Of course, it wasn't just the clothes that made me feel good in my body. This was also a time in my life when I was running long distance trail races on the weekends, training all through the week, and eating very well. I weighed 154 lbs., 20 less than I do know. And I'm sure most of it was long lean endurance-style muscle.
I looked so good that perfect strangers would come up to me at parties just to tell me that I was beautiful. That always felt a little weird, but good too. My favorite stranger compliment came not at a party, but at a hotel. And it wasn't even directed to me, but I overheard it too clearly to misunderstand. I was at one of the big chain hotels that I visited often when I was traveling for work. I wasn't even staying there, I was just sitting in the lobby to use the free internet. Some special corporate event was happening a little ways down the hall from me. Outside one of the conference rooms, a white canvas sheet was hanging from the wall. One of those large umbrellas that photographers use to reflect light was standing in front of it. Occasionally, some businessy looking person would emerge from the room with a photographer. They would stand in serious discussion for a minute. The business person would perhaps duck into the bathroom for a moment. Then the photographer would click off a round of shots, while the other person experimented with various poses and expressions under the big umbrella.
I wasn't paying too much attention to this whole scene. I had spreadsheets to interpret, expense reports to compose, and a business plan to write. But there are some things one can't ignore, like one's bladder.
I headed for the bathroom and left my computer and paperwork in my chair. I wasn't going far, wouldn't be gone long, and I felt safe at this hotel. So, when I strolled past the umbrella stand in my red leather shoes which matched my red leather purse, the swing of my skirt wasn't hampered by a heavy computer bag pressing against it. The fold of my tailored collar wasn't crushed by a fat padded strap. Free of that burden for probably the first time that day, I'm sure I was walking even taller and straighter than usual, and enjoying the light click click click of my shoes on the polished floor.
At that moment, the person being photographed was a woman. She was a little older than me, maybe in her forties. And she was dressed a little like me, in a navy business suit and heels. I swept past them just as they were entering the pre-photo huddle. And even though their voices were hushed, I could hear every word.
"How do you want to look?" the photographer asked?
"I want to look like that!" the woman answered with a little laugh and what I'm convinced must have been a glance or gesture toward me. I was the only other person around.
That candid comment lives in my memory hall of fame, under the label "best compliment." (Well, best compliment on my appearance, anyway. My recent best compliment in the skills category is "Damn. This woman knows how to write a resume!" Does it make sense that my favorite compliments were not directed to me, but overheard?)
Does it make sense to care about how other people think you look?
I have a friend who is a massage therapist trying to build up her client base in a new town. She has an add in the paper, like a lot of them do. But, where other people put a picture of themselves, she has a list of her training credentials. She argues that this is much more relevant information. But she suspects that the ads with the photos get more calls. People want to make decisions with their eyes. How we look matters. She understands this, and rebels against it. She thinks it's wrong, and unfair. But, I just don't know.
We are visually oriented animals. How could we not make decisions based on what we see first and foremost? Why would we even pretend not to?
She and I come from different sides of the issue. I'm tall, and even now, kind of thin. I've got blue eyes, symmetrical features and good skin. Importantly, I'm feminine looking. Most importantly, I'm white.
She's white too, and I think she's beautiful. But she doesn't fit the current U.S. standard of beauty as well as I do. She's short, and tomboyish. I would even say butch, except that I know that's not a word she uses to describe herself.
Her refusal to put her picture on her ad seems ridiculous to me. But maybe it wouldn't seem ridiculous if I hadn't spent my teen years being occasionally told that I could be a model.
I guess my point is that I really enjoyed feeling beautiful, and being thought beautiful by others.. I enjoyed having clothes that flattered my figure and helped me to look as stunning and lovely as possible. I really enjoyed living in that trim fit body that made finding clothes so easy. (For the first time in my life, I could a suit where the top was the SAME size as the bottom.)
Then a bunch of unplanned things happened. I lost my job. I got diagnosed with breast cancer. I started eating oatmeal cookies and ice cream for most meals. I had surgery. I recovered from surgery. I moved away from my beautiful California beach home with it's doorstep access to a net work of trails that cut through rolling hills and sand dunes. I moved to this rocky mountain place, where all the trails on the east side are dead flat and boring, and all the trail to the west try to kill you with their sharp rocks, and sharper ascents. I got married and started cooking meals that another person, who wasn't really interested in raw vegetables and ancient grains, might enjoy. I remained unemployed and got depressed. I lived through a cold winter that I really didn't own the proper clothes for.
