There are two things that set me apart from the vast majority of my friends.
I’d say more than 80% of my girlfriends (doesn’t matter what city we’re talking, or country, or cultural background, or economic status, the figure remains solid… no pun intended) are not overweight — though more than a few of them struggle with eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia, or exercise addiction (yes, that’s something you can have. And before you go, “I wish I had that!”, you don’t. Being addicted to anything is not fun.)
I think my crowd is off the North American average… but I often moonlight as a statistical anomaly.
Another percentage have lost weight in a more gradual way to get to where they’re at now — anywhere from 20 to 80 lbs.
But regardless of their current weight or their history with different disorders or their level of fitness, I’d say nearly 90% of my girlfriends practice some manner of self-loathing in response to their bodies. Some do it only on certain days, and some make self-deprecating comments daily. Some go between self-loathing and self-promoting extremes. But most of them do it at least sometimes, in whatever form.
So, to break it down: most of my friends are not overweight, or are only mildly overweight. Regardless, most are remarkably critical of themselves — and sometimes of others who struggle with weight, for various reasons. I can’t decide if it’s fantastic or awkward that they don’t edit any of this when I’m around, but I’ll go with fantastic, because I want them to be free to be honest about their feelings (unless they’re trying to hurt someone else’s.)
2. I’m unable to have children biologically.
Whatever the birthing trend is right now (women having children later in life, women giving birth to babies at home, women turning to infertility specialists), struggling with pregnancy doesn’t seem to be a prevalent thing in my circle. Granted, this isn’t something people discuss openly, but when someone adamantly states they don’t want children (I’ll take you at your word…), or has a ton of them, I tend to assume all is well — and that’s a LOT of my girlfriends.
The few ladies I know who’ve turned to specialists usually found success in their efforts (and investment.) Even the girls who have adopted instead of running the fertility gauntlet have ended up pregnant eventually, often as a total surprise.
My first “aunthood” began when I was 19, and one of my friends (at the same age) had her first baby. There hasn’t been a period since then that at least one of my girlfriends, my female relatives, my closer female acquaintances, or my co-workers wasn’t pregnant. At one point, there were 12. 18 years later, the run continues.
These two things about me, within the construct of who I know, can make life pretty awkward on occasion.
Because I am overweight, there are assumptions made about how I eat, about the amount of exercise I get, and my overall well-being as a human. I have an autoimmune disorder that creates major hormonal imbalances in my system, which led to a rapid weight gain in my late teens / early twenties. I didn’t know about the disorder until I was 31, so I spent years getting gym memberships and starting (and maintaining, without results) fitness programs, and trying different diets and cleanses with the goal of kicking my hips to the curb. None of them worked. Someone I loved even bought me a scale once.
I guess everyone wanted it to happen.
When I got a major staph infection — a charmer of an ailment that would have taken my leg out at the knee, had I not gotten treatment pronto — I couldn’t keep anything down because my stomach lining was destroyed by necessary antibiotics. I lost a significant amount of weight in the span of just a few weeks. That was the only time I was successful at getting thinner, and even then… when I healed, back the weight came.
No matter what I weigh, my friends marvel fairly often at how my face “looks thin”, even when the rest of me is decidedly not, or at how small my bones seem to be… underneath. Because it does, sometimes… and they are.
When I finally heard from the doctor that my insides were radically out of whack and that I was in the throes of exceptionally early menopause, it was a bit of a relief at the same time it was shocking: now I knew what was wrong with me… but I also knew what was wrong with me. And let’s not forget that the whole “hormonal issue” is a cliche excuse for weight problems — enough of a cliche that most people figure you’re just lazy, not ill.
Great.
My doctor told me as gently as possible that weight loss would be exceptionally difficult for me, probably always. She suggested I try hormone replacement as a means of regulating how my body behaved (not to mention reducing my cancer and diabetes risk, both of which are high.) Time would tell if that regulation might make dropping pounds any easier.
After a year of random nausea, stomach pain, bizarre headaches, hot flashes, and emotions that felt about as abrupt and unnecessary to me as a poke in the eye, I couldn’t do it anymore. I wasn’t any better at losing, and I didn’t feel like “myself.”
Not to mention that the thing I really wanted treatment to do — make me able to have children — wasn’t something any treatment could do.
Which is the other way life is awkward.
