I will still rise

 

 

The last two years have been really, really fucking hard. Two years ago, I was just finding out I was pregnant. I was scared to death and excited.

Then came that day in September, just about six weeks after I’d found out I was pregnant that I found out I was…not pregnant anymore. That the pregnancy that I’d wanted so much was no longer viable.

And it knocked me to my knees.

About a month after my D&C, I had a nervous breakdown. I couldn’t deal anymore. I fell apart in a gloriously terrible way. I ended up in the hospital and if a bed had been open, I would’ve been on a 72 hr hold. But they said I wasn’t enough of a danger to warrant putting me in a bed for 3 days in another hospital.

I’ve been fighting my way back to who I was..who I AM. I’ve been struggling but I’m not giving up because I don’t know any other way forward than to just keep fighting. Lately that fight has come to include the battle with my weight.

I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life. As a kid, I wasn’t overweight, but I was teased by my own parents about how fat I was. My stepfather called me “Shamu”..like the whale at Sea World. I have a stocky body…I was never as thin as some of my classmates or even my sister, who cried in high school when she finally was a size 2 instead of a size 0. My weight has gone up and down, as low as around 110-12o when I was swimming laps four days a week in an effort to look good at my wedding, all the way up to around the 200 mark over the last two years.

I’ve finally had it. I’ve finally had enough that something inside me is sparked to fight again. I want to be beautiful again..because right now at 200 lbs I am not beautiful. I’ve had people tell me, “You have such beautiful cheekbones. If only they weren’t hidden behind all that fat.” And that drives me crazy…like I can’t be beautiful if I’m big.And I want to be beautiful.

Well..at least prettier than I am now. Or at least as pretty as I can be without having major plastic surgery.

I know I’ll never be supermodel pretty–not with lips that can only be called small and a nose that rivals Barbara Streisand’s for size. I have a chin that’s too square and almost no neck. I have a short torso and short arms and legs and feet that are nothing short of Fred Flinstone in their square flatness. So there’s nothing that screams “pretty” about me.

But surely there must be SOMETHING beautiful about my appearance, right? I mean, I do have good hair..it’s super thick and grows like crazy. I’ve got nice eyes..or so I’ve been told. I tend to wear brown eye shadow, because that accentuates the green in the their hazel-greenness.

I’ve never thought of myself as particularly beautiful…but I want to change that. But in order to change that, I have to change how my body looks. And that’s gonna take some work. I just hope I am up to the challenge.

I was always the child of my parents that people would struggle to find something nice to say about. I am not thin and blonde and tanned and gorgeous as my sister was in her youth. I didn’t have the rugged handsomeness of my half brother. One woman at my mom’s church commented once that I looked like I’d been made of spare parts because nothing seemed to go with anything else on my body. I don’t think she thought I heard, but I did. And it ripped me to shreds…because I’d actually heard my worst fears spoken aloud.

It’s taken me a long time…almost my entire life..to come to the conclusion that since I am not conventionally pretty, I’ve got to find a way to make myself look at least somewhat beautiful in my own eyes.

I don’t know how I’m going to do that, but it’s something I’m going to continue to work on. Working out on a regular basis and changing this body I’m stuck with from a lumpy mess to something that’s at least in a shape that’s not round is a start.

Oh ye of so little faith
Don’t doubt it, don’t doubt it
Victory is in my veins
I know it, I know it
And I will not negotiate
I’ll fight it, I’ll fight it
I will transform…

When, when the fire’s at my feet again
And the vultures all start circling
They’re whispering, “you’re out of time.”
But still, I rise
This is no mistake, no accident
When you think the final end is near; think again
Don’t be surprised, I will still rise–Katy Perry, “Rise”

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