At the end of a year, I had gained twenty pounds. It's the end of two years now, and I still weigh 174. I've made numerous attempts to lose that weight. The fist serious and successful attempt was almost a year ago. I called it "100 days of fitness." I got down to 158. And let me tell you, I felt great! I looked great too. One day, I was actually able to wear one of the skirt suits I had brought with me from my former life.
But it didn't last. Some kind of internal switch flipped and I started binging on cookies and cakes and chocolate. I stopped exercising and drank wine instead. Before I knew it, I was back at 174. I didn't worry too much. It had seemed pretty easy to lose weight, so I when I had gotten the binging out of my system, I tried again.
It worked again. This time I got down to 164 really quickly. But then the switch went off again. I suddenly didn't care about losing weight as much as I cared about chocolate-covered peanuts. And just as suddenly, I was at 174 again.
This happened so many times that I started to recognize it as a pattern. At 164 I would be seized by an urge to freak out and pig out. Then, as soon as I'd plumped up by 10 pounds, the urge would vanish and I would effortlessly follow my fitness and diet routine until I dropped those 10 pounds. As soon as I hit 164 again, boom, back up the scale.
I couldn't figure it out. When I hit the low end, there was no way I could imagine having the interest or will power to keep from eating every gooey sweet fatty desert that crossed my path. When I hit the high end, crunchy vegetables and whole grain dishes were so satisfying that I couldn't imagine ever being led to disaster by my sweet tooth. My consciousness changed with the scale.
Right around the time I was noticing this trend, a friend of mine offered to trade me some work. She could pay me with her skills, which included card-readings and hypnotherapy.
Hypnotherapy! Isn't that what people used to stop smoking, stop drinking, and stop binge eating? I didn't know if it would work. But, I was ready to try.
The session was interesting. We talked for a while about my issues around fitness and fat. I did suddenly make the connection that maybe being thin and weighing 154 might bring up a deep subconscious fear for me. That's how much I weighed when my life fell apart, when I lost my job and got cancer...did I mention my pink slip and my diagnosis came on the same day, less than 30 minutes from each other? Did I mention my company car was the only one I had and that they took it from me that very day? Did I mention that I suddenly couldn't afford the beautiful beach home I loved so much, and had to move in with friends who lived in a different town?
Maybe that's why I resist getting within 10 lbs of my goal weight. Or maybe not. But I felt like I wasn't even going to have to figure it out. My friend was going to fix me with her hoo-doo voo-doo.
I got comfortable on the sofa and she pulled up a chair. She led me through a guided meditation that I don't really remember. Then she left and I took a nap. When I woke up, I didn't really feel any different. But, over the next few days, I did begin to notice something. Something was gone, and it wasn't my extra pounds.
Ever since I'd started gaining weight, I had felt fat and unattractive. I had lamented my thickening waistline and criticized my self for my widening thighs. I felt sad that I wasn't sexy any more and wassure I would never really be happy again until I weighed 154 and could fit into all my beautiful business clothes again.
But suddenly, after the hypnotherapy session, those feelings were gone. The lament, the sadness, the criticism...all gone! I wasn't 154 again, as I had hoped I soon would be. Instead, within a matter of days, I started to feel like I used to feel when I weighed 154.
I felt tall and leggy. I felt sexy and smart. I didn't feel skinny exactly, but who really wants to feel "skinny?" I felt luscious and desirable and perfectly proportioned. I felt at ease in my skin and proud of my body. I felt beautiful. I felt right.
It's been months now, and that feeling has stayed with me. Before I started the current happiness experiment, I ate absolutely whatever I felt like eating, and I never did weigh any more than 174. Maybe this is just my natural weight. Maybe I will never weigh 154 again. Unbelievably, after so many months of struggling, I'm okay with that. Because that's what my hypnotherapy session seemed to teach me, that just exactly they way I am right now, I'm okay.
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