December 10, 2007

When I was young I was beautiful. My beauty was not that of
freshness or childlike softness, but rather that of good lines and
almost achieved perfection of face. It only brought me grief. No
one ever really seemed to see me. No one was ever happy with me
once the new wore off and they were no longer seduced by
packaging.

When I became very fat I was pleased. People had to see me as a
person now. The fat covered my bones and delivered me from
being the object of desire. Over the nearly thirty years I was very
fat I developed a few people skills, maybe not as many as I could
have, but enough to get by. Or so I thought. But in truth, no one
really liked me much. Smart, fat, snarly women aren’t any more
loved than smart, slim, snarly women. They just get less play and
more laughter.

Eleven years ago I met and married my spouse. He loved me fat,
but he did not love the fat. He loved me smart and snarly and he
loved me silly and childish as well. He saw the odd dichotomy of
geography and family, work and passions that made up the currents
of my life, and he accepted them, he accepted me. In those years he
never said I wish you would lose weight or I wish you would
channel your energies into making money or I wish you were
different...

And sometime during those eleven years the icy part that never felt
seen or loved melted and with it my reasons for being fat. So while
I give my vegan diet credit for my weight loss, the truth is that
someone loved me. Someone actually saw me, and still loved me.

There is a great deal of sadness and worry in my family right now
together with upheaval and uncertainty. Today is also the
anniversary of my father’s death in 2002. My heart is low with
these things. I give thanks for the love of family, which binds us all
together despite our differences, and provides a tower of sympathy
and quiet support for each of us.