I have a fantastic fiance who has never made me feel terrible about what I’m not capable of, which was my biggest fear when I found out — that the person I would grow to love most wouldn’t be able to deal with that reality. I hadn’t met him yet, but when I did, it wasn’t a problem. In that way — among others — I am supremely blessed. He has a wonderful son and stepson I’ve gotten to know and love, too. My “insta-family”, as I like to call them, has healed a lot of what hurt when I found out I was infertile. I’m not scared of being a wicked stepmother… except in the Boston sense.
But after getting engaged earlier this year, I can’t count how many times people have asked me about when I was going to “have a little one of my own” or “get knocked up” or “start your (my) own family.” There were even lighthearted jabs about how “you’re not getting any younger!”
Yeah.
I understand that’s the natural progression. I do. And I don’t resent anyone for asking, even when it hurts. But for someone who has always had a loving way with kids and a deep desire to have children of my own, it always prods a little more than it should.
Anyone who does know I can’t have kids asks about adoption, which seems like the next logical progression, I guess. Except that I’m not a citizen here and won’t be for a long time, which makes that impossible… in addition to other factors that aren’t really anyone’s business but ours. Besides — there’s a perfectly amazing almost-13-year-old who needs a college fund more than I need “a baby of my own.”
But. It comes up.
Both of these things do.
A lot.
As I said, I don’t resent myself or my girlfriends for struggling with weight or self-image. In this society, it’s practically a given that you’ll end up thinking through those things with some degree of frustration.
And I don’t resent anyone for fussing about infertility, pregnancy, and babies — again, our society is obsessed with “baby bumps” and the act of creating a small person who shares your genes… or at the very least, your last name.
What I do resent is when people take their internal neuroses and visit them on everyone else with an extra cup of fury, either as a means of making themselves feel better… or making everyone else suffer in tandem. When people make it not okay to be anything short of perfect, or to deviate from the “standard”. When you are viewed as less because you choose a slightly different path — or it gets chosen for you.
Life is hard enough, but for some reason, we want to make it harder.
And so we end up…
… laughing at celebrity cellulite or double chins, as though being paid a lot of money or being famous means you have to be (or even can be) perfect. The celebrities might never know or care that you judged them, of course, but the girlfriend next to you on the sofa does, and she’s poking at her thigh in her yoga pants.
… mocking the way other women look in their clothes, or how their clothes fit, as though they dress the way they do as a personal affront to your sensibilities. It’s been said that most women have clothing in at least 3 sizes in their closets, but not everyone can afford to do that… or deal with it emotionally.
… trashing people according to what you assume to be true about their eating habits or their health, as though everyone with a weight problem breathes McDonald’s french fries and Mountain Dew, or sits on the sofa watching TV all day. I’m sure some people do, of course, fat or thin. I’m even more sure I’m not one of them.
… using how you eat or exercise as a more subtle criticism of what other people aren’t doing, instead of just owning and enjoying your life and effort. I have one friend who likes to call her husband and her daughter “lazy fat asses” (neither one is, by any standard) when she passes them on the way to work out… but then follows up with “just kidding!” as she jogs out the door. Both have said it hurts. She still does it.
I have another friend who likes to say, “must be nice!” when people order something other than a salad when they’re out for dinner with her. In fact, she always says it. I don’t even think she knows she does it, but she does.
… hassling women who are getting older about their “ticking clock.” If it is ticking, why make a big deal about it? If it isn’t, why make a big deal about it?
… hassling people who can’t have kids about how they should try this treatment or that treatment to make it happen, because they’ll never be whole without a baby of their own. Or, conversely, hassling them when they do try, so they’re abundantly aware that you won’t stop bugging them until there’s a zygote somewhere.
… hassling people who don’t choose to have kids about how they must not be loving or caring people, what with not wanting to have a baby. “You’ll change your mind.” “You’re selfish.” “You’ll regret it.” “You’ll be alone when you’re old.”
What if we all assumed that there are bigger stories beyond what we see (without needing to run headlong into finding them out)?
If we could give one another a little more grace than judgment, it would be easier for us to be different. For you to be different. For me to be different.
Because we all are. There is no linear path. There’s what life hands you, and there’s what you do with it.
So.
I’m going to do my damndest not to make my girlfriends feel bad about the things they struggle with or the things they’re thrilled about, because I know their pains and joys are as real and true to them as mine are to me. I will hope for the same in return.
If you look in the mirror at size nothing and hate what you see, I’m not going to be the one to say, “Well, try being ME, sister.” Because you’re already dealing with being you. I will help you any way I can. And maybe you can give me the benefit of the doubt: that I am doing my best to get to where I need to be.
