Image

The other day I shopped at this cute little store that I enjoy (but do not frequent due to its inconvenient location and higher-than-I-would-like prices). In general, the experience was quite delightful. As it turns out, the shop is actually going out of business, which has led to a cut in prices. I purchased two pairs of pants there. One of which is quite special.

I tried one of the pairs of pants on in the dressing room (which is remarkable for me, as I am usually too lazy to do so). I assumed that the other would fit as well, as they were the same brand, cut, etc. The clerk at the store advised me that I might want to try the pants on because she actually ranges from a size 0 to a size 2 on any given day in that store’s clothing. I looked at her and thought, “Wow. She looks good. I want to be a size 2 too”.

The funny thing is that I have never been a size 2. Well, of course, I must have been at some time, but I would assume that I was still shopping in the children’s section. To be a size 2 at this point in my life is not a realistic goal for me either. I made a sarcastic comment along the lines of, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had the willpower to be that small”. She replied, “Get a divorce—that is how I did it. Before, I was 150 pounds. Now, I range between 85-95 pounds”.

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I have body image issues. I tend to wear many layers of clothing to cover myself up. I tend to think that a bulky sweater or vest may cover a few pounds. My girl K often tells me that I need to buy clothes my own size. She thinks that by buying clothes too large, I make myself appear larger than I really am. As a matter of fact, I wore a pair of jeans the other day that I felt were a little too small and she said, “Well look at who finally bought some clothes that fit her”.

In many ways, I think that my body image has worsened since I lost our baby last year. I was sewn-up weird. I have scars that I did not have before. There is some evidence of that trauma to my body. The thing is that there is nothing I can do about those facts. In addition, I refuse to worry about every calorie I consume. I also do not enjoy working out all of the time, and (bummer for me) I am a stress eater. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I can stand to lose weight—a lot of weight even, but I just do not want this quest to take over my life. When my husband and I first met (granted that was forever ago), I weighed significantly less. At that time, I do not remember being particularly pleased or displeased with my appearance. I was sick all of the time though. I was constantly dizzy, etc. Overall, I feel a lot better these days- even if I am larger.

Despite the fact that I do not want vanity to take over my life, there is a part of me that envies those whom I perceive to be beautiful. I often think, “If I were only smaller”, “if I were only tan”, “if only”… There is a part of me that wants to look like the 95-pound store clerk that assisted me with my purchase last week.

Ironically, I spent a majority of my morning today trying to convince the government to cover the cost of supplemental drinks for one of my clients. She is down to 96 pounds and cannot put on weight. To me, she looks like death warmed over. She is sick. I do not think that she could pick up a child if one were to run towards her. I do not think that she could lift a box. I worry that she will kill herself if she sneezes too hard.

I find it ironic that my perceptions of health and beauty are so twisted. I find it interesting that my standards of beauty are not the same for everyone. I am disappointed in myself for being superficial and only judging the outside of me (I do not do that regarding others)and not giving myself a little credit for the rest of me. I need to take more time to evaluate myself. I need to be accepting. I need to love. I need to work on my image.