I found an interesting gem searching through old posts on a forum I’ve frequented over the last 10 years:
“I was moving some 50 lb. bags over the weekend and considering what it would be like if I were not roughly that amount overweight. Or even 25 lbs. I don’t know if wearing the patent leather heels would be the first thing I’d do.”
While it’s fun to see that and wish I could tell my past self that future self did just that (minus the heels) there are two people I see when I look in the mirror. Part of me thinks I am still too lumpy. Part of me thinks I look fruitful, like Eve from the Sistine Chapel.
Why am I unhappy about being fruitful? This is something I haven’t thought about in a long time. Does our society bind women into hating their unique power? In 12 step terms, it falls outside those things I can change, so I haven’t worried about it. But it seems I can still feel it. Is it just the fundamental issue of that which is not male, and therefore nonstandard?
I’m not really sure how to draw this to a conclusion. I suppose there’s that risk of being misunderstood with my effort to maintain a normal BMI. I guess it doesn’t help my being female to propogate resentment toward males (and all the other categories of normal). I guess that’s where accepting what I cannot change arrived. Maybe it’s true that it’s unfair. But stewing about the unfairness of it mostly injures myself.