So sayeth The Orca

A picture is worth a thousand words. I looked at a picture of me taken this past Sunday at my nephew’s birthday party and only thought of one: GROTESQUE. Make that two: HORRIFYING AND GROTESQUE. 2010 is supposed to be the year I get healthy. And from the looks of it, failure is imminent. I’ve been slowly gaining weight for the past 5 years. But since quitting smoking on January 4th, I’ve put on about 15 extra pounds. And every bit of shows in that photo, taken without my knowing it, (of course, thanks mom) from the side, my back arched, my belly out, my chin down. My “flowy” shirt that is supposed to hide my rolls ballooning out around my midsection so that I look about 15 months pregnant, and let’s not forget the sleeves are bunched up under my armpits so that my arm now resembles the trunk of a tree, or a boa constrictor, or even a bowl of mashed potatoes. Lovely. Who invited the orca whale to the party? Did it eat Renee?

I hate pictures. I shrink away every time someone pulls out a camera these days. If I know a picture is being taken I crane my neck as far forward as it will go so that I can attempt to hide the globulous fluff that is my neck. I nearly pass out trying desperately to suck my stomach in, which is so far past being able to be “sucked in” it’s naïve to even assume I can. None of it works. Sure enough, as soon as the evil picture taker turns the camera around to show what a fine photographer they aren’t, I see her. It isn’t me. I don’t know who that is. The me I want to know looks nothing like that. The me I want to know is light as a feather, arms outstretched, her golden hair flowing out around her head like a halo, a smile from ear to ear, a twinkle in her eye. It’s so deflating.

I’ve started exercising a little. I walk Freckles every day around my subdivision. It’s taken 3 weeks just to be able to get around the block without searing pain that rips into my calves and shins seizing them up to the point where I think the only way I am making it back to the house is if I can somehow saddle up this dog and ride her home. She’s a Jack Russell/Beagle mix, who is losing weight like a champ, by the way. Me, not-so-much. In fact, so far I’ve lost 2 whole pounds. At this rate I might drop a pants size by Halloween.

Deep down I really wish I could just BE fat and BE happy and BE ok. I can go on for days about my unadulterated hatred of Heidi Montag and everything she represents, of boob jobs and rhinoplasty and lip implants and botox. I listen to my nine year old niece tell me she’s on a diet cause she needs to lose 40 lbs and I really want to kick myself for any contribution I may be making to her low body image. With my constant self deprecation, shrieking at photos, hiding from cameras, referring to myself as a whale. My sisters and I find fault with our bodies, our hair, our faces, like there is a reward for it. It’s not the way to live.

The truth is I should be comfortable in my own skin. I should be able to look in the mirror and see the me I want to know. I should look at a picture and think “That’s me!” instead of “That’s ME??”. Self acceptance, in spite of my weaknesses, or deficiencies, in spite of all the things I would like to change about myself, is more important than taking a pretty picture. Putting myself down has never given me any motivation whatsoever. Getting healthy isn’t just about quitting tobacco or losing weight. I have to get healthy within my own mind, or my spare tire doesn’t stand a chance.

“When you begin to accept yourself the way you are right now, you being a new life with new possibilities that did not exist before because you were so caught up in the struggle against reality that that was all you could do”
-Traveling Free, Many Evans.