Earlier this month, I joined some friends in Las Vegas to celebrate the birthday of the fabulousWeetabix. And because Weetabix is a damn rock rockstar, it was indeed a Wild and Crazy Rockstar Weekend. it was Vegas the way Vegas should be: nightclubs and cocktails and cabanas and pool parties and floppy hats and just enough gambling to say you did some. It's been a couple of years since I've been to Las Vegas, and to be honest, the last time I was there, I didn't feel like I fit there at all. My clothes were all wrong and I was too flubbity to go swimming. I was hot and uncomfortable when we were walking around and I was nowhere near pretty enough to be seen in the nightclubs. This time was different, and while it was mostly the fantastic company that made it different, a big part of it was me.
This time, I showed up in Vegas with an array of dresses and sandals that made me confident enough to not just go in the nightclub but to fall down on the dance floor and then get up and keep dancing. I had not one but two swimsuits, and both of them looked decent on me (flubbity white thighs notwithstanding); in fact, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, with my big floppy hat and gigantic sunglasses, the low cut bathing suit on and a towel wrapped around my waist and thought "Damn, I look good right now." And then I went swimming. In public! In Las Vegas!! I spent no time tugging and pulling at my clothes or having anxiety over not fitting in just so. The heat didn't make me want to cry; instead, I was thrilled because for the first time in six months I was warm. (The dryness of the air can bite my butt though, ugh). In other words, it was a whole new experience for me, doing Las Vegas as a size 16.
And it was good, all of it was good. No, it was great. It was fucking fantastic and exactly what I needed, being with that particular group of people at that particular moment in my life, because I'd had a really shitty week and they are the ones I feel safe being completely fucking nuts around.
But on the way home, sitting in the car as we sped along the highway, I started thinking about me and Anne (who was also there that weekend). And I started thinking about how she has lost so much more weight than me, that she is positively tiny and fine-boned and petite and I am...still pudgy, and flubbity, and Not Skinny. Here we are, two people in the same group of friend who have both had weight loss surgery, and we have had such different results. And even though I reminded myself that she had a different surgery, she had surgery 8 months before me, and most of all, we are two different people, damn it, I still ended up thinking to myself that she won. She's the skinny one, she's the one who's lost over 150 pounds, she's the "normal sized" girl. And I must obviously be doing something wrong since I've only lost like 8 pounds in the past two months and I still haven't broken the 200 barrier (201.1 this morning, damn it all to hell) and I'm not even a full year out and ohmygodI'mafailure. And I thought that oh, my friends must have looked at the two of us and wondered what the hell I'm doing wrong to still be this big a year after my surgery because look at Anne! Anne lost way more weight in her first year than I did! Anne wins! Everyone who's had the surgery and lost more weight than I have wins!
And oh, I know it's all stupid and broken and lame of me to think this way because these are my friends, and they love me and dear lord in heaven, they are the only ones who don't immediately squeal "Oh you look so good!" every time I see them because to them, I have always looked good and they don't need to validate my looks now that I'm thinner. And yet I feel like I'm a disappointment to them, like I'm a disappointment to everyone I know who expected me to be a size 6 by now. Everytime I eat a piece of chocolate or collapse on the couch instead of going to the gym I feel like I am letting down Everyone. Them. Society.
As of today, I've lost 117 pounds from the highest weight ever recorded at my doctor's office (back in January 2007, that was). 117 pounds. That's a 12 year old for crap's sake! And yet I still feel like a failure because I am not losing as fast as other people, because I'm not losing as much as other people, because I'm still not as think as I "should be" after the surgery. I still want to lose another 40 pounds, because apparently, 117 pounds is not enough.
The problem is, right now I don't know what is enough. When will I be truly satisfied? When will I be able to revel in how good I feel and never have it slip into the "Yeah but..." territory that I slipped into after my awesome weekend in Las Vegas? When will I finally be able to look in the mirror and say "This is enough for me and no one else matters" and believe it?
I'm beginning to think that maybe I need therapy. (Duh, right?)
This time, I showed up in Vegas with an array of dresses and sandals that made me confident enough to not just go in the nightclub but to fall down on the dance floor and then get up and keep dancing. I had not one but two swimsuits, and both of them looked decent on me (flubbity white thighs notwithstanding); in fact, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, with my big floppy hat and gigantic sunglasses, the low cut bathing suit on and a towel wrapped around my waist and thought "Damn, I look good right now." And then I went swimming. In public! In Las Vegas!! I spent no time tugging and pulling at my clothes or having anxiety over not fitting in just so. The heat didn't make me want to cry; instead, I was thrilled because for the first time in six months I was warm. (The dryness of the air can bite my butt though, ugh). In other words, it was a whole new experience for me, doing Las Vegas as a size 16.
And it was good, all of it was good. No, it was great. It was fucking fantastic and exactly what I needed, being with that particular group of people at that particular moment in my life, because I'd had a really shitty week and they are the ones I feel safe being completely fucking nuts around.
But on the way home, sitting in the car as we sped along the highway, I started thinking about me and Anne (who was also there that weekend). And I started thinking about how she has lost so much more weight than me, that she is positively tiny and fine-boned and petite and I am...still pudgy, and flubbity, and Not Skinny. Here we are, two people in the same group of friend who have both had weight loss surgery, and we have had such different results. And even though I reminded myself that she had a different surgery, she had surgery 8 months before me, and most of all, we are two different people, damn it, I still ended up thinking to myself that she won. She's the skinny one, she's the one who's lost over 150 pounds, she's the "normal sized" girl. And I must obviously be doing something wrong since I've only lost like 8 pounds in the past two months and I still haven't broken the 200 barrier (201.1 this morning, damn it all to hell) and I'm not even a full year out and ohmygodI'mafailure. And I thought that oh, my friends must have looked at the two of us and wondered what the hell I'm doing wrong to still be this big a year after my surgery because look at Anne! Anne lost way more weight in her first year than I did! Anne wins! Everyone who's had the surgery and lost more weight than I have wins!
And oh, I know it's all stupid and broken and lame of me to think this way because these are my friends, and they love me and dear lord in heaven, they are the only ones who don't immediately squeal "Oh you look so good!" every time I see them because to them, I have always looked good and they don't need to validate my looks now that I'm thinner. And yet I feel like I'm a disappointment to them, like I'm a disappointment to everyone I know who expected me to be a size 6 by now. Everytime I eat a piece of chocolate or collapse on the couch instead of going to the gym I feel like I am letting down Everyone. Them. Society.
As of today, I've lost 117 pounds from the highest weight ever recorded at my doctor's office (back in January 2007, that was). 117 pounds. That's a 12 year old for crap's sake! And yet I still feel like a failure because I am not losing as fast as other people, because I'm not losing as much as other people, because I'm still not as think as I "should be" after the surgery. I still want to lose another 40 pounds, because apparently, 117 pounds is not enough.
The problem is, right now I don't know what is enough. When will I be truly satisfied? When will I be able to revel in how good I feel and never have it slip into the "Yeah but..." territory that I slipped into after my awesome weekend in Las Vegas? When will I finally be able to look in the mirror and say "This is enough for me and no one else matters" and believe it?
I'm beginning to think that maybe I need therapy. (Duh, right?)