If you want to run baby names past me daily, I’ll look up meanings on the internet, and gush genuinely when you find the thing that fits your munchkin perfectly. Because my disappointment with my own fertility doesn’t — and shouldn’t — negate your excitement. And I will be a great auntie to that baby. In return, you can realize and embrace that there are more types of families out there than the ones where everyone has the same nose — including mine.
There are two things that set me apart from the vast majority of my friends. Or I used to think so, and it made me feel badly.
Now I know we’re all special. We all have our own scars, our own hopes, and our own plans, as particular to us as our fingerprints, whatever others might assume to be true. What I thought was happening around me was only the shallow water in the pool.
There are a million quiet stories being written every day.
So what’s yours?
Amazing, beautiful and moving. I love the thought of a million quiet stories and I try to respect that there’s so much more to each person than what’s on the surface. You never know what private personal heartaches they are enduring or have survived. That said, I know I could be more understanding and gracious more of the time. Thanks for the reminder.
Very well written.
I have a friend that had a brain aneurism in her mid-twenties. She was always good at school and had a very promising career in the financial sector. On the outside she looks well, but she is incapable of working. She tried to re-train to a different career, but she couldn’t last more than 15 minutes in a lecture theater. I recently attended a school reunion, and she did not attend. The innocent question ‘what are you doing these days?’ can be extremely painful under the wrong circumstances.
Thank you for your honesty, Meg. That’s so refreshing to read in these days of “spin.”
I cried reading this. And I am not saying this in the way people say “LOL” but you know they were not ACTUALLY laughing out loud. I mean, I teared up. Really.
Weight is my issue. My cross to bear. My thing. I joked once I had been ‘watching what I eat’ since I was 6 and a roomful of people laughed. Except I was serious. I have never eaten one bite of food guiltfree. EVER. I have been known to get up in the middle of the night to weigh myself. yeah- I am a freak.
The worst part is? A lot of people don’t consider me fat. But I do. And the government does if you do that buzz kill ‘BMI’ thing.
I have nothing inspirational or fabulous to say. Just keep doin what you are doin. You are already speaking out for the rest of us.
“There are a million quiet stories being written every day”. This is so true. People are afraid to be honest like how you are in this post. They are afraid if they remove their defenses then they will get invaded. Beautiful writing. I’m sorry you’ve had this pain but it’s clearly given you the strength and courage to write this and help others.
Thank you for writing this. You made yourself vulnerable in a very public way. That takes a lot of courage, and I appreciate you doing so.
Beautiful post Meg. I love how open you are. Part of your story is also my story. I went into menopause very early–probably my mid 30′s. Unfortunately it went undiagnosed for 6 years. Meanwhile I struggled with wildly careening emotions that I had no ability to control. Although I’m not heavy, I started to gain weight and have massive breakouts that greatly affected my self esteem. I finally discovered that I was fully in menopause when I was just 41 after I finally stopped listening to doctors who said I was fine and made one give me a blood test.
Even though it was implausible if not impossible from the doctor’s point of view the results confirmed what I had known for quite a while. Those first few days were rough. It was not pretty. Although I’m currently single and children aren’t something I longed for, the question had still been up in the air for me. Finding out that I couldn’t have them made me question who I was as a woman. The night I found out I got drunk and went around telling everyone I was a he/she. Since I couldn’t fulfill my gender’s biological imperative I thought that no man would ever want to be with me. Yeah, not so pretty.
It’s been nearly two years of playing with hormone therapy. My body is soaking up the estrogen like it’s at an estrogenfest so we’re still tinkering. I hate to talk about it so many people don’t know. Sharing it with a date is always a telling moment. It’s hard to explain the grief of possibility being taken away from you. It’s hard to tell people that you miss never having that monthly arrival. They think you should be happy that you’re already through menopause. It’s hard to tell people that yes hormones really do have a massive impact on your mood and ability to handle stress. It’s even harder when you work with a bunch of men. It’s hard when you finally tell someone that you can’t biologically have a child and they say, “Well, there’s always adoption!”
It’s hard. And it’s reality. Although my body has already made the transition my emotions and mind haven’t completed it yet. I’ll get there someday.
This is the first thing I’ve ever read of yours. I’m going to make sure it is not the last. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself.
Thank you.
This is so inspiring. I admire you for just being you – always stay true to yourself, you’re beautiful!
Mwah — from one of the 20% of your friends…
I loved this. I learned this lesson for the first time in college (a very, very small college). My neighbor in the dorm had a few strange habits, which other people joked about behind her back. However, if they had known things about her past, all of those habits made perfect sense. They judged her without understanding and missed out on knowing and incredible person who had survived terrible things. I learned from her that there are reasons why people do the things they do, most of which I’ll never know.
