goal.
Well, this morning when I zipped up my black ankle boots, my suspicion was confirmed. Until now, they didn't quite go up all the way. The zip stopped about a centimeter away from the top. Not an issue, since they always go under trousers and you can't see. But today they zipped all the way up. Cool!
Talking of progress, weight was at 148.8 this morning. A new low. I'm really beginning to hope/believe that this time I might actually make it to goal. Not that I know exactly what goal is, since I haven't been at goal *ever* - last time I was anything close to this weight was when I was around 12 years old. There's no "I wish I looked like that/was that weight again" for me, since there was never ever a point where I had a good figure. So I'm assuming anywhere between 130 and 140 for an ultimate goalpost - I just can't tell till I get there. Now that I'm only 8.8 pounds away from 140 I can't imagine I'll be done when I get there, so it's more likely I'll keep trying to go down into the 130s. But now it actually is beginning to feel like this discussion might not just be academic; in another couple of months maybe I'll actually be at that stage.
God, I hope so. Five years is a long time to still be trying to get to goal.
Friday, February 2, 2007
On Display
A lot of this blog seems to be about the difference between life then and life now. Makes sense, I guess. What exact event prompts this entry? A party.
On Tuesday night, my brother and his wife made a celebration dinner for a cousin of my sister-in-law who just got married. There were about 30 people there, for a full, sit down meal, and they also hired a magician to come entertain us. He's really excellent this magician, I have to say - I've seen him do kiddie shows, but this was the first time he did an adult show. He was good. Anyway, my point is, we're all sitting there. There are a few people I know, and many I don't know. No close friends but lots friendly acquaintances. And when the magician started his act, he asked me to come up and be his assistant for one of the tricks.
And I agreed readily. And I sat there being watched by thirty people - and being filmed by my brother - and I didn't mind.
This would have been unheard of a few years ago. I hated looking in the mirror, I hated people looking at me, I hated being in any way on display. Heck, I didn't like walking down the street because people would look at me. Life was a constant series of humiliations just because of the way I felt so uncomfortable about myself.
Another reflection of the sea change now is the way my apartment is constructed. I bought the place I live in 2 years ago. When you walk in the front door, there is a hallway in front of you that opens up into the rest of the apartment, and on the wall just off to the left of the front door, but facing the front door, is a very large mirror. The mirror faces the hallway down which you go to reach the bedrooms. This means that every time you walk in the front door, and every time you leave the bedrooms to go to the rest of the apartment, you have to watch yourself walking in the big mirror. I think that a few years ago that would have been a reason not to buy the place. Or I'd have taken the mirror down and put a bookcase in its place, or something. Now I enjoy it being there.
I may not have complete equanimity about looking in a mirror naked, but clothed...it's fine. And I don't mind being on display at all. Sometimes I even enjoy it. Being comfortable in your skin is a wonderful thing. Something everyone should be able to take for granted, but I never had.
On a weight note, things seem to be on the move! I've been extra virtuous (I won't even mention all the things on the menu at the dinner party that I completely avoided) and this morning the scale said 149! Pretty close to the lowest ever. The only time I've seen lower than that was in November when I saw 148.6 for a day - but it was the day after my boyfriend broke up with me, and I'd eaten nothing. So this 149 is more 'real' than that 148.6 was. Not that I don't expect the scale to go up again; there are always zigzags...but it's moving in the right direction.
Speaking of boyfriends, something happened this week, most unexpectedly, with a friend of mine. Who now may have become something a little more than a friend. We'll see. But at any rate, I swear that romance is good for my weight loss. In the summer/autumn when I was dating my ex, I found that losing weight was easier than it had ever been before, and that sometimes even when I wasn't trying to lose weight I did. It must be something to do with adrenalin/stress - both good and bad. Anyway, Wednesday night was the night things changed with this friend of mine. Wednesday morning when I weighed myself it said 151. Thursday morning it said 149.2
Don't know what's going to be the outcome of this...thing, whatever it is. But I hope it continues for a while, because it could really help me get to goal!
On Tuesday night, my brother and his wife made a celebration dinner for a cousin of my sister-in-law who just got married. There were about 30 people there, for a full, sit down meal, and they also hired a magician to come entertain us. He's really excellent this magician, I have to say - I've seen him do kiddie shows, but this was the first time he did an adult show. He was good. Anyway, my point is, we're all sitting there. There are a few people I know, and many I don't know. No close friends but lots friendly acquaintances. And when the magician started his act, he asked me to come up and be his assistant for one of the tricks.
