You are being "sensitive". Overreacting.

Many men do not understand this.  They cannot comprehend that many women do not appreciate the attention because THEY wouldn't mind the attention, providing that it came from another woman.  But, men, what would you think if it came from another man?  Would it freak you out? Would it make you uncomfortable? Would it flatter you, as so many men say that they are doing when they whistle at a woman, or cat call, brush up against us or grab our asses? Somehow I don't think so. 

When I was in the 8th grade, a football player laughed when he pulled my tube top (which was beneath an unbuttoned, and tied, button-up shirt) down to expose my breasts while we stood in line.  I was horrified.  I felt violated.  I WAS violated.  I reported it to a teacher.  My mother reported it to the principal.  She had to fight for the guy to be given one day of suspension.  It left me feeling like I was less of a person than he was. 

In my twenties I had a doctor, an older gentleman, who was very empathetic of my back pain due to my... over-endowment.  At every visit he would pull the table out from the wall, stand behind me, and adjust my back.  Well, the first time.  Looking back, each time he came a little closer. Lingered a little longer with his hands.  It became less of an "adjustment" and more of a back rub.  He was such a kind man that even when I became uncomfortable with it I didn't say anything because I wasn't certain that I wasn't just being "sensitive" and overreacting.  Then one day (and mind you this all took place over the course of a couple of years) I realized that he was leaning against me, from behind.  So many women, SO MANY of us, are afraid of offending a man.  Afraid of appearing "sensitive", of overreacting, of falsely accusing.  Knowing that if we confront you on your behavior we will be accused of making it up, or of "flattering ourselves".  So we are silent.  I was silent.  I struggled with the problem.  How could I get out of the situation?  How could I say "no, I don't want you to "adjust" my back, which actually so desperately needs it."  Instead I convinced myself that I was overreacting.  He was a doctor, I told myself.  I was "flattering" myself.  I actually heard my inner voice tell me that.  Then, abruptly, I received a letter in the mail.  His practice was closing.  I was sad, as he was a great doctor, but also relieved. 

Now, why didn't I simply change doctors?  Good question.  A question that I have asked myself repeatedly.  The answer is interesting.  Because I couldn't convince myself that I wasn't just overreacting.  Women have been told, for as long as we each remember, that we are "sensitive", "emotional", and that we "overreact".  Sexual misconduct, as any man will tell you (with shock in his voice) is a "serious accusation".  How many times have we all heard that, spoken in a tone that says "You better be 100% certain that you are a) right and b) able to prove it.  I know that most men who read this won't get that.  I also know that many women will. 

Many years later I began to wonder about his

Years later I looked him up on a physician rating site.  I needed to know if other women had similar experiences.  He lost his license due to sexual misconduct.  Many women, braver than I, had come together and told their stories (which were shockingly similar to mine, and sometimes far WORSE than mine) and fought so that no other women would go through it again.  I was relieved to know that I hadn't overreacted, but I was also disappointed in myself for not having had the ability to do it myself. 

The "down" side to dramatic weight loss (that no one talks about).

So far, I have lost 87 lbs. people say that I should be "proud". I've worked hard, so yes. I am proud of myself for continuing to put one foot in front of the other on this journey to reclaim myself. This relatively new way of eating (8 months down, the rest of my life to go) has been far easier than anything else that I've tried. Cutting calories left me hungry ALL OF THE TIME. I suck at routines, so any exercise routines that I've ever tried to maintain have always fallen to the wayside fairly early in the game. Replacing carbs with healthy fats though, for some reason my body really responded to that (after two weeks of hell...er..."adjustment"). So I'm left feeling like it has been easy, even though I KNOW that it hasn't. The cravings are pretty much non-existent, but the fear of falling face-first into a vat of Hagen Daz is ever present. I literally have nightmares about it. Old habits die hard, and this is going to be a lifelong struggle for me in every sense of the term. But I'm supposed to be talking about the big negative of weight loss. Sorry. Ok, here we go. 

Self image. The image of yourself that you carry around with you, 24/7. Once you've been obese for so long, fat becomes part of your identity. People will tell you that your weight isn't who you are. These people are only partly correct. Although it is not ALL that you are, it is PART of who you are. "What does she look like?" "Oh, she has brown hair, big boobs, glasses. She's a big girl." Or "she's overweight". Or "she's fat", depending upon your commitment to politically correct terminology. It is part of your image. More deeply, though, it is part of your SELF image. 

Other people's image of you can change fairly easily. When someone sees you every day, a dramatic weight loss may be shocking at first but no one literally doesn't believe that you've lost the weight. They can see it with their own eyes, and they have no reason to disbelieve it. What a person who goes through a dramatic weight loss is faced with, in contrast, is a disconnect between their internal image of themselves and reality. 

In reality, I am 87 lbs lighter. In reality I have decreased my "dress" size by five sizes (or ten, depending on how you count women's dress sizes. I'm not sure). When I see a photo of myself, though, I see a stranger. My features do not look like my own. They are too...comical, almost. Exaggerated. Without the padding, my mouth looks too big. My nose, my eyes, every one of my features looks foreign to me. My breasts, although still enormous by standard measure, are no longer my breasts. They are shaped differently, and they require considerably more support, if ya know what I mean. 

Do I like my new image? I think so. More than that, I love that I can move more easily; That I don't get winded chasing after my son or taking a flight of stairs; That my knees aren't at risk of giving out on those stairs. 

What I DON'T like is the disconnect. It's disconcerting to see a photo of yourself and have to take a moment to recognize the person staring back. It's weird to see clothing on a rack and not be able to tell whether or not they will fit you because you are completely out of touch with the size of your body. 

It's worth getting to know myself again. Losing weight has been like getting a new toy, winning the lottery, and Christmas all rolled into one. But there is a lot of emotional baggage that takes the place of that physical baggage. Stuff to work through. I was obese for seven years; Overweight for nearly 20. I don't know how long it will take before my self image syncs up with reality. Maybe it won't. I guess I'll find out. 

~FL