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There are some days I wake up in the morning, stumble into the bathroom and sigh when I look into the mirror. Those are the days I hate my slight overbite (curses to me for not wearing my retainer enough when I was younger), hate my round face and chubby cheeks, hate that one breast is bigger than the other and wish my gut would magically eliminiate.
I never really had much a self-image or self-esteem issue until college when guys entered my life. Going to an all-girl Catholic high school actually boosted my confidence, never having to worry about how I looked or needing to impress someone. My high school boyfriend was the local all-boy high school standard and I rarely felt insecure.
But now, at the age of 25 (26 in a little more than a week!), I seem to feel these issues weighing on me. It’s not something I obsess about, but it’s in the back of my mind when I see pictures of myself or have to meet new people. People who meet me always comment that I seem confident, sure of myself and ready to take on the world. Why do I feel the opposite? Starting over in new city seems to have made me evaluate every part of my life – my career, my personality, my social life…
And I’m still struggling, trying desperately to find patience. I have mixed feelings about my first birthday in Austin; it feels strange and unfamiliar, like I’m an imposter. The people around me still don’t seem to fully understand me and I don’t think I’ll ever fully trust them. It feels wrong to spend it with them. Isn’t that a strange thought?
Too bad moving to a new city didn’t entail a full physical makeover. But I guess that probably wouldn’t fix the inner angst that has been sticking to my insides for the last 8 months.
So I guess it can be said that I’m in a bit of a rut lately. The weird thing was I didn’t even realize it until I stopped and took a breath. Life seems to be blurring by and I have no idea where my head is.
Everything just feels like an oxymoron lately. Or is a juxtaposition? Or irony? (My high school English teachers would lecture me quickly for this since English was apparently my best subject). When I finally have money to travel, I don’t have the time. When I have the time, I don’t have the money. What is that?
I’ve also come to the conclusion that I’m not necessarily anti-relationships or pro-single anymore, but rather anti-being with the wrong guy. It’s ironic; a lot of guys have told me I come off as very confident in who I am when most of the time I feel insecure. Apparently I pull off “having it together” well.
I think I’m a sarcastic cynical realist (say that 3 times fast) and incredibly shy in unknown situations, but to anyone who meets me, I’m a “ray of sunshine and rainbows with a quick wit and an exuberance for life” (says my co-worker who is adamant I’ll make some geek/sports nut very happy one day).
Then there’s my weight. Maybe that’s what’s been nagging me. I grew up a slightly insecure awkward kid, but never really had serious body issues. Went through the usual puberty issues most girls do, dealt with the braces, but weight was never something I worried about. If anything, I was a skinny kid. Going to an all-girl high school helped with never having to impress or care what guys thought.
It’s been an ridiculous struggle in the last few years. Up and down and up and down. Being friends with a bunch of size 0-4 girls doesn’t help. I think what’s frustrating is I’ve made the needed changes numerous times. I gave up most fast food years ago; no longer bring junk food into the apartment; only drink water and fruit juices and now I exercise consistently (never underestimate the intensity of step aerobics with multi steps). And the weight still isn’t going away! It just adds on. And I’m pretty damn sure it’s not muscle because clothes are still struggling to fit.
It seriously drives me insane that I worry so much about it. Being curvy isn’t a bad thing, of course. I like my curves just fine. But holy crap, is this what happens as we get older?! Sigh. I seem to be thinner when I’m depressed; heavier when I’m doing well. But now that I’m the latter, I’m upset and depressed I’ve gained weight. I even wrote a paper in a health anthro class in college about how I grew up never worrying about weight or health and that was the way to life. After all, worry and stress is known to cause heart attacks and related problems, so why push yourself into worrying about every calorie? The professor gave me an A for a having an unique perspective.
Despite all that, I do worry. It’s all I ever do. Sigh. Does it ever stop?
P.S. I hosted an ice cream social at work today. It was a big hit with everyone bringing different things for a great afternoon dessert on a rainy cold day. No guilt. I’m sure that’ll come later.
As I mentioned before, I absolutely hate exercising. So when the kickboxing session at the community center ended, I was surprised to find myself joining the Y for more classes. Not only that, I and J boldly joined TWO back-to-back. Anyone who knows me knows this is a milestone. I am actually giving up a good part of the “me and dinner and my favorite tv shows” time that I so look forward to at the end of a long work day. To top matters, I signed up to walk the St. Louis 5K. Clearly, someone has poisoned my hamburger.
The Y classes were vastly different from the ones at the community center. There, we had half of a crowded hot gym of basketball players with loud hyperactive techno remixes and an anorexic thin woman bouncing and yelling at us as we made faces behind her back.
