My Easter Weekend

I’m a plus sized girl.  I prefer to call myself voluptuous or curvy but the fashion industry is still using “plus size” as their means of measurement.  At any rate, there’s no getting around it.  I shop in stores like Lane Bryant and sections of stores where the tags have a “W” printed next to the number.  I come from a family of women who have always been on the curvier side.  It took me a long time to come to terms with that, to accept it and to realize I am enough.    

All that being said I still have my moments.  Easter weekend was one of those moments.  Someone I respect and love made me feel like the fattest ugliest unworthy person in just a few words.  I felt the way I did when I was ten and my body begun developing at faster rate than my mind.  While I still wanted to play with my Barbie dolls my body wanted to look like a Barbie doll.  The summer before my sixth grade year, I went from being flat chested to being a C-cup.  My face broke out in painful red spots.  Some could be squeezed to release the white lard trapped inside but mostly they were painful splotches that only hurt more when they were squeezed.  I grew pubic hair that trapped body odor under my arm pits and between my legs.  The worst was my periods.  They were irregular and extremely heavy.  They flowed through me like sticky, red, rotten smelling rivers.  Unable to position the thick cotton pad onto my underwear properly, I stained most of my pants.  I went home early from school so many times and stayed there for days hiding from the embarrassment of bleeding on my clothes. 

Eventually, my body slowed down and my mind caught up but not before I gained some serious self-esteem and body issues.  

When I was in my twenties and away from home, I looked at some pictures of my thirteen-year-old self and I realized I wasn’t as fat as I had thought.  Sure I was a little bigger than some of my classmates but there were classmates that were even bigger than me.  I started thinking about what had made me hate myself so much.  And I realized it wasn’t what but whom. 

I don’t want to say exactly who it was in my family but I will say it wasn’t my parents or my brother.  They have always loved me for who I am and think I’m beautiful outside and in.  I’ll call this family member Older.  I love and respect Older for what she’s done in her life.  I know that Older loves me in her own way; it’s probably just not really the right way.  I’m sure that Older’s constant criticism of my skin, pubic hair, periods, and fat was all meant to help but she just made it worse.

By the time I graduated from high school I had an eating disorder.  Behind my closed bedroom door, I did jumping jacks, ran in place, and did push-ups and sit-ups all in a hopes of being small.  I weighed myself endlessly.  And when all else failed I purged everything I ate.  I didn’t do it at school because I didn’t want to get caught.  Let me clarify, I didn’t want to get caught by a classmate because I didn’t want to be teased.  It never occurred to me that if I got caught by peers or even a teacher that they might have gotten me help.  I only binged and purged at home.  At home if my parents asked me why I was sick I blamed it on my sensitive stomach.  Growing up, I had a history of stomach /nervousness issues so it was easy to make them believe that I’d just gotten sick.  As an adult, I still have bouts of bulimia and I wonder if I’ll ever be “cured” but mostly I’m just glad I’ve been able to control myself for months at a time.  And, yes I’ve sought professional help.     

        

Anyway, at twenty-four, I realized that the reason I had so many body image issues was because I was never enough for Older.  When I was twenty-four I decided to attended a university six hours away from my family and friends.  I didn’t have anyone to tell me whether I looked good or bad.  I only had me.  It took me some time but I made a friends.  These friends were shorter, taller, thinner, and larger than me.  The thing they all had in common was that though they had some body issues they didn’t let their issues rule their lives.  They had confidence and it made me have confidence. 

 I also started watching Sex in the City and fell in love with Samantha Jones.  I know people have tons of problems with that show as do I but it spoke to me in a way that Friends just never could and Samantha was my idol.  Talk about confidence.  The woman wasn’t afraid to express her opinion.  She didn’t care if she didn’t sound ladylike, demure or sweet.  She loved her body and who she was.  She said and did what she wanted and she had nonjudgmental friends and tons of men, haha.    

Back to the events of Easter weekend; like I said I still have my moments and Good Friday was one of those moments.  I got some bad news regarding my finances and I decided I needed to ask Older for assistance.  It took a lot to ask for her help because I feel that as a thirty-something adult I shouldn’t need to ask for help.  I should be old enough help myself.  Also, sometimes I have too much pride to ask. 

Older refused to help saying that should couldn’t.  This wouldn’t have bothered me so much if I didn’t know that she was helping a non-family member buy a brand new truck.  I called my mother to vent about the situation and like all mothers she did what she had to do to help me.  She called my brother even though I told her not to.  My brother found out, hit the roof and called Older.  He effectively cajoled guilted her into helping.  Nine hours later, Older called me to arrange for the financial assistance and to make payment arrangements. 

Now, I love my family but some of the members have a tendency or need to live in a constant whirlwind of drama.  If drama isn’t happening then subconsciously find a way to start drama.  They will bring up old grievances with other family members that were both voiced and solved and never spoken of.  They forgive and then never forget.  I use to be a huge part of this drama cycle and I my self-confidence was nonexistent until I moved away and developed a philosophy that serves me well.  It is:

Unless, the offending person actually says to my face what their problem is I act as if I don’t know anything about it. 

For years, I’ve heard about Older’s criticism of my body, my life, and my relationships from others but because she hasn’t said it directly to me I never addressed it. 

Unfortunately, I was so hurt and humiliated at not being able to take care of the situation myself, being denied help, and my younger brother having to come to my rescue (and yes I know it shouldn’t matter but I take that whole, “brother’s keeper” pretty seriously and I should be keeping him not the other way around) that my defenses were too weak to keep me safe. 

In the nine hours of calls back and forth between my mother, brother, and me I was given insight into what Older thought of me and reminded of all the hurtful things she did and said when I was a teenager.  And all this convinced me that if I were thinner and prettier I wouldn’t have had this financial crisis.  My beauty and perfection would serve as protection from all the problems of the world and I’d never need help, I’d always be helpful, and I’d be accepted.  I’d be enough.

I cried periodically all weekend and I refused to eat for most of Saturday.  I talked to my best friend, got my hair cut, I picked out one thing I physically liked about myself –hair, eyes, skin—and I forced myself not to feel bad about liking my appearance.  It took me nearly a week to finally start to feel like myself and to raise the barriers between myself and other people’s/Older’s opinions of me. 

Looking at everything that happened that weekend, I’m reminded that building up your self-esteem is difficult and sometimes it crumbles but you can’t give up.  And sometimes the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally have conditions.  So you have to surround yourself with positive people.  I remembered that there is nothing wrong with liking your appearance.  Modesty and humility does not mean you’re not allowed to love your body.  It’s not conceited to think you look good.  It means that you love yourself and encourage others to love themselves.  I also remembered that I am more than just my appearance.  I’m creative and intelligent.  I have a Master of Arts with an emphasis in writing, damn it.  Most importantly, I realized that my opinion of myself is more important than anyone else’s opinion and to me I am enough.