And I agreed readily. And I sat there being watched by thirty people - and being filmed by my brother - and I didn't mind.
This would have been unheard of a few years ago. I hated looking in the mirror, I hated people looking at me, I hated being in any way on display. Heck, I didn't like walking down the street because people would look at me. Life was a constant series of humiliations just because of the way I felt so uncomfortable about myself.
Another reflection of the sea change now is the way my apartment is constructed. I bought the place I live in 2 years ago. When you walk in the front door, there is a hallway in front of you that opens up into the rest of the apartment, and on the wall just off to the left of the front door, but facing the front door, is a very large mirror. The mirror faces the hallway down which you go to reach the bedrooms. This means that every time you walk in the front door, and every time you leave the bedrooms to go to the rest of the apartment, you have to watch yourself walking in the big mirror. I think that a few years ago that would have been a reason not to buy the place. Or I'd have taken the mirror down and put a bookcase in its place, or something. Now I enjoy it being there.
I may not have complete equanimity about looking in a mirror naked, but clothed...it's fine. And I don't mind being on display at all. Sometimes I even enjoy it. Being comfortable in your skin is a wonderful thing. Something everyone should be able to take for granted, but I never had.
On a weight note, things seem to be on the move! I've been extra virtuous (I won't even mention all the things on the menu at the dinner party that I completely avoided) and this morning the scale said 149! Pretty close to the lowest ever. The only time I've seen lower than that was in November when I saw 148.6 for a day - but it was the day after my boyfriend broke up with me, and I'd eaten nothing. So this 149 is more 'real' than that 148.6 was. Not that I don't expect the scale to go up again; there are always zigzags...but it's moving in the right direction.
Speaking of boyfriends, something happened this week, most unexpectedly, with a friend of mine. Who now may have become something a little more than a friend. We'll see. But at any rate, I swear that romance is good for my weight loss. In the summer/autumn when I was dating my ex, I found that losing weight was easier than it had ever been before, and that sometimes even when I wasn't trying to lose weight I did. It must be something to do with adrenalin/stress - both good and bad. Anyway, Wednesday night was the night things changed with this friend of mine. Wednesday morning when I weighed myself it said 151. Thursday morning it said 149.2
Don't know what's going to be the outcome of this...thing, whatever it is. But I hope it continues for a while, because it could really help me get to goal!
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Life, thinner
It was a beautiful morning this morning. Bright blue sky, sun shining, a fresh breeze. I had a dentist appointment; just the regular six-month check-up. I decided to walk; it's only about 25 minutes away, and it's good to get some exercise.
Hair freshly washed, I donned some nice clothes - black trousers, black silky undershirt, white fitted shirt, black thin choker, big hoop earrings. (I've discovered, incidentally, that black under white is a very nice look). I started walking, listening to my ipod. Half way there, there was a cab pulling out of the driveway in front of me. I wasn't really looking at the cab driver, I was just listening to my music but then he caught my eye and smiled/nodded. So I smiled back, then went on my way.
Then he drove up behind me and spent the next five minutes trying to persuade me to go out with him. He was cute, young, not gross like some cab drivers who seem to think you'll want to date them even when they're clearly twenty years older than you. I smiled and kept walking, he kept pursuing. Eventually he gave me his phone number, and managed to wrangle my name out of me - but not my number.
I'm not going to call him. I'm not being a snob, honestly, but I can't see myself with a cab driver. Not for reasons of prestige, or class, but of common interest/intellect/intelligence. And I'm not one to be interested in 'a bit of fun'. It's just not me. Still, it was flattering, and nice. Put more of a spring in my step.
Then I got to the dentist - I had an appointment with the hygienist, then the dentist. Hygienist, female, starts with compliments on my appearance, and asks how I do it, whether I'm in the gym all the time. Nope, says I, but I eat low-carb. A short discussion on that, with her doing most of the talking, since by that point she's got her equipment in my mouth. When we finish up, and she says she'll see me again in six months, she says something along the lines of "don't go getting any thinner!". I say, well, twenty pounds, maybe fifteen, I hope. She replies "ok, fifteen, maybe, but definitely not twenty."
Quite amazing to think I'm that close to goal that people would tell me I don't need to lose any more weight.
