June, 2011. Loving the veal, packing it in the dress.
April, 2012. At this point, 14 pounds lighter and many inches tighter.
The yellow dress fell off me a few days later.
They say things happen in threes. Today, trying to plan outfits for the Grand Rapids Open (judges have a business casual dress code that means nice top or suit jacket, dress-pants-no-jeans), I instead started purging items that were sack-like. Out went three dresses, three tops, three pairs of pants, three swimsuits, one beach cover up, and I'm guessing when I continue, three suit jackets and at least one dress suit. And the new-ish bra I bought a few months ago is now on the third and last set of eye hooks, meaning I'm close to shrinking out of my bras too.
The other problem that I'm having with the stuff that DOES fit is reworking them into the wardrobe. Formerly fun outfits now are too loose and drapey, so now it's a chore to mix drapey with something form-fitting. Wah, wah I know...
You'd think I'd be very "woo hoo!' about my new sveltness. The reality is a mixed bag of mind-fuck body dysmorphia and teen aged insecurity. Wha---? Allow me to attempt to explain.
While I'm relishing the 17 pounds lost, I'm looking at my body with a new found dissatisfaction at how much further I have to go, and at times find myself morphing into self-loathing. I can SEE the results, but don't yet like what I see. Is this the remnants of dieting for the last 30 years? The dissatisfaction of not being taller, thinner, blonder, with straighter hair?
I love that the new clothes I have bought are way cute and form fitting, but I hesitate to show off because a.) I'm 42; b.) I don't want to be vain; and c.) quit looking at my boobs.
I've been looking at old photos of myself and again, the self-loathing creeps in again. I have somehow turned mementos of joyous occasions like AN07 into objects of horror as I gasp at my belly, my double chin, my overall look of ill health. And when I get compliments like "you look great!" instead of pleasing me, it makes me mourn the fact I DIDN'T look great for so long.
I'm also dealing with the unfamiliar and awkward scenarios where men are flirting with me. Me? Apparently. I had a strictly one-way flirtation with vending machine guy that resulted in free snacks and him blowing kisses at me when he finished his route. Green turtleneck guy at Walmart shouting "beautiful!" Dude at the Y stop me to say how fine I was looking after my swim and wondering if I was interested in a healthy 57 year old. If it sounds like I'm bragging, I'm not, I've always been uncomfortable with that kind of attention unless I was willing to reciprocate.
And I have to admit, I am still battling whatever it is that my body is doing to conspire against me. A brush across my chin tells me the PCOS is still very real, and I have daily reminders that yes, I am a diabetic who must make daily diet choices to keep my sugar under control. It's not magically going away, I fear it's here to stay.
Then there is the jealousy. I have had one person in particular quietly tell me to keep doing what I'm doing and not let others petty backbiting thwart my progress. I have no idea about this backbiting, but now that makes me self-conscious that I'm preening or bragging or being a little too self-congratulatory and my friends secretly hate me.
Overall, I guess I was hoping for more happiness instead of this "work in progress" rut that I appear to be in. But I guess that's life after all, a continuous journey of constant self-transformation for which one must always adapt and learn. I hope I learn to love myself a little more as I continue.
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