I have this weird thing where I feel pretty awesome about myself most of the time. Wait, sorry, that’s not the weird part. I like feeling awesome about myself. What’s weird is when I see myself in an unflattering photo and then all my hard-won self-esteem flies right out the proverbial window. It happened again this week, and it happened hard.
Last week was the annual Gilda’s Guys Bachelor Auction, an event that benefits my numero uno non-profit here in Rochester. It was a long night for me, as I’d just driven five hours back from a conference for work down in Hershey, PA. To say I was tired was an understatement. After a quick nap, I got as gussied up as I could manage and headed out to see the bachelors in action. I ended up having a great time, as always, and even won a date with a very handsome, fantastic fella. But then the photographer (the awesome John Schlia) posted the gallery from the night and I wanted to curl up and hide.
Original photo © John Schlia.
Stephen Amell terribly photoshopped in by me.
Funny thing: You know when I feel best about my body and what I look like? When I’m at the gym. Isn’t that weird? I’m usually the least clothed than I am at any other time (especially on swim and Aqua Fit days), and yet I always feel strong and powerful and good about my body when I’m working out. That’s not to say that I am unaware that my body is bigger than is socially acceptable, but I still feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be, doing what I’m supposed to be doing.
Warning! Fat lady a-swimmin’!
Reconciling these two things – feeling good about my body at the gym, feeling terrible about what I look like in a photo – is hard. I haven’t quite figured it out, which is why I’m talking about it with you today. Last night I was on the treadmill, seeing how much my leg/ankle could take (just over a mile, if you’re keeping track), and I started to think about what I really must look like. My jiggly bits jiggling and all. I pushed the thought out of my mind, because if I let those worries creep in, I’ll stop wanting to go to the gym. I can’t let my fear and shame dictate how I live my life.
Same night, better angle? Plus Matt Bomer, sorta.
We spend so much of our time being told that we should hide our too-big bodies, that society doesn’t want to see us and we shouldn’t want to be seen. When those messages come from inside your own head, how do you fight them, how do you turn that sound off? With loads of practice. And, honestly? Sometimes you’ll totally fail at stopping that noise, and you’ll see a picture of yourself that you hate and you’ll never want to set foot outside your front door again.
But you will. I will. The next day I’ll wake up and I’ll put on something that makes me feel good, and I’ll force my head up and my shoulders back. I’ll take a cute selfie or two to combat that unflattering photo. And I’ll also talk to my friends – and to you – about this unending process of body love and acceptance. Keeping quiet about the struggles (and the victories) of this process is exactly what society and the media wants. Silence.
Selfie taken a few days later that made me feel better.
Shh, be quiet, fatty, and if you do manage to love yourself more than not, please don’t tell anyone. How can we sell diets and workout DVDs and self-help books and makeup and Spanx ad infinitum if you like yourself and don’t feel an obsessive and overwhelming need to continually strive for unattainable and expensive thin perfection?
There will be another day when I see a picture of myself and cringe. There will be another day when I waltz out of the locker room in my bathing suit, feeling good about my body. These are two of the many sides of me. One doesn’t negate the other. I am the strong and amazing fat woman in the pool just as I am the double-chinned, tired-looking woman captured forever in a photograph that will exist on the internet for all of time. And that’s okay.
One of my new favorite pictures of me.
Yep, even with that hair.
I am all of these versions of me. Who are you? Today, tomorrow? Who were you yesterday? You are every one of these versions of you, and I’m glad to know them all.
