As previously mentioned, I have a whole lot to say. One thing you very rarely hear me talk about is how I feel about how I look.
While I was dealing with my raging case of insomnia, I downloaded and watched a recent episode of What NOT to Wear. Because when I can’t sleep, I also like to torture myself by watching Clinton and Stacy doll up women who have the self-awareness to recognize they shouldn’t be allowed to dress themselves, and the opportunity to fix that problem.
In this episode, the subject was a mom blogger (Dumb Mom, in case you’re wondering.)
Miss Amanda, aka Dumb Mom, had a lot of issues around body image and the weight that she’s carried since having her kiddos.
Oh yes, I can definitely relate. First, we have the “never had a fashion sense to begin with” thing, layered with a coating of “I’m a working mom–I left the house fully dressed, what more do you want?” thing
WE NOW INTERRUPT THIS POST FOR A BRIEF, SEMI-RELATED RANT:
Ladies, I know, in the words of either Tammy Wynette or Dan Ackroyd (take your pick), it’s hard to be a woman. Ferreals. Not every occasion is a “dress up” occasion. But every occasion when you leave the house is, at a minimum, a “get dressed” occasion.
Please, for the love of God, if you’re going to leave the house and find yourself in the checkout line of any business, be that business Dollar General or McDonalds or whatever.
Put. on. some. PANTS. Pajama pants are not outerwear. They are not meant to be seen outside your house.
Anyway. Where was I? Oh, right. My total lack of fashion sense.
Which is really not so much a lack of fashion sense, because if you can download enough episodes of WNTW, you can pretty much develop a reasonable facsimile of a fashion sense.
In my case, it’s a body image issue. A thorny, complicated, and twisty body image issue.
I’m overweight. Not “let’s sign Kat up for the next season of Biggest Loser!” overweight, but overweight nonetheless.
I spent most of my teens and 20s angsting over body image because… you guessed it… I was way too thin. I didn’t have an eating disorder in high school, but I sure looked like it. And I came from a family of, shall we say, curvacious ladies. Who all pretty much felt like teasing the skinny, curve-free kid in the family was totally fair game.
Not to mention, I knew at the time that Chris took a lot of teasing for dating me in high school because of my painfully-thin body.
So it’s safe to say I’m deeply conflicted about my weight.
I have been a size 6, and I’ve been a size 16, and I have to say–I was a way happier person at size 16 than I ever was at size 6. And yet…
There’s a part of me that doesn’t feel at home in the size 16 (well, okay, currently size 14) body. At least not anymore.
I’m not going join Chris and go all P90X nuts or anything. But I did start working out last week again, and I did start making an effort to keep healthier dinner and snack choices in the house. Lunch out most days is my big hurdle–it’s really sort of a budget buster in both a financial and a caloric sense.
The depression thing is now back in a well-managed place, so I feel like this is the next logical thing to attack on the “taking care of myself” front.
Got any relatively painless tips? Send ’em my way, with thanks.