Then I have my appointment with the dentist - male, married, attractive, mildly flirtatious. He starts off with telling me I'm looking good. I tell him he does too. He makes a comment on how nice it is to start the day complimenting each other, and having made each other smile, he's off to work checking out my teeth. He finds a small cavity - so I'll be going back in a couple weeks to get that sorted out.
Then I walked home. Catching quite a few second looks from men I walked past.
It really is a very nice, very fitted white shirt.
Incidentally, the scale is continuing to be recalcitrant. In the two weeks that I've been dieting hard, I've gone from 153.2, down to 151.8, back up to 155, down to 152.2, and then this morning, up to 153.8 again. Averaging 1200 calories a day, with no splurges or carbs. I'm in mid-cycle, so that might account for the current spike; that does happen to me sometimes. I'm trying not to let it get to me, and telling myself to keep track of what I *should* now weigh, given the calorie deficit I'm in (151.2 by now), and my body will catch on eventually. It's happened before - I'm a plateau and whoosh kind of gal.
The kind of experiences I've had today do make it easier to deal with the frustrations of the scale.
There are pages more I could write about this ugly duckling turned almost swan, and I will, and they will be hard, painful posts...but right now I just wanted to record today's events, with a smile - and get back to work.
Hair freshly washed, I donned some nice clothes - black trousers, black silky undershirt, white fitted shirt, black thin choker, big hoop earrings. (I've discovered, incidentally, that black under white is a very nice look). I started walking, listening to my ipod. Half way there, there was a cab pulling out of the driveway in front of me. I wasn't really looking at the cab driver, I was just listening to my music but then he caught my eye and smiled/nodded. So I smiled back, then went on my way.
Then he drove up behind me and spent the next five minutes trying to persuade me to go out with him. He was cute, young, not gross like some cab drivers who seem to think you'll want to date them even when they're clearly twenty years older than you. I smiled and kept walking, he kept pursuing. Eventually he gave me his phone number, and managed to wrangle my name out of me - but not my number.
I'm not going to call him. I'm not being a snob, honestly, but I can't see myself with a cab driver. Not for reasons of prestige, or class, but of common interest/intellect/intelligence. And I'm not one to be interested in 'a bit of fun'. It's just not me. Still, it was flattering, and nice. Put more of a spring in my step.
Then I got to the dentist - I had an appointment with the hygienist, then the dentist. Hygienist, female, starts with compliments on my appearance, and asks how I do it, whether I'm in the gym all the time. Nope, says I, but I eat low-carb. A short discussion on that, with her doing most of the talking, since by that point she's got her equipment in my mouth. When we finish up, and she says she'll see me again in six months, she says something along the lines of "don't go getting any thinner!". I say, well, twenty pounds, maybe fifteen, I hope. She replies "ok, fifteen, maybe, but definitely not twenty."
Quite amazing to think I'm that close to goal that people would tell me I don't need to lose any more weight.
Then I have my appointment with the dentist - male, married, attractive, mildly flirtatious. He starts off with telling me I'm looking good. I tell him he does too. He makes a comment on how nice it is to start the day complimenting each other, and having made each other smile, he's off to work checking out my teeth. He finds a small cavity - so I'll be going back in a couple weeks to get that sorted out.
Then I walked home. Catching quite a few second looks from men I walked past.
It really is a very nice, very fitted white shirt.
Incidentally, the scale is continuing to be recalcitrant. In the two weeks that I've been dieting hard, I've gone from 153.2, down to 151.8, back up to 155, down to 152.2, and then this morning, up to 153.8 again. Averaging 1200 calories a day, with no splurges or carbs. I'm in mid-cycle, so that might account for the current spike; that does happen to me sometimes. I'm trying not to let it get to me, and telling myself to keep track of what I *should* now weigh, given the calorie deficit I'm in (151.2 by now), and my body will catch on eventually. It's happened before - I'm a plateau and whoosh kind of gal.
The kind of experiences I've had today do make it easier to deal with the frustrations of the scale.
There are pages more I could write about this ugly duckling turned almost swan, and I will, and they will be hard, painful posts...but right now I just wanted to record today's events, with a smile - and get back to work.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
The Vagaries of the Metal Monster
Sometimes I flipping hate the scale.
