The Quarantine 15 and Silencing Bill

I lost forty pounds last year. I needed to, desperately, since managing my weight becomes an all consuming activity as soon as I hit size 14. At size 16, I will have crossed the line to obsessive/compulsive behavior, buying every workout program that promises results and thinking about my weight on a minute-by-minute basis. It’s an illness – and not one that is cured by a medication. I know…I tried.

What is it that prompts us, especially as women, to perseverate on our looks so much? I assume it’s our internal insecurities, which begin screaming at me when my weight spirals out of control. I’ll call my internal insecurities ‘Bill’. Bill has been with me since I was about 12. He’s not nice, but so much a part of my psyche that I usually don’t even realize that he’s there.

When I meet people for the first time, Bill says, “they’re thinking that you’re a fat, undisciplined wretch.” Bill has lead me to never wearing shorts in 100 degree weather, because I have fat, white legs. Bill also had me wear Spanx for so many years that my GI system sits in fear every time I pull a dress out of the closet. (I think the Spanx caused long term flatulence issues…or that could just be genetic, since I remember my mother having a tooting issue herself. I did revolt against Bill about ten years ago and give up the daily Spanx habit. He continued to whisper the sweet nothings of “you’re fat” but I just couldn’t take the pain anymore!)

This year, the Coronavirus hit. We all sheltered-in-place. And what do we do when we’re home? Again…maybe just me…but I spent some solid time on Netlix and popcorn. The 40 pounds lost became 35…and then 30…and then 25. Yep…I gained 15 pounds during my British Baking Challenge binges. I ate bread again, and developed a full on pound cake around my middle.

Something strange shifted, however, during the crisis. I’m not sure if it has more to do with age and wisdom, or just that my crazy life has calmed down.

I have finally silenced Bill.

I gained 15 pounds…which is not delightful…but has not driven me to the brink of insanity. This IS delightful. Bill has been oddly quiet. I have tossed out the last Spanx. I started wearing shorts again, even with my extra 15 pounds, and guess what?

My legs aren’t as white anymore. Who knew?

Here are the truths that I finally have accepted and thought I would share just in case you have your own Bill.

1. No one else really cares about how much we weigh. I make this assumption because when I meet people, I don’t think, “Oh…you’re fat!” I more likely think, “Oh…you’re nice…or smart…or well dressed…or well….we may not be pursuing this one as a friend.” I assume at this point, I’m not the exception, but more of the rule. We do have initial impressions of people but I think weight has less to do with it than personality…or lack thereof.
2. No one really cares about how our legs look once we pass thirty. I’ll be 57 this year. No one is looking at my legs unless they are trying to determine if I actually have a road map tattoo. I don’t, but I do understand how the red and blue lines can be confusing.
3. Spanx are not for daily use. You’re GI system is not meant to be compressed into compliance. It will revolt at some point…most likely by building up a gas explosion to be fired off at the most inopportune moment.
4. Most women in their 50’s that look 20 either have been dancers since childhood, have amazing genetics or have a plastic surgeon on speed dial. I have none of those so I think I’ll just make peace with looking my age. In my 20’s, a photographer once asked my friend if I was her mother. I should be used to looking 50 since I’ve apparently been there for 30 years.

So, I’m enjoying the silence…and the shorts. It’s hot. I’m wearing Birkenstock’s with unpainted toes. I am more focused on my eating since I don’t want my weight to completely get out of control. But I’m pretty OK with who I am now.

Which at 57, is not a bad place to be.