Bright Eyes, Bangs and Boobies

“Get off the scale! I have yet to see a scale that can tell you how enchanting your eyes are. I have yet to see a scale that can show you how wonderful your hair looks when the sun shines its glorious rays on it. I have yet to see a scale that can thank you for your compassion, sense of humor, and contagious smile. Get off the scale because I have yet to see one that can admire you for your perseverance when challenged in life." ~Steve Maraboli

Yup, they’re all mostly almost all coming back.

Bright Eyes
I was looking through old photos the other day and started to notice how over the past four and a half years, during times when I was most active in my eating disorder, my eyes had no life in them.  This picture haunted me by how the blank, still look in my eyes reflected the emptiness I felt in my life during that Spring following my divorce.  I was heavily restricting during this time and exercising to the extreme. I remember that day in May of 2013 in the photo so vividly~ it was Prom in Boothbay and we were taking photos at Barrett’s Park.  It took every ounce of energy and strength I had, to summons the energy to be out in public, facing all of the other parents who were most assuredly (said Olivia)  judging me, the newly-single mother.   Olivia threw the barbs inside my head for them,  “How dare you be here thinking you fit in with all the other families?”, “I bet they think you are a terrible mother”  "If you were smaller, they would all like you better" ....  As always, in public atmospheres, I was a bull's eye target for the thoughts being hurled at me by Olivia, like bullets from a gun with a crooked barrel.  I tried desperately to smile when summonsed by my daughter to “look happy” as she snapped a photo:

Bangs
 Friends who know me well, know that I am most uncomfortable dressed up, done up and accentuating my body in such a way that might draw attention.  I have, for most of my life, steered clear of dresses and skirts, heels and form-fitting clothing, opting for more sporty-type items and loose, boxy pants my friend Julie (Hi Julie!) affectionately refers to as “man jeans”.   I would have my hair cut once a year, making the excuse that I cannot afford it, when really, I never dared to do anything different, even though I longed to be confident enough to try out a new style.  It was always more comfortable to hide (literally) beneath ill-fitting clothing and unassuming style.

You see, Olivia convinced me that I didn’t have the right to try and look pretty or attractive because I had not yet achieved the double-digit weight we were gunning for and until that happened, I was weak and “fat” and undeserving of any compliments or affirmations that might (out of pity for sure) come my way.  Comparing myself to all of the other women in the room became an obsession that always left me in dead-last and full of self-hatred and regret for not devising a plan that would have excused me altogether from having to attend in the first place. 

Having to dress up for events that included eating were the most dreaded and often ended in a quiet, internal hell that I swallowed instead of the dinner being offered. Later, as my disease progressed, I would almost always have enough to drink to try and quiet the noise in my head causing my food-deprived body to quickly absorb the poison, stymieing any possibility of leaving with my dignity intact. 

Fast forward to today... I am almost completely weight restored and doing things deliberately that are outside of my comfort zone because if nothing changes...nothing will change.   I choose to wear skirts and heels to work and do plenty of self-affirmations in the mirror before I enter the courtroom or a meeting, feeding my healthy-self rather than fighting Olivia’s familiar derision.  I am gentle with myself if I make a mistake, avoiding negative self-talk and being as kind to myself as I would be to my daughters.  And today, I followed through with the decision to try a hair-style I have been wanting to, including color (taking deep breaths with every snip!) veering away from the idea that I don’t deserve to take care of myself, to try and look pretty.  You know, I kind of like it...and I think I notice that my eyes are full of life... and change... and hope.

Boobies
OK, well.  Two out of three ain’t bad!  ;) 
(Just checking to see if anyone actually reads these...)