I'm almost done with week two of my cutting calories as well as carbs effort. Week one ended well; once all the carbs were out of my system I weighed in at 153.4, and by the end of week one I was at 151.8. A decent result for 5 days of very low cal eating. Then I went away for the weekend; always dangerous BUT I was angelic. I ate only what I should have eaten; when I got home and fitdayed my stuff I'd stayed well under maintenance calories both days. But on Sunday the scale was up to 155. For no reason whatsoever. I expect a jump like that if I'm carbed up, but I wasn't. TOM was not on the way. No bloody reason at all. And I've spent the last few days trying to get back to where I was last friday, even though I'm *not* needing to buckle under after a splurge. There was no splurge. This morning I'm still half a pound up from where I was six days ago, despite the fact I've continued to eat at around 1200/1300 cals a day. I should be rights be down to 151 now, not at 152.4
I know that I shouldn't pay attention on a day to day basis; that it's week to week and month to month that matter, and the scale will fluctuate in annoying ways for no apparent reason. It still pisses me off. It's not a hardship for me to eat low carb, generally. But I do resent having to count calories too, if I don't see the results. Tonight I'm going out for dinner, and I just started trying to work out what the calories could be in the roquefort salad I usually get as a virtuous meal in that particular restaurant. Too high, is what they'd be. So I'll probably go for something else; or actually eat dinner before I go, and just get a soup or something.
I just don't believe in the 'purity' of that calories in/calories out equation - not after five years of low-carb, and other experiences of dieting before that. Example. When I was 22, I stuck to Weightwatchers for about a year. I managed to struggle down from about 210 to 175 in that time, eating what must have been around 1400/1500 calories a day. Then my mum introduced me to a book called 'The Carbohydrate Addicts Diet'. I read it with interest, since it was so obvious to me that I was a carb addict. I figured I'd give it a try. I was sooo sick of starving myself, and the carb addict diet said I could have a meal of whatever I wanted once a day! I set to with relish. And although I managed to be moderate for the first few days, I was quickly bingeing for that one hour 'reward' meal. I ate everything I'd been denying myself for a year, everything that I'd been craving. In one meal, I could eat a burger and chips, chocolate, ice cream, crisps... or a huge bowl of pasta, also accompanied by crisps, chocolate, etc.
I must have upped my calories - no exaggeration - by at least 2,000 a day. Possibly more.
What happened? During the two or three months I stuck to the diet, I didn't lose any weight. But I didn't gain any either. I probably tripled, even quadrupled my daily calorie intake, having been in almost starvation mode for a year, and I didn't put on weight. That's as pure a refutation as calories in/calories out that I've ever seen.
I gave up on the diet after a while because I wasn't losing weight. And because it was difficult to do at the time, with my particular lifestyle (and I was less skilled at cooking then, too). Tried all kinds of other things that didn't work either, and that just had me putting on weight until I was up to 250lbs about two years later. I always thought of that diet as a good way to maintain, since I hadn't put on weight, but since I needed to lose, I didn't think of doing it again for a long, long time. Why I went back to it is the subject of another post.
This post was just about the bloody scale. And that calorie intake vs expenditure just not working as *simply* as it is rumoured to. If it did, I'd have been at goal years ago. I've been doing this for five years now, and I'm still in the 'overweight' category according to my BMI. Only by a few pounds, but still. I could reconcile myself, almost easily, to having to stay low-carb for life. To being ever-vigilant, ever-different to other people. If only I was AT my goal weight. To struggle just to stay 20 pounds *heavier* than I want to be, after five years of sustained effort, well that's just not fair.
But then, life's just not fair, is it?
And I can't let this stop my efforts in calorie cutting or strictness. Because giving up certainly won't help either, will it? So I'm staying vigilant, and I'm staying low-cal, low-carb. I'm going away to friends for shabbat this week, and I've already spoken to them about the menu so I know there should be food that's good for me, even if I can't control calories one hundred percent.
Maybe on sunday there won't be another unexplained weight spike, and then I'll feel better.
I'm still thinner than I've ever been since I was 13 years old. I need to focus on that.
