But... I'm FAT

Before you decide I need help with my self confidence or being comfortable in my own skin, please don't worry. My confidence level is really just fine, some may even say it is a little too high. And I am not saying fat in a derogatory manner, it is a statement of truth.

I am fat, heavy, a "big girl." I know people who use the term fluffy - that I am not! - but there is a lot of me and my desire to talk about it has nothing to do with explaining myself or wanting to be accepted or loved. Those who are friends need no explanation; I am blessed not only by how fabulous they are but also by men who are engaging, bright, handsome, and interested. Any desire I have to change my figure is much more about having hips and knees that don't hurt, or wanting to ride roller coasters and sight see with ease, than it is about pleasing the masses. The most discomfort I feel emotionally about my body is when someone else is obviously uncomfortable around me.

Within the last year, obesity was classified as a disease. This signaled to me that those who struggle with their weight weren't going to be considered lazy or greedy, we wouldn't be seen as crass, graceless "pigs." What had been a struggle most of my life was going to be recognized as one - this was an opportunity for education and acceptance! But this week I have read that the determination of obesity as a disease has "backfired" and even: "The 'disease' designation becomes a prescription for inaction" (Hank Cardello, Director of The Hudson Institute's Obesity Solutions Initiative). But, wait a minute: That is NOT right! This "label" made me feel like it wasn't all my fault, gave me hope that there would be medical solutions available. Instead of being judged derisively, I would be accepted for who I am and not by the body in which I reside.

For the record, I have tried to lose weight. I went to Weight Watcher's camp - twice - and have explored surgical options, diets, exercise and combinations of all of those. I have consulted my doctor, a nutritionist, and the staff at my workplace healthy living program. I have tried, time and again, to not need a bigger chair than is standard for offices and I have only vacationed at places to which I could drive. But I have also taken baby steps to live as fully as I can. I love P!nk and have often found myself relating to her music. So I bought tickets to see her in concert and, in the company of my dear friend Barbara Haines-Zuazua, I screamed and danced at the Verizon Center in November. I found a travel agency that promotes "size friendly" vacations and I am very impressed already with their attitude and skills (their website). Just two weeks ago, I went to New York and had photos taken by the extremely talented Substania Jones (her Twitter Feed) that made me feel risque and beautiful and just fabulous.

So today, I am embracing my fat. I am going to apologize less for how I look and enjoy life more. I am going to try new things and relearn the things I used to love. I am simply going to be me.

Soul Mates

As a young girl, a teenager, and even into my 20's, I believed the hardest part about love was finding someone with whom to fall IN love. That the searching and connecting was the challenge but once that person is found, once your eyes meet across a crowded room, then you are on Easy Street. The older I get, the more I realize the real work comes after the falling in love has happened, the work is staying in love.

I do believe my friend Michelle found the answer though:

I certainly feel most connected to my girlfriends. I am blessed to have a life rich with witty, wise and wonderful women. I have a friend who has a mind that creates sumptuous recipes and whose hands make meals over which we laugh and linger. And she can paint. And sculpt. Her doodles make my concentrated efforts at creating beauty look, at best, comical. I have friends who can spin letters into words that can make me laugh and weep, feel great joy and sadness, words that give me pause for thought as well as spur me onto action. I have friends who can turn squares of fabric into the story of my mother's life or create a warrior princess who sits guard at my desk. My friends make me brave and kick me in the seat of the pants and sit quietly when I don't want to be alone.

So perhaps the girls of "Sex and the City" got it right. We love men, love kisses and flirting and feeling like princesses. We even - insert gasp - love sex. We cry ourselves to sleep over some men and act like silly, goofy teenagers for others. We dress for them and paint our toes, we flip our hair and nibble our lower lip and act coy and demure. We literally put our best foot forward for certain men.

But if you want to know me, ask my girlfriends. They are the ones to whom I pose the complicated questions, the ones for whom I bring out my soap box and wax poetic. My girl friends are the ones who can tell my mood by the tone of my voice, the ones who can say "Don't you dare cry!" and make me stop or grasp my hand and soothe my tears. My girlfriends are my lifeline and, it seems, my soulmates!

Catharsis

I have always sorted out things most easily through words. I love to write, to create something tangible to represent what I think and feel, what I want and wonder. Words have saved me time and again.

Words aren't just letters to me, I feel them: Max's name is bright blue, warm with crisp water, it feels like the most perfect day. My friends are bright, jumbled, colorful with soft, blurred edges. My Gram is warm, sunny, strong and just by saying "Gram," I belong. The name of the man with whom I am in love is both bold and subtle, bright and grey.

He has made me brave. He keeps me safe. He has challenged and infuriated me as no one else can. I have loved him since the day I met him and it took me too long to realize how lucky I am to have had the opportunity to do so. He loves me, too, this I know. And for each of my brave acts he has rallied with one of his own vulnerabilities. I have challenged and infuriated him, too. He may not have loved me since September 18, 2007, but he has loved me a long time.

But we love differently. And that hurts. Hurts in ways that make me feel like I am turning inside out so I hold my middle. Hurts in ways that makes my usual gregarious and overwhelming self withdraw into a quiet cocoon. Hurts because, despite the differences, he treats my bruised heart gently and respectfully. Because he would never see me scared or in need without flying to the rescue in the silly superman boxers I bought that he only wore to make me smile anyway. Hurts because even if I am loved by someone else, I will not love like I love him. Hurts because it hurts.

Since our first Valentine's Day, in 2008, I have listed 101 reasons I love him. In a little journal, written on 101 origami hearts... always different, always 101. Even on the years that we weren't close there were 101 and in three weeks there will be 101 more. And in the six years we have danced this crazy dance, I have seen that I made so many mistakes. That I needed far too much. That I was just not easy. And I have learned that love doesn't always look the same. That sometimes, love can be overlooked while waiting quietly and calmly to be seen. And I have learned that his name feels so very good.