Invisible

My friend first introduced me to the sad fact of "invisibility" a decade ago. 10 years older than I, she remarked quite candidly that she was starting to feel invisible as she reached her late 40s. Tall and lithe with the grace of carriage earned at the barre of traditional ballet, she had always had a physical presence that made people notice her. Suddenly, she knew she wasn't turning heads any longer. I listened to her lament and pettily thought it had more to do with her now matronly haircut and over-sized clothes she favoured than any loss of physical attractiveness but later, on my own, I felt my own pangs of longing. It had been many, many years since I, then 39, had been visible to others.

Some of us crave invisibility - and use our weight as an effective barrier against unwanted attention but that isn't me. An extravert who was a pretty child with a talent for acting and a clever wit, I grew up blessed with many friends and suitors. High school was fun for me - academically gifted, I was also naturally flirtatious and at more at ease with boys than girls. I had many dates, was a school captain and popular leader. The young woman that I was would not have been able to fathom a time when she became invisible.

But more problematic than being invisible to others was that I have been, for a long time, invisible to myself.

Children, stress, work, life - all converged to wear me down and food kept me going. As I gained weight however, I did not really see myself as fat. I became invisible to myself first. Like many people, I use what other people look like as a benchmark of how I looked. I didn't see myself as fat because I could always find someone fatter than I - they were fat, I was ok. I didn't consider that other people might have been using me as their own benchmark!!!

So - I was invisible to myself - truly did not think I was "that bad" even though every year brought a larger size of clothing (and, unbeknownst to me, sizes were getting more generous all the time - some of my 18s were probably 22s in 1978 terms!). Everytime I looked in the mirror, I saw curves not rolls. I saw cleavage, not fat. I saw myself as healthy, not obese. I didn't weigh myself so had no number to think about. I had photos, but quickly destroyed most of them as they caught me "at a poor angle" or "having a bad hair day"! It's startling to me now how long I went without really seeing what was there in front of me.

And now, I continue to have the very same issue. As of today, I have lost 77.2 lb. I am wearing size 2 capri pants and an XS sweater. My girls have deserted me and I'm wearing a tank top instead of a bra - trust me, no one will notice! My underwear is sized small. My rings have been re-sized, my bracelets are too big and, when I look into the mirror, I have the eerie sensation of my grandmother (who was a very tiny woman and whom I now clearly resemble) looking back at me. But - I don't see myself as thin. I am back to the old habit of looking at other woman for comparison - "ah, she's really tiny, I am not thin". It's not about being thin enough. It's not about wishing I were thinner. It is, crazily, about still being invisible to myself. I know people have poor body images but is it possible to have NO body image?

I don't know how to overcome this. On every intellectual level I know I am thin. But I don't see it. I worry that this may have a long term impact on my weight maintenance so I am cautiously beginning a daily weigh in as a way to monitor slips. I am looking for ways to help me see myself realistically and am hoping I get there soon. It's a very strange struggle.

Of interest though is that I am no longer invisible to others. DH is particularly proud to tell me my trip through the pub to the ladies room turned a few appreciative heads and I'm back to fending off unwanted compliments from strange men the worst of which was "I don't want you to leave but I look forward to watching you walk away" from some half drunk sleeze ball at Union Station - gross. This I don't mind - I'm still an attention hog (hence the blog) and the flirty high schooler in me feels resuscitated - but I do need to get over being invisible to myself.