I'm almost done with week two of my cutting calories as well as carbs effort. Week one ended well; once all the carbs were out of my system I weighed in at 153.4, and by the end of week one I was at 151.8. A decent result for 5 days of very low cal eating. Then I went away for the weekend; always dangerous BUT I was angelic. I ate only what I should have eaten; when I got home and fitdayed my stuff I'd stayed well under maintenance calories both days. But on Sunday the scale was up to 155. For no reason whatsoever. I expect a jump like that if I'm carbed up, but I wasn't. TOM was not on the way. No bloody reason at all. And I've spent the last few days trying to get back to where I was last friday, even though I'm *not* needing to buckle under after a splurge. There was no splurge. This morning I'm still half a pound up from where I was six days ago, despite the fact I've continued to eat at around 1200/1300 cals a day. I should be rights be down to 151 now, not at 152.4
I know that I shouldn't pay attention on a day to day basis; that it's week to week and month to month that matter, and the scale will fluctuate in annoying ways for no apparent reason. It still pisses me off. It's not a hardship for me to eat low carb, generally. But I do resent having to count calories too, if I don't see the results. Tonight I'm going out for dinner, and I just started trying to work out what the calories could be in the roquefort salad I usually get as a virtuous meal in that particular restaurant. Too high, is what they'd be. So I'll probably go for something else; or actually eat dinner before I go, and just get a soup or something.
I just don't believe in the 'purity' of that calories in/calories out equation - not after five years of low-carb, and other experiences of dieting before that. Example. When I was 22, I stuck to Weightwatchers for about a year. I managed to struggle down from about 210 to 175 in that time, eating what must have been around 1400/1500 calories a day. Then my mum introduced me to a book called 'The Carbohydrate Addicts Diet'. I read it with interest, since it was so obvious to me that I was a carb addict. I figured I'd give it a try. I was sooo sick of starving myself, and the carb addict diet said I could have a meal of whatever I wanted once a day! I set to with relish. And although I managed to be moderate for the first few days, I was quickly bingeing for that one hour 'reward' meal. I ate everything I'd been denying myself for a year, everything that I'd been craving. In one meal, I could eat a burger and chips, chocolate, ice cream, crisps... or a huge bowl of pasta, also accompanied by crisps, chocolate, etc.
I must have upped my calories - no exaggeration - by at least 2,000 a day. Possibly more.
What happened? During the two or three months I stuck to the diet, I didn't lose any weight. But I didn't gain any either. I probably tripled, even quadrupled my daily calorie intake, having been in almost starvation mode for a year, and I didn't put on weight. That's as pure a refutation as calories in/calories out that I've ever seen.
I gave up on the diet after a while because I wasn't losing weight. And because it was difficult to do at the time, with my particular lifestyle (and I was less skilled at cooking then, too). Tried all kinds of other things that didn't work either, and that just had me putting on weight until I was up to 250lbs about two years later. I always thought of that diet as a good way to maintain, since I hadn't put on weight, but since I needed to lose, I didn't think of doing it again for a long, long time. Why I went back to it is the subject of another post.
This post was just about the bloody scale. And that calorie intake vs expenditure just not working as *simply* as it is rumoured to. If it did, I'd have been at goal years ago. I've been doing this for five years now, and I'm still in the 'overweight' category according to my BMI. Only by a few pounds, but still. I could reconcile myself, almost easily, to having to stay low-carb for life. To being ever-vigilant, ever-different to other people. If only I was AT my goal weight. To struggle just to stay 20 pounds *heavier* than I want to be, after five years of sustained effort, well that's just not fair.
But then, life's just not fair, is it?
And I can't let this stop my efforts in calorie cutting or strictness. Because giving up certainly won't help either, will it? So I'm staying vigilant, and I'm staying low-cal, low-carb. I'm going away to friends for shabbat this week, and I've already spoken to them about the menu so I know there should be food that's good for me, even if I can't control calories one hundred percent.
Maybe on sunday there won't be another unexplained weight spike, and then I'll feel better.
I'm still thinner than I've ever been since I was 13 years old. I need to focus on that.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
being the cool aunt
something my niece said to me today is going to be the perfect segue into a post on the concept of retail therapy.
i have to say, i really like what i was wearing today. when i was in canada recently i bought a very cute black waistcoast (vest, for the americans/canadians reading). i have a long black flowy skirt from zara with beading on it, which i paired it with - together with a gorgeous sheer pale dusky pink shirt i have. the shirt has ruffles at the front, and long sleeves with flowy long cuffs. i had the silky ruffles falling from inside the lapels of the waistcoat; a feminine highwayman, if you please.
when my niece saw me this morning (i'm staying with them this shabbat) she exclaimed "i love love LOVE your clothes!" My niece is eight, nearly nine, and just about the most girly girl you can imagine. she likes clothes, and ballet, and barbies, and make-up. She is just about as far away from the nerdy bookworm I was at her age that it is possible to imagine (not because I was fat at her age, I wasn't. But I was a shy, awkward bookworm all the same).
