Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Ironic, but not really

You know that when I texted the word "fat" to Mighty M just now, it automatically came up as "eat" on my intelligent-spell-it-for-you-cell phone?

Yeah. Ironic. Ha ha.

Especially because I was texting him this:

Having a fat (eat) crisis here.
Self esteem in the crapper. (actually had to go into the spell function to do that one...seems "crapper" isn't on the top list of words in my phone's brain. go figure.)
But hungry, ironically.

At no point in time, of course, have I actually used the word "ironic" correctly, but that's just to get Sam's goat. She hates that.

No word back from the M. Probably unsure how to approach this animal of deep seated insecurity. What to say. What to say.

The real question is: will it bite?

This is what happens when you get pictures of yourself on the beach from a delightful weekend. And you're in a bathing suit. That makes you look like a COW.

And you didn't even realize it.

Yeah. Thanks.

The whole time, you felt comfortable and at ease, even next to your ittyfreakinbitty FSIL (whom I love, don't let the ire fool ya). Unbeknownst to you, you looked like a bovine. And now there's proof. Out there in the world. As a reminder that you are not, in fact, the shape you imagine you are in your sweet little head up there.


Le freakin' sigh.

I hate body image issues. They suck. And don't spew about how beauty comes from the inside and I'm an active and healthy adult and I should be happy.


It doesn't work like that. At least not for me.

I don't want to be thrown that consolation prize. I want to be a beautiful and happy and active woman who isn't shocked by her picture in a bathing suit. I want to be able to ride 50 miles with ease AND look hot for my future husband.

NOT either/or. I want BOTH.

You know what? This is my biggest fear for the wedding. Not that I will be nervous and take a digger going down the aisle. Not that it will rain or snow or storm. Not that Might M will break all promises to not jam cake in my face.

No, my biggest fear is that I will look fat in pictures. That the permanent record of my wedding will be a collection of bad angles and unfortunate double chins.

And I don't want that. I love myself. I love the decisions I make. I believe in my choices. I think I'm a good daughter, sister, and partner. I know that I make a difference in my world.

But I photograph like a freaking mascot for Chic-fil-a.

And it makes me stinking mad.