On being beautiful, but also lumpy (written in March)

When I was a freshman in high school, one of the projects in my biology class had to do with "ideal body weight."

We took measurements of our wrists and ankles (maybe a couple other points-- it was a long time ago), calculated that with height and gender, and came up with rough estimates of what we "should" weigh. The teacher reminded us that it was only an estimate, and not to worry too much should our physical selves not match perfectly with the theoretical, as the theory did not very well take muscle mass (and a few other factors) into account.

My result was 140, which still sounds pretty reasonable, I think (as opposed to standard BMI charts, which would like me to be in the 110 range). However, I was horrified to be an entire 20 pounds overweight, and did not complete the assignment as instructed.

About 12 years later, I got all the way up to 264-- and that 20 pounds was next to nothing compared to being 124 pounds overweight. Long story short, I've lost about 70, and still have quite a ways to go. BUT, but, due to the muscle I've amassed over the past couple years, 140 still might be unreasonable.

But that's not the point. My 195 pound, 28 year old body now is worlds different from my 195 pound, 18 year old body then. It has weathered and toughened with age, and the skin has stretched and changed shape, and the fat itself holds different textures, and there is defined muscle beneath it. I'm different.

The more weight I take off, the better I look in clothes, and the worse I look naked. It's distressing, knowing that if I lose more, I will only become more distorted.

YET--

Stretch marks and cutting scars, they speak stories of my life, and are part of me. The wobbly bit of overhang on my lower belly, and the way the skin of my back and armpits flops gently over the top seams of corsets and tank tops, these things are unsightly at first but they tell of endurance. The scars on my arms and legs record heartache and chaos, but also resilience. I can only have scar tissue because I am still alive, because my body has repaired itself as best it can, and they are as much a part of me as the birthmark under my arm and the upturned tip of my nose.

So perhaps I still work to get in "better" shape. I still strive for my health, and to fit into smaller clothes, and generally be more comfortable with my size. But there is no hiding here. I can't wear Spanx all the time.

This isn't about being content, or even being okay-- simply, being.