CHOOSE BEAUTY

Robin, age 1

                                                                Summer, 1980, age 18

                                                                  Headshot, 1990

                                 "Angie," female lead, The Yoofo Club, independent film, 1996

                                                                    Winter, 2015

Fall Glamour Selfie, 2015

         

Fall 2015, age 53

Beauty, then and now: when I was 18, it was all about the packaging. I spent hours on my hair and make-up, my nails were always flawless. and my wardrobe was fashionable and color co-ordinated. I starved myself into a size 5, and I never left the house without full make-up and perfectly styled hair. It was exhausting! And still, I never really believed I was beautiful. If I gained a pound or two, I'd panic and feel sick to my stomach. My sense of self-worth was all based on my weight (105), my size (5), and my looks (Perfect 10 wannabe).

I started to get chubby in first grade, and that is when my shame regarding my looks set in. Add thick, coke bottle bottom glasses, and I knew I was not pretty. I spent hours fantasizing about the great beauty I'd become when I grew up, and felt I was just marking time until that transformation occurred. Meanwhile, I discovered I had brains and talent, which gave me value, but also set me apart from my fellow classmates. Since I couldn't fit in, I derived some satisfaction from being better at music than anyone else, but grade school was a long and lonely road.

Food became my comfort and my secret friend, and I obsessed about when and what I could eat next. My mom was concerned about my weight, so I never felt permission to eat my fill at dinner, and would sneak sweets whenever I could work up the nerve.

In 6th grade, I went to see a handsome young doctor that told me how pretty I'd be if I lost weight. I was 5 ft. tall and weighed around 107 lbs. He put me on a diet, and I discovered the the high I could get  from withholding food from myself and watching the pounds drop off.  I got down to 97 lbs, grew breasts, got contacts, and suddenly the ugly duckling was a swan. A swan with really low self-esteem, because by then I had learned I'd never be good enough no matter how hard I tried.

I managed to stay under 110 lbs in high school, though it was touch and go. I'd starve myself down to 98 lbs, then binge and shoot up to 110 lbs. The numbers on the scale determined my mood, and I was on a constant roller coaster ride.

The summer I was 18 was the only time in my whole life that I felt satisfied with my looks. I was tan and fit from picking up rock* in my bikini, my hair had grown out and was blonde from lemon juice and sunshine, and I was TOTALLY in love** for the first time. Oh, life was SO sweet! Too good to last. And it didn't.

Flash forward: College. Emotional trauma. Gained 50 lbs. Believed I was hideous. Junior year: got engaged, got down to 133 lbs for the June wedding, gained 8 lbs on my honeymoon, and was back up to 159 lbs when I found out I was pregnant in October. I was over 200 lbs when I delivered Andy, and by then I had begun My Life As A Fat Lady. The Horror! The Shame!! I had let myself go, and I never came back.

'Til now. I'm back! I'm full-figured, fat, voluptuous, and absolutely gorgeous! That is, when I FEEL gorgeous. When I feel fogly (fat, old and ugly) I look fogly. My top weight around 12 years ago was 315 lbs. As of today, I weigh 261 lbs. They're just numbers. They have no power to destroy me. Lower numbers mean I feel better, and my body is getting healthier, but the numbers do not define my beauty.

I used to think my desire to be beautiful was just vanity. Now I realize beauty is something I can create; it's a state of being. I know how to create beauty in my art, and my music, and my home. I know how to bring out beauty in people I love. As I take selfies on my computer, I see my face totally change depending on what I'm thinking, and how I feel in that moment. It's not about my features-it's all about the look in my eyes. Pure joy lights me up from within, and despair drags everything down.

So, to each of you, fat or thin, young or old, pretty or ugly: CHOOSE BEAUTY.


*Rock picking: a typical job for a NE IA teen. You walk the fields and pick up rocks and put them in a loader and pile them at the edge of the field. This was so the rocks wouldn't get stuck in the machinery when the farmers worked the land. After all these years, I still see a rock in a field and get the urge to pick it up!

**Still in love with that handsome redhead, Steve Jons. He's a FORMER redhead, now, but man, he makes bald look GOOD!!!!

My Life as a Super Plus Sized Woman

Some of my Supersized Woman Pics. I weighed around 295 lbs, and wore 6X-7X size clothes.

The most "likes" I've ever gotten on Facebook is when I've posted any significant amount of weight loss. Along with words of encouragement, so many have asked me, "What are you doing?" I'm shrinking! I'm embracing my tiny little pixie fairy hobbit self instead of trying to be larger than life. I'm not biting off more than I can chew, I don't have too much on my plate, and I don't find things difficult to swallow. I'm comfortable in my skin, I love my face, and I cherish my circa 1961 body. I sleep when I'm tired, sometimes 8 hours a night, sometimes 12 hours, depending on how much energy I've expended during the day. I drink water or tea when I'm thirsty, I eat when I'm hungry, I move when I have energy, I rest when I'm drained. I listen to my body. 

I've learned to feed my hunger, not my cravings. When you feed your cravings, you simply crave more. You're never satisfied. 
  
When you're trapped in a 315 pound chrysalis of fat, life is very difficult. Your body is incredibly inconvenient and a bother, and upkeep simply wears a person out. Imagine draping a waterbed over your shoulders, front and back, 'til it hangs down to your knees, and then try to walk in that thing. Try to get in and out of cars, booths in restaurants, bathtubs, tiny public bathrooms, or even an MRI machine. I was constantly dissociating myself from the painful experience of being in my body. It hurt physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. My beautiful soul felt trapped in this unwieldy vehicle, and I longed for escape.

The act of eating has caused me immense guilt and shame since I was around 6. At some point, I decided to quit feeling guilty about every bite I put in my mouth, and just ate what I wanted. I did succeed in breaking my feast or famine approach to food. I chose to feast, though not as much as you might think. I feasted mildly, but consistently, not usually binging, but also not limiting my food choices or intake. Desperate to alter my moods, I usually chose the sedating effects of carbs to calm me down. The more I ate, the more I'd crave, and the cycle continued until I became an insulin dependent diabetic. Then things got really crazy! The higher my blood sugar, the more insulin I'd take. The more insulin I took, the more my body craved sugar. I was on the diabetic roller coaster ride from hell, and I couldn't get off.

I had several wake-up calls, including a horrific trip to the E.R. after drinking too much whiskey which caused my blood sugar to plummet, which is a very dangerous condition. I knew I was looking into the abyss of an untimely death, and I realized I was not ready to die.

So the first thing I had to do was to admit I had a death wish. 

The second thing I had to do was choose to live.