My niece often compliments me on my clothes. In the same vein, one of my friends recently told me that she thinks I'm the best dresser she knows. I was almost rendered speechless by that compliment.
There is so much behind my reactions to things like that. Being the cool aunt that my pretty, girly niece admires. Being someone who is seen as cool or funky at all! If we go chronologically, then I'd say it's the nerdy little kid who was always bullied for being uncool that finds it quite amazing.
Then, of course, comes the fat, awkward teenager, who was never complimented on what she wore or what she looked like. okay, it was the eighties, but still. (and in fact, i cringe when i think of what i had to wear during the eighties even when i dieted and spent about six months at a kind of normal weight - baggy sweatshirts and leggings are not the ideal wardrobe for someone curvy like me. I need to accentuate my hourglass figure, or I just end up hiding my figure altogether.
But things just got worse after that. I lost weight briefly when I was sixteen during my first foray into weightwatchers, but by 17 it was all back on again. I felt like an alien when my friends would discuss what to buy where, where they'd found a particularly cute skirt/pair of trousers/top. When they'd pore over fashion magazines. I was an alien, let's face it. None of those clothes would have fit me. When I got to my all-time high of 250lbs...well, I don't even need to say it, do I.
If I'd done anything other than sink into myself when anyone mentioned the joys of retail therapy, it would have been to laugh bitterly. What did I know of retail therapy? Retail torture, more like. Every time I went to any mall, all I could do when I saw the shops with all their gorgeous trendy clothes would be to walk past, on my way to the one outsize shop that had sizes for elephants like me. Those shops were for people from other planets; it would be too humiliating to even walk in. I was sure that people in there would just look at me as if to say - what's she doing in here? Nothing in here will fit her.
My friends often tell me that even when I was very overweight I still looked good; that I dressed well, etc. (That I always had a pretty face, etc). And of course, I tried to buy nice clothes. Tried to select from the one or two shops that catered to my size the clothes that weren't made for grandmas. But actually going shopping...picking up clothes from the racks and taking them into the changing rooms to try them on? A very particular form of torture - from having to face what size I was picking off the rack, to having to look at myself in a full-length mirror. I didn't do that very often. I just felt loathing when I did. I wanted to recoil from myself. How can you escape, when it's your own body that you want to escape from? I often wonder what kind of stresses my body was under when I think of how I loathed it myself. Can your cells understand how much you are repulsed by them? How much you long to be someone else? Somone normal? Like all your friends, who can go into shops and get whatever they want?
As I lost weight, shopping for clothes gradually became easier. (It was damn expensive, going through approximately 7 clothing sizes, but oh so worth it!) At first it was just exciting to be buying smaller sizes, although I still didn't like the reflection in the mirror. I remember the time I first realised I could shop in regular shops, even though I was still buying the bigger sizes. As the sizes went down, the joy increased. It wasn't till I got to about 175lbs that I could look in the mirror with anything like approval, and really it wasn't till about 165lbs that I could really be relatively happy with what I saw. Oh, there are still flaws even now, at 152lbs, and it's still not perfectly easy to buy clothes - my waist is disproportionately small compared to butt/hips and so it's rare to find trousers/skirts that are truly flattering - but I buy a zillion and one tops.
I have a lot of clothes now - and that's all clothes that fit me, too. I've given away or sold an awful lot of clothes that I bought whilst my weight was on the way down. And I guess I know how to dress, too, since I get such compliments for being a good dresser/stylish/etc.
But the thing is, the real thing is, that I finally get what retail therapy is all about. Buying clothes really can make me feel better now.
It's still not always easy looking at myself in the mirror when I'm in the changing room. There are so many flaws; I've not finished losing the weight, and my body bears the scars of my battle with obesity, and short of plastic surgery they'll never go away. I've also discovered a truth that my more 'normal' friends always knew - that even 'normal' weight people carry their weight differently, and so different styles suit different people. There are some clothes I can't wear because they just don't suit my shape. But there are other clothes I can wear that wouldn't suit someone else. That's the way it is, and that's fine.
But now, when I go shopping, it's with real pleasure. I'm not looking for clothes to hide in, clothes that I'm constantly pulling at to make sure they're not clinging to unsightly bulges. I'm looking for clothes to accentuate my tiny waist, to highlight the hourglass. I'm seeing a defined jawline in the mirror. (I don't think I'll ever ever take my collarbone for granted; I just love the fact there are hollows now, and defined bones...)
