The Futile Pursuit of Trying to Measure Up
Looking back over the last few years and the miraculous transformation that has taken place in my mind, emotions and body, I marvel over how long it took to see what had been staring back at me all along; it was as clear as the nose on my now thinner face.
Back in May of 2000, when I’d reached my apex weight of 703 pounds, what I valued, who’s opinion I valued and by extension what I thought of myself by way of “measuring up,” was just as out of whack as the distended reflection that met me every morning in the bathroom mirror.
I’d bought the bill of goods that both those close to me and society at large had proclaimed as being “acceptable” or better yet “perfect” when attempting to mold myself into someone adequate to the task before her… that of living a full and happy life.
Trouble was, I never could quite measure up. Be it the unruly, non-compliant nature of my hair that fought against the deft strokes of the hairbrush my mother wielded each morning before school, or the unsightly marring of my fair complexion by freckles that dappled the bridge of my nose, I just wasn’t good enough… I wasn’t perfect like others seemed to be.
I soon found out that my personal deficits extended to the world at large; I didn’t fit the mold of their perception of beauty and worth either, it seemed.
According to the BMI chart, I was just out of “normal” weight range for my height and age, just outside of the iron-clad boundaries set by the National Institute of Health. Man, I didn’t want to upset their apple cart! Those people knew what they were talking about! The FDA’s Pyramid Food Chart heralded their disapproval, too; Cheetos and Ho-Hos didn’t make their top ten. Now alfalfa sprouts and beet greens… they were another story! If you chose instead to consume these delectable items, you were surely destined to become the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue’s model, if you just denied yourself enough, if you just quit acting like a loser… if you just stopped being human long enough to grasp that coveted brass ring.
What does one do when they never seem to be able to make the grade? Well, I know what I did. I finally hoisted my loser’s white flag of surrender and went inside, progressively deteriorating, and only emerging when I was forced to by a case of double pneumonia and even then only because my son insisted on calling an ambulance. I would be fine, I told him. I lied. I didn’t want to face the stares and ignorant comments coming from people who didn’t even know me, and didn’t want to know me either.
The gift of a computer in May of 2000 was the tool that would assist in changing all I thought I knew about myself, turning all I believed about my value and place in the world completely on its head; be careful of what you think you know… You could be dead wrong, or as was the case with me… just dead.
I’ve never liked technology. It’s fascinating, no doubt, but I prefer personal interaction; a face-to-face conversation cannot be beat. But, I was bored and starving for stimulation. In my self-imposed isolation of then over 12 years, my mind and spirit yearned to reach beyond the four walls that encased me to touch what I couldn’t hope to by staring at a television screen or within the pages of a book.
A niece suggested chat rooms; I chose those focusing on politics, as it’s a passion of mine. In the anonymity of these “rooms,” the people there never would’ve thought to ignore me, verbally accost me or judge me harshly. There was no “monstrosity” before them to fear or ridicule. They instead ate up my words, my feelings, and my humor with a welcoming embrace…. No one there could know how much of their acceptance I was drinking in, how much difference it was making in and for me. But it was.
My spirit began its reawakening; my stores of value were being replenished with each note sent and received. And as a consequence, without any conscious thought, my compulsion to eat more than I needed began to ebb, and then vanished altogether. Any diet would’ve worked; it wasn’t a particular diet that helped me. It was the reevaluation of my worth and the refocusing on someone, something other than my own circumstance that brought permanent change in me… and one for the better. My weight was only the symptom of a deeper wound beneath that sad, misshapen and isolated exterior. And a group of unknowing and faceless strangers were my unlikely saviors.
Is my now 54 year-old body an example of “perfection?” Others may not think so. That’s their opinion and business, not mine. I am perfect now… perfectly Nancy.
