Self Esteem, Careless Comments, and Pretzels

Today has been a weird day for me. I feel like I've been...aware...of my weight more than usual today.

It started this morning in my closet.

I put on this dress that I've had for like 6 years, but only worn once because it was always too small--even though it was a wrap dress. I put it on this morning and it fit perfectly, and I felt really beautiful leaving the house, which is a rare feeling so I cherished it.

As I settled into my cube, I got a call from my new boss. My kind, supportive, encouraging new boss. She's an incredibly fiesty Jewish Woman named Nicole who swears like a sailor, talks faster than anyone I've ever known (Yes Mom, she talks faster and louder than me!) and who somehow still radiates warmth and trust and gentleness of spirit. She's become a mentor in the short amount of time I've been working with her, and was instrumental in my getting promoted.

Anyway, today she came in to work and told me that she had brought me some clothes she thought i might like. She's very fashionable, so she's totally right! The thing is, she tells me that she is bringing me clothes that are too big for her, now that she's lost a little weight.

This is where perspective comes in. See, I see myself as being the same size as my boss. I mean I'm a little taller than her and stuff, but when I look at her, from my perspective, I sense that we're about the same dimensions around the waist, shoulder width, etc... does that make sense? So to hear her say that she's bringing me clothes that are to big for her, made me think "She sees me as bigger than her?" I wasn't offended by it or anything at all, it was just sort of curious, and it was an introspective moment. It made me wonder how accurately I see myself. I had been thinking I saw myself as BIGGER than I am, but this suddenly made me wonder if it's the opposite.

We went out to the car to get the clothes, and she tells me as she's handing them to me (and they are adorable clothes, and great designers too) that they are a size 24.

I'm a size 18. (down from a 34, by the way)

Which, knowing that she's lost a little weight recently, should mean that we are, in fact, about the same size afterall.

So why do I look bigger than her? Do I carry my weight differently than her? Strange.

It didn't upset me so much as get me thinking. That was the first thing that happened today to make me think about my weight.

A few hours later I was in a meeting with Nicole and two guys we work with. We were discussing some events that our company is going to have booths at. Since I was recently promoted to Marketing Coordinator, the management of tradeshows and events falls under my job description. But for the last few months, in the absence of a Marketing Coordinator, that task has been handled by a co-worker of mine in my former department, who has gone to all of these events to help set-up and man the booths along with the local Sales guys.

This girl, we'll call her Tiffany, is fairly attractive. She's thin, with flowy strawberry blond hair, and a very feminine sense of style. She's always wearing skirts and dresses and chic stilettos. Very pretty.

In this meeting, Nicole explains that I will be handling tradeshow management from now on because it's part of my job now. She also explained that we won't be sending someone from my former department anymore (Tiffany) because it's not necessary.

One of the guys speaks up and says that he thinks we should still send Tiffany to the tradeshows, even if she isn't managing them. At first Nicole and I were confused, and then he proceeded to say: 'this may sound sexist but, well, Tiffany brings attention to the booth.'

Yeah. At this point I'm hurt for women-kind as a whole. 100 years in the workplace and we're still being trophied as eye candy.

Then he continued.

"I just, I just don't see... anyone else... being able to attract attention the way she does. No offense."

No offense? Now I'm hurt for myself.

What am I? An ogre that's going to send people running and screaming from our booth?

I've always considered myself an engaging, warm, charming person. I may not look great in an a-line skirt and heels, but I am a damn good sales person.

Talk about a punch to the gut.

The meeting ended a few minutes later. I sat in my cube and just felt kind of numb. It was the kind of feeling where you know that if you allowed emotion to really set in you would be overcome by it, so instead you allow yourself to just feel the very outer edges of the emotions. Like testing the waters: "what just happened? How do I feel about it?"

I felt...

fat. ugly. insulted. indignant.

but at the same time, like I was over-reacting. he didn't mean it that way. he didn't mean to offend me. i felt guilty. self-depricating. like he was right. like I deserve it.

like 'this is how the real world is. get over it'

And all of a sudden a combination of things just dropped on me like an ACME anvil in a cartoon.

I'm still fat. I've lost 110 pounds, and I'm still fat enough for my boss to be uncomfortable with me manning the booth, representing the company. I'm still fat enough for my boss to donate clothes to me that are 4 sizes to big.

I'm still fat enough for a former Cascade classmate--who I reconnected with on the phone last week--to spend the entire call talkign about how she just can't beleive that even though I've lost 110 pounds I'm still a size 18, and was I SURE I'd lost 100 pounds? And how could I still weigh almost 300 pounds when she only weighs 220 and we're the same size? I tried to explain that she has a tiny frame and I don't but... whatever. The damage had been done.

It's difficult enough to battle my own mind. To look in the mirror after a shower and see something disgusting. It's hard enough that I'm reminded every time I weigh myself that even though I've lost more than my best friend weighs, I'm still only half way to normal.

It's hard enough to know that with size 12 feet and the shoulders of a line backer I'm never--no matter how many days a week I exercise or how little I eat--never going to look like my best friend, or the women in magazines. Or the women who turn my husband's head when they walk by.

Even if I actually get to my 'goal' weight of 185, and even less likely, I maintain that weight which less than 50% of Gastric Bypass patients do, I'm still going to look fat.

I'm going to have big feet and a big head and big shoulders and jiggly arms, and I'm never going to be 'normal' enough that someone looks at me and says 'I want her to run our booth'.

So what's the point?