When I go to the shops and find something that particularly suits me...well, the joy I feel is, I expect, beyond what any 'regular' person experiences when they think of retail therapy. There's so much more behind it; not least, of course, the memory that a few years ago I couldn't have done this at all. I'd have had to walk past those shops, feeling humiliated, feeling alienated... an outsider in so many ways. Verboten.
Even discussing the various clothes I pick up with sales assistants has lost its sting. I remember trying on a skirt a few months ago. It just wasn't flatternig; it gathered at the waistband, and the way it hung was just bad on me. The sales assistant agreed; said it wasn't flattering, made me look big. And I didn't feel hurt, didn't feel humiliated. It was true; it wasn't flattering on my figure. Didn't do anything for me. When I discuss sizes with the sales assistants, it's the same thing. There is no pain in saying that I'm a UK size 14 on the bottom, while usually a 10 on the top. Oh, there's still joy when I fit into a size 12, and I still can't quite believe I'm a 10 on top (unless we're talking button-down shirts - my bust size often makes a size 10 too small in those). And I still *want* to get down to a size 12 bottom. But there's no shame in what I am. It's just fact... it's better, actually - I worked to get this. I defeated considerable odds to get this. And if I do always see the flaws when I look in the mirror, I also see the positives. I can look damn good in clothes. Sexy, even. I am very curvy, and while that has its difficulties, it also has positives. I wear figure-hugging clothes now. I walk tall, most of the time, and feel good. I buy clothes. And more clothes. And more clothes. Sometimes I want to scream with joy when I try something on and it looks fantastic. This was not me, a few years ago. I spent years excluded from these joys that should belong to everyone.
I don't think I'll ever take it for granted.
i have to say, i really like what i was wearing today. when i was in canada recently i bought a very cute black waistcoast (vest, for the americans/canadians reading). i have a long black flowy skirt from zara with beading on it, which i paired it with - together with a gorgeous sheer pale dusky pink shirt i have. the shirt has ruffles at the front, and long sleeves with flowy long cuffs. i had the silky ruffles falling from inside the lapels of the waistcoat; a feminine highwayman, if you please.
when my niece saw me this morning (i'm staying with them this shabbat) she exclaimed "i love love LOVE your clothes!" My niece is eight, nearly nine, and just about the most girly girl you can imagine. she likes clothes, and ballet, and barbies, and make-up. She is just about as far away from the nerdy bookworm I was at her age that it is possible to imagine (not because I was fat at her age, I wasn't. But I was a shy, awkward bookworm all the same).
My niece often compliments me on my clothes. In the same vein, one of my friends recently told me that she thinks I'm the best dresser she knows. I was almost rendered speechless by that compliment.
There is so much behind my reactions to things like that. Being the cool aunt that my pretty, girly niece admires. Being someone who is seen as cool or funky at all! If we go chronologically, then I'd say it's the nerdy little kid who was always bullied for being uncool that finds it quite amazing.
Then, of course, comes the fat, awkward teenager, who was never complimented on what she wore or what she looked like. okay, it was the eighties, but still. (and in fact, i cringe when i think of what i had to wear during the eighties even when i dieted and spent about six months at a kind of normal weight - baggy sweatshirts and leggings are not the ideal wardrobe for someone curvy like me. I need to accentuate my hourglass figure, or I just end up hiding my figure altogether.
But things just got worse after that. I lost weight briefly when I was sixteen during my first foray into weightwatchers, but by 17 it was all back on again. I felt like an alien when my friends would discuss what to buy where, where they'd found a particularly cute skirt/pair of trousers/top. When they'd pore over fashion magazines. I was an alien, let's face it. None of those clothes would have fit me. When I got to my all-time high of 250lbs...well, I don't even need to say it, do I.
If I'd done anything other than sink into myself when anyone mentioned the joys of retail therapy, it would have been to laugh bitterly. What did I know of retail therapy? Retail torture, more like. Every time I went to any mall, all I could do when I saw the shops with all their gorgeous trendy clothes would be to walk past, on my way to the one outsize shop that had sizes for elephants like me. Those shops were for people from other planets; it would be too humiliating to even walk in. I was sure that people in there would just look at me as if to say - what's she doing in here? Nothing in here will fit her.
