So, no one has noticed I’m losing weight. That is so sad. I told my trainer today that if he lost 30 pounds, he would be dead. More on him later.
I’ve also said, when I’ve tried to do this before, that when you’re my size or larger… it’s an extremely slow process to lose weight. I’ve used the metaphor that it’s like “emptying a swimming pool with a tablespoon.”
Of course, I haven’t broadcasted this news on social media like I did the last time I tried to do this. I realize it’s going to take over a year to re-learn a new way to live in the new (old) skin I want to inhabit. The first person who notices I’m losing weight may prompt me to post more publicly about it. We’ll see.
But I’ll tell you who does notice: ME. Everything feels better. I feel stronger, lighter. My clothes definitely fit better. I’m much more confident. I’m not exhausted the same way I was. My energy level is up, and walking up a flight of stairs does not ruin my whole day.
Even more than the physical change is the mental transformation. As I said before when I started writing here again, I just decided I don’t want to be fat anymore. Maybe it’s due to all the wonderful talk therapy I’ve been doing, I’ve realized I’ve been carrying this “extra person” around with me for way too long. My trainer told me today that fat on a woman is designed to protect her. I told my therapist recently that where the fat has always been a shield of armor– ensuring I would keep men away, being unfuckable and all– I’ve realized it’s also a cage. It’s been keeping me contained in a controlled, angry world of my own making. I may have been keeping myself safe, but living in hiding or camouflage has served to perpetuate my own victimization and repressed hostility.
Unlike so many women who were always overweight and always were rendered invisible or déclassé in society, I was not always overweight. I was once a hot cheerleader and even hotter twenty-something in business. (Oh, the stories I yearn to write…) I was one of those women who’d turn heads when I walked into a room. That kind of power goes unchecked in the universe. It’s a heady thing.
So, as I’m gaining a lot of ground with my new business, I’ve realized I need every tool in my tool belt to be successful with my ambitious goals. I know a woman’s looks are a weapon of mass destruction, and I intend to deploy what I have left of them strategically to reach my objectives.*
Pretty women have been doing this since the beginning of time. Don’t hate.
On my trainer. He’s such a nice, young man. Funny too! It’s reminded me that I long for a man to touch me in a caring way. (Don’t go there.) I’m talking about the way he gently presses his knee between my shoulder blades and stretches my arms backwards. He cares about what we are working on. He is encouraging me to be my best self.
*I updated this post as a result of the prevailing #MeToo movement on social media. Don’t conflate a woman’s focus on maintaining her image with anything sexual, especially as it relates to power grabs.