Dancing

I have to admit something that I wish wasn’t true, but I can’t imagine otherwise. I want to lose 100 pounds so that I can dance again. I was complimented so many times through the years before I got fat. I hate the way I look dancing fat. But I worry that this is one of those stupid Fantasy of Being Thin delusions. I remember when I’d gained some but wasn’t fat yet. I was probably a size 12. I was visiting up North and Dianne and I were at a bar dancing. It was crowded and I was aware of getting looks. I was pleased because I wasn’t sure I’d look OK dancing at that weight. I should be able to say to hell with it and dance in public right now. But I won’t. As I told my invisible friends, there are so many big women who rock it. I don’t. I’ve tried and tried and tried to be OK with being fat. After 23 years, I’m throwing in the towel. But only because I see a way out. If there were no way out, I’d resign myself and insist on having a good life anyway. And that’s where I was until recently.

I see now that it is calories in/calories out. Even for me. My problem has always been my big appetite. Portion control makes me feel deprived, and even shamed. Now I can eat turnip greens and mushrooms and broccoli like a big pig and it won’t matter. It’s gonna work because even with my appetite, I’m not going to be able to eat enough calories to stay fat.

So now I’m allowing myself to dream of How Life Will Be. I know that’s dangerous. My life was not a picnic when I was a normal weight. Mom had reached her goal weight by the time she died, and fat (haha) lot of good it did her. Part of me feels like I’ve failed at self-acceptance.