Have you ever done one of those weight loss shake programs?
If you are anything like me, you’ve probably tried at least 4900 of them. The first time I did one was just before my first wedding. I was in my early twenties and about to marry the man my parents hated because my parents hated him.
I remember the exact day that my mother, my maid of honor and my little sister went to buy the wedding dress.
We went to a boutique dress shop in a tiny little town out in the country. It oozed with southern charm – long and slow accents, highly perfumed and manicured women who whisper behind your back and hair that was “jacked up to Jesus”.
We had driven by the weekend before and I saw the dress I wanted displayed in the window. I told my mother that the dress was the dress.
When we arrived that day, I didn’t want to try any other dress on. I just knew that this dress was the one.
The one in the window was the only one they had and it was about three sizes too small for my figure. The highly perfumed ladies pinned and pulled and tugged but it wasn’t going to fit. They told me that it was risky, but that they could order one that would fit perfectly.
And so, they proceeded to take my measurements.
Surely, whispering behind my curvy back.
The dress arrived with a no refund policy.
And all that pot induced snacking had caught up with me.
That dress, the one ordered to match my measurements, didn’t fit.
I was weeks away from the wedding and, obviously, had no other choice.
Slim fast it was.
I remember the hunger and the desperation. I remember the tears, the anger and the fear.
I also remember the exact thought that was creating all of that pain and suffering.
My dress isn’t going to fit.
I remember, what I made that one thought mean.
I made it mean that I wasn’t good enough. Pretty enough. Certainly not thin enough.
I made it mean that I was a failure.
I made it mean the end of the world.
And so, I treated myself like I wasn’t good enough. Pretty enough. And certainly not thin enough.
I starved. I drank the shakes and had one sensible meal a day. I hoped and I prayed for a miracle.
And, even still, a few days before the wedding, I was out buying the strongest girdle money could buy.
I hated myself. I hated my body.
I hated that fucking dress.
I remember talking to the people who were in attendance and wondering if they could tell I couldn’t breathe. Or if they knew that the way I was holding my hand over my belly was because I didn’t want them to see my curves.
I’ve created a different life since then. That marriage is long over. I’ve been off drugs for about ten years. I don’t binge eat anymore. I don’t starve my body into submission.
Back then, you wouldn’t have been able to convince me that I would now be a life coach who helps women rebuild their self-worth and create a positive body image. You wouldn’t have been able to convince me that I would love, appreciate and care for my body the way I do today. For that matter, you wouldn’t have even been able to convince me that I’d be alive.
At the time, I wondered why all of that was happening to me. Now, I can see that it was all happening for me.
It was happening so that I could learn, grow, heal and share.
I’ve learned that the way we speak to ourselves has everything to do with how we feel. I’ve learned that the way we respond to our feelings has everything to do with the results we see in our lives.
I’ve learned that it isn’t the dress. Or the food. Or even the reality of your size and shape.
What matters is what we make those things mean. It’s about that story you tell yourself, over and over again.
I’ve learned that if you want a different ending, you have to change the story.