Thanks for sharing that Meg. You are truly a blessing to those around you!
Well, first, you are just so wonderfully lovely. :)
I’ve been at war with my weight since my pre-teen years, but I’m finally learning to accept my personal beliefs and what I really value rather than accept beliefs and values I think I should have. As far as my weight is concerned, I value enjoying my life and the time I have on this earth more than I value being svelt. So be it. Oddly, it’s been a hard truth to swallow, but it’s getting easier each day.
The real story? I’m not much of a drinker, or a partier, and it’s been something I’ve “battled” since high school. I live on the outskirts of most social circles because I don’t enjoy bars or clubs and I have a hard time being even functional at social gatherings because of my introversion. Toss these quirks in with fairly chronic migraines and you’ve got a recipe for an “asocial” girl — so much so that I’ve identified myself by my asocial tendencies for years.
I’ve heard that I’m mean, boring, icy, you name it, and those comments have cut, and over time I’d come to believe them. It’s only been in the last two years or so that I’ve started denying those statements both in my head and openly to others. Do I believe myself when I fight against those labels? Not completely, no. But I have faith that one day I will. And I know that there will always be insecurity in me (as with everyone), and that overcoming it will be a life-long effort.
We are what we are. And we are doing our best. And hopefully that best includes a general awareness of the back stories we don’t (yet) know. “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
Beautifully written. Thank you, Meg. :)
I have been trying to figure out how to express what I want to express in this comment without success – so I guess I will just write and see what happens. I think that judgment is a societal ill that needs to be solved/cured. Somehow, somewhere along the way – it became acceptable to judge and ridicule everyone around us, and find them lacking (often including ourselves). And beyond judging, to give advice about what people ‘should’ be doing, even when we have limited information.
It is so prevalent that we aren’t even aware of what we are doing some (most?) of the time.
One of my theme words for 2011 is acceptance. As in I want to learn to live from acceptance. Acceptance that I have the right to be me and that you have the right to be you. And that (as you say), there is always a deeper story behind what we see (and often judge). It has been an interesting journey to watch myself become aware of the layers of judgment that abound.
Thanks for writing this post – it has given me one more perspective on acceptance.
Perfect!
I love what you said and the way you said it!
I’m overweight – could stand to lose 80-90 pounds – but my take on that is ‘so what’? It’s only weight. It doesn’t define me, I don’t let it. If my weight causes someone to not date me or not like me, that’s their loss.
Same with being childfree by choice. So many people have told me I’d change my mind. Regret my decision. No and No. I’ve never been happier.
You ARE special, Meg! Your light shines so far and wide. We’re lucky to have you in our lives and Gradon is the luckiest of them all!
Stay special. Stay Meg.
xoxo
Perfectly said as always, Sweet Girl. Thank you for your candor. It has been a thrill to watch you find your path and to “meet” the lucky men/boys in your life. Enjoy the journey! You make us all feel better about ourselves because you are a great example of what it means to make peace with yourself.
Oh Megs. I love this. Love love love. I am there with you – my body and my family are not typical either. There is nothing better than the space to live without judgement and with grace. xoxo
Not quite ready to share mine yet, but wanted to give you a virtual bearhug for sharing yours. Bravery: I’m working on it. Congrats on yours.
-SherryB
I learn something from every single one of your posts, Meg. We knew eachother so long ago and yet here I am….almost 20 years later….benefitting from your wisdom and insight on a regular basis. You have a true gift in your writing. Please keep sharing.
Assumptions and judgment are so ugly on many levels. This post especially hit home to me, because I know how you feel. And when I say I know how you feel, I really know how you feel. Tightrope walking when it comes to being open to other people’s struggles, especially when dealing with their inadvertent judgment, is very hard. As you know I had weight loss surgery in November due to my cardiac issues and it was a necessity. Even having lost 100 lbs, I’m still the same person with the same struggles, and find it interesting how people can even be callous about that as if it was the “easy way out.” As if there is an easy way out of a congenital heart condition. It’s the same condition that prohibits me from having children, so I throw myself into my work. Yet the assumptions are that I am just a “career girl” or “am not nurturing” or don’t have the “mom gene” – which is BS. Either way, regardless of the assumptions of others, we try to be good friends and nonjudgmental and help them to be more self-aware in kind ways. Thank you for writing this and for being so open, for being you, and for being a beautiful inspiration.
Thank you, Meg.
this was really amazing – thank you so much for putting such true thoughts out there, and so beautifully formed.
i would love to subscribe but when i put your feed into my reader, it’s only showing me entries from march and prior. i’m not sure if this is intentional on your part, but wanted to give you a heads up.
