So we’re in February. I HATE winter – the dreary, wet, cold, icy weather. Unable to get warm. Trying to drive in the dark/snow/ice/fog/rain. Feeling totally unstable on my feet and worrying I’ll slip over.
For me, March is the mental trigger that makes me think the better days are on the way, and usually it is a time of year that fills me with dread. I love the sun, being able to sit in my gorgeous garden with coffee (see my profile pic – that’s my garden!), enjoying the blue sky and the sound of running water with the pond. However I hate the fact that I struggle with being a “big” girl in the hot weather – thighs rubbing together (delightfully known as “chub rub” in the fashion* industry), and they rub no matter what you use to try and stop them, if you dare to wear a skirt/dress/shorts (yes, really), tights, and sometimes even through the thinner leggings. You can buy creams and lotions and potions, even a 6” deep band of lace to wear on your thighs in an aim to stop it. Then there’s the under-boob issues where THEY rub too, and get sore and hot and rashes. Then in the creases of your waist, behind your knees, and lets not talk about your feet, the poor maligned things attempting to carry you through the heat in inadequate footwear because you simply want to look the same as everyone else.
I’ve spent years, and years, and YEARS avoiding going to places in public where I will be looked at/be seen/have to wear less clothing/nothing to hide behind/no chairs/walls to sit on/avoiding picnics because I can’t get off the grass so easily.
Don’t I sound like a happy go lucky delight of a person to be with! But none of the above was EVER spoken by me, until now. I’d make excuses/change plans/avoid places/stay home/avoid meetups, simply so that I, and anyone who bothered to want to spend time with me, didn’t have to deal with any of it.
But this year, I’m sat at the kitchen table now, looking out of the window and despite being really nervous of actually doing it, I WANT to spend this summer out of the house. In shorts/T shirts, in public, doing all the stuff that normal folk do and think nothing of.
Picnic? Yes please! Shopping? Absolutely! Park with the kids/dogs? Bring it on!
But more than that…I feel as though I *can* go out in public with people, and them not be judged for being with me, because now I look *normal*. Normal is a strange thing – I feel as though I blend in with most of the rest of the population now, despite still having excess skin, lines, wrinkles, a knee brace (arthritis – thanks for that, body). No matter what you think, people DO judge. They DO look, and smirk, and nudge each other, and sometimes, say stuff you hear. Because obviously, yunno, if you’re fat you are also blind, deaf and stupid.
Roll on spring/summer. This has been the hardest 14 months, and I’m bloody proud of myself. I’m nowhere near perfect, and I’m not where I want to be yet, but I will get there.
in the meantime, I’ll happily blend in with the general public, keep my head held high, and live my life.
*fahion industry – a bunch of people who think we all are stick thin, and if you aren’t then lets just get you a sack, made of polyester, and add a colour block to the sides so it <fits>. Oh and assume you’re over 75 to boot. But hey, wear a scaaaaarffffffff……that’ll make you look thin! Tossers.