When I was a little girl, I was skinny and gangly, or at least, that is what I have believed about myself for many, many years. My mother quite commonly commented on how skinny I was as a kid, always with an attitude of there being something wrong with my degree of thinness. I believed her. I believed that my knees were knotty and my elbows absurdly pointy. I believed that I was all angles and shockingly ungraceful. I believed that my body was not attractive. More than that I thought that I must look weird. I remember being as young as ten and wishing that I were more shaped like some of my friends. I wished that I were more coordinated. I believed these things until two weeks ago.
Two weeks ago, I took a dance class. I typically take a weekly yoga class at a local studio to help me stay limber and fight off some aches and pains. This particular night, however, I had a late appointment and would not be able to attend my usual class. I was on the phone with my mother while looking over the studio's evening schedule, and we were chatting about what class I might take instead. I read the description of a class called Nia Dance, and my mother's immediately response was to say in a dismissive tone, "Well, that one is definitely out of the question." This comment cut deep into an old wound I must have had. Initially I thought, "She is right." As I let my emotions simmer, I realized that I was beginning to feel angry. The short ending to the story is that I took the dance class.
This was a big step for me. I am the girl who holds her friends' purses while they hit the dance floor. I am the one at the wedding that claims that her new heels are too tight for dancing that night. I have sat on the sidelines of more dances or athletic games than I care to recall because I have historically been too afraid of looking ridiculous klutz join in the fun. That night, I decided to risk it.
I stepped out onto my first dance floor in a decade and waited for the music to start. As I stood in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors of the studio and began moving with the rest of the class, I was struck by an incredible revelation. I am averagely graceful. I am not Ginger Rogers nor am I Beyonce Knowles. I did not pick up every move on the first go-round, but I did dance and I did have a fluidity of movement about me that was both surprising and appealing. I could hear the sharp crack of a thirty-five year old negative self-concept beginning to break.
I went home that night confused. What else have I assumed about myself that is not necessarily accurate or healthy? This question kept me up long after my husband was softly snoring by my side. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom. I stripped off my clothes in the middle of the night and stood naked before the mirror. I looked at my body very carefully. Gone are any of the supposed angles of my childhood. My frame is now smoothly covered in about fifty pounds of extra fat. I am rounded and full. I thought to myself, "Wow, I am fat."
"I am fat...I am fat...I am fat." What a definitive statement. I think it like it is the basis of my identity, the same way that I thought, "I am bony" as a little girl. Then I had my second revelation for the day. I define myself by my weight. Not describe, but define. All of the qualities I possess, experiences I have had, relationships I maintain, and I boil them all down to the definition of "I am fat."
Is that true? Is the totality of who I am equal to "fat?" I know that the obvious answer, the rational answer, is "no," but is it possibly the true answer? Upon reflection, I realize that, indeed, I do believe that the sum of who I am is "fat." This is the basic identity out of which I function everyday. I can intellectually accept the concept that this cannot be true, but somehow I have forgotten who else I might be other than "fat."
I think I have forgotten who I am.
-Katie
It's frightening how easily we lose the view of ourselves when we are dealing with weight issues. I've fought my weight all of my life and my "lucid moments," those when I know who I am, seem to be rare.
ReplyDeleteOh, and thanks for the report on Nia dancing! They teach it at the studio where I took prenatal yoga and I've always wondered what it was like.