Beautiful Meg. Thank you….
Thank you. I wish I could show this to everyone who questions why I’m not going to have kids. You never know what someone is dealing with.
Wouldn’t it be nice if one day we could all eliminate the phrase “I knew what was wrong with me”and say instead “I know this about myself” and remove the judgment and just state it as a fact, the same way we would say My eyes are brown. Sometimes the things we see as “wrong” with us or the things others say is “wrong” with us is the exact reason someone else accepts and does something crazy…like love us.
Seeing myself in *ahem* several buckets in your post and knowing that sometimes I admittedly take vacations to Asshole Island; The place where I impose my opinions, fears, and judgments on others (though never directed at you, it’s hard to throw out a blanket statement and then hand-pick your exceptions based on favoritism) reminds me to be a little (read: lot) nicer to others and myself. So thanks for your unconditional forgiveness and for loving the things that are wrong with me. Err….thanks for loving me.
Came over via LiLu…
I love this post. Absolutely, 100%, love it! You’re a great writer and have a lot of valid points that I don’t think most people take the time to stop and think about. Thank you for putting it out there and sharing your story with us!
Good luck with everything… I’ll be checking out the rest of your blog!
As the father of two daughters, Meg, thanks for saying “It’s OK to be who you are.” I’ll be sure they see this.
And, as ever, congratulations on your wonderful relationship and “insta-family”!
Meg, we’ve only met maybe once, tangentially, through work, so I hardly know you except from what I’ve seen you write, but I am sure that this is only the beginning of what makes you special.
Thank you for sharing these facets of your story.
I’m about to see everyone in a whole new light, and it will be for the better. Thank you for that.
Meggers,
I didn’t think it was possible to adore you any more. But I do now. So beautiful. Thank you for sharing. And reminding. I miss you!
Shelly
The writings of Robert Fuller and Pamela Gerloff on the Dignity movement taught me that we judge because we perceive ourselves to be above others in a hierarchy. We feel entitled to judge those to whom we feel superior in some way.
Even a compliment can express our perceived superiority. When we say to someone, “That is a beautiful dress you have on,” it is as if we, in our superiority, are entitled to judge the dress worthy. And we feel entitled to express our approval to the wearer.
Anyone who says “You need to…” or “You should…” has imagined themselves to be in a superior position. This behavior is called “rankist,” discriminating against people we believe we outrank in some way.
Sexism, racism, ageism, “look-ism,” and all the other isms are all forms of rankism. We would not discriminate against others if we did not feel superior to them.
Dear Meg, I am sad that people are treating you as if they were superior to you, as if they outrank you, as if their opinion is so much worthier than your truth. It seems that your grace in this situation is a shining example of how to maintain one’s dignity when others are trampling it, however unwittingly.
I love this post. Great reminder that we all have our stories, our complexities, our dreams, our limitations – and if we’re lucky, we have people in our lives who are a lot like you.
Stumbled upon this post via a link from another blog. It is so beautifully written, and so true – I especially love the part about treating each other with more grace than judgement.
It goes the other way, too.
When I was young, all through school and even afterward, I would have people ask me if I ever ate.
Complete strangers would come up to me and seriously ask me if I ever ate. Some would follow that up with, “Do you think you’re fat?”
I wasn’t underweight. I was, however, short. Small bones. Super premature baby. Blah blah blah.
It hurt, too.
I don’t doubt it hurt — my friends who were quite tall or quite thin or quite short had similar feelings to my own. That was kind of my point, though — to recognize that pain is pain, and everybody has it, and in a different form… because we’re all different.
“We all have our own scars, our own hopes, and our own plans, as particular to us as our fingerprints, whatever others might assume to be true. What I thought was happening around me was only the shallow water in the pool.”
I hope it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
Meg,
I had clicked on this when you first posted it and saved it among my hundred tabs for reading later, only to get bogged down in life (and tabs!), and time passed. I’m so glad I remembered to come back to it today. You write with such heart, as if your blog is your own special way of wearing it on your sleeve. I too have struggled recently with being more concerned about judging and being judged than ever before. I think all too often people are quick to assume they know a story, when they have but a few small pieces of it in front of them. We’re all guilty of it from time to time, I suppose. But this serves as a beautiful reminder that sometimes we only hear the parts of the story that shouts the loudest, even though there is often so much more that’s gone untold. Thanks for giving us a little more of your quiet story.
Best,
Carissa
Bravo!