It was a complete shift when I stepped into the small quiet studio with air-condition blasting and no bad music. A bigger surprise? Both instructors of the two classes (Y-Scuplt and Y-Step) were 50-year old overweight women! Both women proved their ability to kick our asses. The mirrors also threw me off; I could no longer make faces at J and instead was forced to look at myself hopping around (I later asked her if she thought the mirrors were skewed because we both seemed to be more slender. A close examination resulted that no, the mirrors were not angled, so it must be our black clothes).
The step class was so hard, so active and so exhilarating that I had the fleeting thought, “I think this instructor needs to be my life coach.” She was cheerful, but not in a peppy cheerleading way; frankly, it felt like a tougher version of Oprah or Mayo Angelou pushing us to our best. I also found out why the air-condition was blasting; we were all in a layer of sweat in 10 minutes. The group of people were also much more diverse; there was actually men stepping and jumping with us. And it wasn’t to pick-up girls; they were there with their wives working together to lose weight. Imagine that.
The pleasant surprises kept coming. In the last 5 minutes, she turned the music to jazz and we cooled down while listening to her soothing voice. In that moment, I reached some strange moment of zen/europhia. It rarely happens despite growing up in a hybrid of Catholicism and Buddahism. I was watching myself in the mirror and feeling like I was in the music montage during a movie and this feeling of absolute peace fell over me.
I’m hurdling through so much change right now that for a moment, I worried that it was a sign that I’m happy with this life in St. Louis. My new job has proven to be an amazing experience for my career growth, but also a really fun environment of great people (I came to this conclusion as I watched one of my bosses push around a stolen grocery cart with two trash cans of ice and beer to celebrate St. Patrick’s, but a minute later, stepped into a conference call with complete professionalism). With everything going so well here, why am I leaving?
I’m not going to lie; I panicked for a moment (my co-blogger Smallbone is going to smack me through her computer screen, all the way from NY). But no worries! I stayed firm on my decision to leave. New Orleans is waiting. Europe is waiting. A city TBD is waiting. My future is waiting. It’s ironic: everything that wasn’t working out that made me want to leave is working smoothly now. That’s the way life works out though, I guess.
So with a good deal of fear tinged with a dash of courage and excitement, I push forward. Now if only I could get a date.
Kidding. Kinda. 
I’m just going to come out and say it: I hate working out; I hate exercise; I hate that there’s a need to be thin. At my age in the 21st century, I’m not supposed to say things like that, but I can’t lie. I understand the importance, the need and the health benefits. I’m not anti-walking (or even anti-exercising) for a good stretch and breath of fresh air or conversation with a friend, but I absolutely hate the whole process of exercising.
Part of that may be due to my absolute love of eating and food. Back when my metabolism was that of a teenager’s, I was a strong advocate of “I would rather die having eaten a lifetime of amazing food than being thin and unhappy and missing out.” Growing up in New Orleans meant no one watched their weight or cared. Eat, drink and be merry! College was a wake-up call when everyone around me was obsessed with the gym, going for a run and eating healthy while I happily ate that 3am snack of chicken fingers after a night of partying.
I’m not thin by any stretch of the imagination but I’m also not fat. I’m a curvy girl that would rather indulge in a delicious piece of chocolate cake than go running for 10 miles at 6am. The common response to my dilemma is, “You just gotta find something you enjoy. I used to hate it, too” (in my defense, I’ve tried the workout DVDs, running, power walking, biking, etc).
So in celebration of my new year’s attitude, I signed up for a kickboxing class with a few girlfriends also struggling with the same issues. Frankly, it’s kicking my ass and I think the instructor sees me as “that weak girl.” No apologies, however, because I really am trying my hardest to give this exercise thing a chance. And if that means panting to death and thinking of steak while a way too skinny instructor yells at me to, “punch, not fling” over bouncy techno remixes, then okay. But I’m going to hate it all the way.
It’s hard being around super thin friends who claim their asses are huge, when in actuality, I’m double their size. I’m not negating their fears because every woman deals with these issues in different ways, but until you have a muffin top, just shhhh.Yesterday, I had to buy a pair of jeans a size bigger than usual. It was a bit sad, but not as devastating as it could have been, mostly because I was tired of having nothing fit. It long stopped being about the weight, but my refusal to drop the money for new clothes. But eventually, I had to face reality that those Freshmen 15 really were “Welcome to the Real World & Aging 20.”
The last guy I dated said he couldn’t imagine me 20lbs lighter and I’m not sure I can either, but it sure would be nice (or sexy washboard abs). Until then, I will continue going to the kickboxing torture and eating good delicious food (just maybe not after 8pm anymore).
