From Invisible to Objectified

My friend, Carolyn, is coming to visit in February.  She is delighted by my weight loss, “Will I even know you?”  She asks.  I tell her she will, because I am the same, I just look different.

But oh the difference the weight loss makes.  How invisible was I?  I was not invisible to people I encountered regularly:  clients, neighbors, co-workers, groups to which I belonged.  But to those who saw me occasionally, I was instantly forgettable.  I would be introduced to someone who was glad to meet me, but they had met me before, numerous times.  I was like a blob that morphed into the environment. 

I was recently told I make my Facebook page all about my weight loss.  I never intended to use my page to glorify my weight loss.  It keeps going back to weight loss because I am constantly asked questions about weight loss.  I figure if a couple people ask the same question, there are others wondering.  So I write.

Why do you think dieting worked this time when you did it so many other times and it didn’t work?  I think it’s a miracle.  I can give you a formula diet + exercise + diet contests, keep doing it.  But really, I think it’s a miracle.  I am not kidding. 

Here’s a recent frequently asked question, “Do you ever wish you had lost the weight earlier before you were so old?”  No.  I never question that.  That question ranks right there with, “Did you ever want to have more than one child?”  I am sure it wasn’t supposed to happen, or it would have.

There is magical wonderment that comes from losing substantial weight and greatly changing your physical appearance at 50, particularly when you are as contemplative as I am.  My observations on wondering why I would be so old when I was transformed lead me to when I was blessed with a spectacularly beautiful daughter, at age 34.  My daughter is not only stunningly gorgeous, she is also kind, caring, compassionate, a critical thinker, driven, hard-working, ambitious and at least as protective of me as I am of her.  The contrast in our physical appearances has given both of us a remarkable education in perspective.

When she was in middle school another student tried to make trouble by saying my daughter teased her.  The child’s mother came complaining to me.  I asked what happened.  She said my daughter taunted her daughter’s weight.  I knew that wasn’t true, because I know there is no person on the planet with more empathy for fat people than my daughter.  I was used to every discomfort obesity brings:  airplane seats, clothing limitations, amusement park rides.  I had lived with them my entire life.  They were my normal.  My normal so bothered my daughter.  She wanted to work at a fat camp to try to encourage campers to be all they could be.  She wanted to design clothing for Lane Bryant’s to make them prettier.  She wanted to find the cure for obesity.

One day, coming home from the beach, we hopped a short wall to get back to the car.  I stumbled and fell, ripping apart my leg very badly, bleeding profusely on the sidewalk.  It took me a few minutes to get my bearings, figure out how to get up, wrap my leg in a towel and get back to my car.  I needed assistance.  Lily called for help.  A large number of white men walked right past us.  A Haitian woman came to our assistance, helping me up and into the car.  Lily was furious the men kept walking.  She surmised they didn’t want to help because I was fat.  This is a lesson in invisibility.

Years later, like magic, I was transformed from a caterpillar to a butterfly.  I am invisible no more.  What joyful revelry that brings.  Recently I realized the questions I was being asked had nothing to do with can you tell me how to lose weight.  They changed to would you say your rear end lifts up or is flat?  Can you twirl so I can see it?  Are you using your body for its intended purpose?  What do you do to satisfy your female needs?  What are some of the things you do with that smokin’ hot body?  Are you happy because you get male attention you didn’t get before?   These questions are about objectification of body parts.   I am sure some will say I have fed this objectification with some of the really great photos of myself I have posted.  I am not going to stop posting pictures. 

My daughter now models.  I learned a model’s photo is rotated all the way around to make sure she looks attractive from every angle.  I learned you zoom in searching for flaws.  My daughter has 10,000+ Instagram followers including middle school girls who want to be like her.  One girl sent daily messages telling Lily how beautiful she was.  After a few such messages Lily sent the girl a picture of herself with no make-up and a scrunchy face asking, “Still think I’m pretty now?”   Lily says models sell illusion.  It is not that she doesn’t really look like that, she does.  But the message is look like this, and you will be all that.    

Losing more than 100 pounds to get to a normal weight improves the quality of your life exponentially, even if the only thing it does for you is take away the invisibility cloak.  Lily has said that when you look pretty people look at you and smile and are happy.  She is correct.  The difference is incredible.  Invisibility and objectification are not going away.  But all that being said, your value far exceeds the way you look.  You are more than the size and shape of your ass, thighs, hips, boobs or waist.  You are more than however perfect or imperfect your teeth are.  You are definitely more than the amount of male attention you receive.  You are so much more than any or all of your body parts.  At the core of my being, I am exactly the same as I ever was.  Carolyn will recognize me.