All that we cannot see.

I went camping this weekend with my daughters' Girl Scout troop.  I was kind of dreading it, to be honest.  Being in the woods, in the summer, with nowhere to turn if panic set in was scary.  I was sick for the few days before going.

But let me backtrack a bit.

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I've lost 80 pounds since I started this journey.  Eighty pounds with which I fought.  Eighty pounds of blood, sweat, and tears.  I work at it, you guys.  It's hard.  I cry sometimes.  I want to give in often.  I am angry and sad and defeated more than I would like to admit.  But I still try and I still go on.  Because - I promise - it is worth it.

Anyway!  I have always been a jiggly fat person.  My fat was never firm.  There has always been droopy, wiggly, jiggly skin.  I have always had flips and flaps and bounces. 

I have spent years hiding those bits that bothered me the most.  While my body as a whole was acceptable to me, those parts were not.

My inner legs.  My arms.  My breasts.  My lower stomach (or fat chunk as I affectionately call it).  I hate them.  Their jiggle is what annoys me the most.

Since losing weight, the jiggle and flaps and loose skin has gotten so much worse.

But, you guys, it was going to be HOT.  I needed to get spending-time-in-the-woods-without-completely-dying clothes.  I was terrified.

First order of business:  A bathing suit.  I'm ok with them, to be honest.  Not sure why, but they don't bother me.  This time, however, the skirt part (don't hate) was a bit shorter than previous suits I had gotten.  Not only was it shorter, but the jigglies are hanging lower and the flappies are more noticeable.  Could I do it?  I bought the suit and worked myself up and told myself it is what it is and I needed to just deal.

Second order of business: Shirts.  Cap sleeve shirts are the worst, friends.  They cover a bit of the shoulders and then my wings are exposed for all the world to see.  They were out of the question.  As were tank stops.  Which, for some odd reason, are pretty rampant in the fat girl clothes arena.  Am  the only jiggly one?  Or am I the only one that cares?  Shit to ponder at 3 AM when I should be sleeping but need to go over every single thought that has ever occurred to me in the past 41 years (where is that Holly Hobby doll, anyway??).

I tried on a few shirts.  Not gonna happen.  Then I tried on two more.  They were tighter and shorter than I was used to.  And, they had shorter sleeves.  Not straps.  Not caps.  Just shorter.

I tentatively showed Mike (who, to his credit, honestly loves every bit of me) and asked him if they were ok.  He said he loved them and they were perfect.

While I wasn't sold and I was still worried about wearing them, I bought them.  I packed them and panicked and debated leaving them home.  In the end, off they went with me to Jellystone Park (Yogi Bear reprezent!).

The time came to dress for the day.  I considered wearing something else I had brought with me.  I cringed a little inside just thinking of my arms showing.  And then, I put one of them on.

And I left the cabin (yes, I didn't sleep in a tent.  Small steps, y'all!).  Self conscious the entire way, I walked to the tent area and tried to act as if everything was ok.  Inside, I was still freaking out.

And then it happened.  Nothing.  No one looked at me or whispered about me or even cared, to be honest.  No one cared but me.

***

The day went on and I wore the hell out of that shirt.  I hung out and laughed and ate and just enjoyed myself.  I even took a picture.  I forgot that my arms were out and I forgot that the jigglies were even there.

I looked at the picture later on that day.  It was me and some lovely ladies sharing a moment of happiness.  And it was ok.  Yes, my arms were wrinkly and baggy and not very attractive.  But the world didn't end.  No one shunned me.  My heart was still beating and i was still enjoying life.

I posted that picture to Facebook, made a joke about my arms, and went about my day.

***

Here's the thing about those arms:

While they ARE fat and they ARE jiggly and they ARE baggy, they are still strong.  They hold my babies when they hurt.  They hug those whom I love.  They lift and they carry and they drive.

They get me where I need to go. 

You may see wings of skin and fat, but there is so much more that you DON'T see.

You DON'T see the strength it took to decide to get myself healthier and to actually do it.  You DON'T see the weight I was before and the weight I am now.  You DON'T see how hard I have worked and how many tears I have shed.

You DON'T see that the woman inside of me has made her way out.

And yes, there will always be remnants of my old body.  And yes, I plan on losing so much more.  And yes, as time goes on, I will have more and more loose skin and baggy parts.

But you DON'T see how proud I am of that skin.  I am proud because it is a testament to the fact that I can do it.  I CAN work hard.  I CAN see the evidence of that work.

*** 

There is so very much that you can see when you look at my body.

But, my friends, there is even MORE that you cannot.

And those things are the very things that matter the most.

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