My friends often tell me that even when I was very overweight I still looked good; that I dressed well, etc. (That I always had a pretty face, etc). And of course, I tried to buy nice clothes. Tried to select from the one or two shops that catered to my size the clothes that weren't made for grandmas. But actually going shopping...picking up clothes from the racks and taking them into the changing rooms to try them on? A very particular form of torture - from having to face what size I was picking off the rack, to having to look at myself in a full-length mirror. I didn't do that very often. I just felt loathing when I did. I wanted to recoil from myself. How can you escape, when it's your own body that you want to escape from? I often wonder what kind of stresses my body was under when I think of how I loathed it myself. Can your cells understand how much you are repulsed by them? How much you long to be someone else? Somone normal? Like all your friends, who can go into shops and get whatever they want?
As I lost weight, shopping for clothes gradually became easier. (It was damn expensive, going through approximately 7 clothing sizes, but oh so worth it!) At first it was just exciting to be buying smaller sizes, although I still didn't like the reflection in the mirror. I remember the time I first realised I could shop in regular shops, even though I was still buying the bigger sizes. As the sizes went down, the joy increased. It wasn't till I got to about 175lbs that I could look in the mirror with anything like approval, and really it wasn't till about 165lbs that I could really be relatively happy with what I saw. Oh, there are still flaws even now, at 152lbs, and it's still not perfectly easy to buy clothes - my waist is disproportionately small compared to butt/hips and so it's rare to find trousers/skirts that are truly flattering - but I buy a zillion and one tops.
I have a lot of clothes now - and that's all clothes that fit me, too. I've given away or sold an awful lot of clothes that I bought whilst my weight was on the way down. And I guess I know how to dress, too, since I get such compliments for being a good dresser/stylish/etc.
But the thing is, the real thing is, that I finally get what retail therapy is all about. Buying clothes really can make me feel better now.
It's still not always easy looking at myself in the mirror when I'm in the changing room. There are so many flaws; I've not finished losing the weight, and my body bears the scars of my battle with obesity, and short of plastic surgery they'll never go away. I've also discovered a truth that my more 'normal' friends always knew - that even 'normal' weight people carry their weight differently, and so different styles suit different people. There are some clothes I can't wear because they just don't suit my shape. But there are other clothes I can wear that wouldn't suit someone else. That's the way it is, and that's fine.
But now, when I go shopping, it's with real pleasure. I'm not looking for clothes to hide in, clothes that I'm constantly pulling at to make sure they're not clinging to unsightly bulges. I'm looking for clothes to accentuate my tiny waist, to highlight the hourglass. I'm seeing a defined jawline in the mirror. (I don't think I'll ever ever take my collarbone for granted; I just love the fact there are hollows now, and defined bones...)
When I go to the shops and find something that particularly suits me...well, the joy I feel is, I expect, beyond what any 'regular' person experiences when they think of retail therapy. There's so much more behind it; not least, of course, the memory that a few years ago I couldn't have done this at all. I'd have had to walk past those shops, feeling humiliated, feeling alienated... an outsider in so many ways. Verboten.
Even discussing the various clothes I pick up with sales assistants has lost its sting. I remember trying on a skirt a few months ago. It just wasn't flatternig; it gathered at the waistband, and the way it hung was just bad on me. The sales assistant agreed; said it wasn't flattering, made me look big. And I didn't feel hurt, didn't feel humiliated. It was true; it wasn't flattering on my figure. Didn't do anything for me. When I discuss sizes with the sales assistants, it's the same thing. There is no pain in saying that I'm a UK size 14 on the bottom, while usually a 10 on the top. Oh, there's still joy when I fit into a size 12, and I still can't quite believe I'm a 10 on top (unless we're talking button-down shirts - my bust size often makes a size 10 too small in those). And I still *want* to get down to a size 12 bottom. But there's no shame in what I am. It's just fact... it's better, actually - I worked to get this. I defeated considerable odds to get this. And if I do always see the flaws when I look in the mirror, I also see the positives. I can look damn good in clothes. Sexy, even. I am very curvy, and while that has its difficulties, it also has positives. I wear figure-hugging clothes now. I walk tall, most of the time, and feel good. I buy clothes. And more clothes. And more clothes. Sometimes I want to scream with joy when I try something on and it looks fantastic. This was not me, a few years ago. I spent years excluded from these joys that should belong to everyone.
I don't think I'll ever take it for granted.
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