Too fat to be pretty

Let me just preface this by saying my husband is such a loving, wonderful, devoted man. But... he is a man. A white man. Raised in a society that entitles white men. And despite that, he has managed to grow up strong, gentle, kind, and mostly open-minded. But, he is not always immune to the idiocy or douche-baggery commonly found in today's world. He'd human. Even the loveliest person will occasionally be a stupid jerk-face.

So. On to the story.

We were in the mall and he decided he wanted to go into American Eagle (a store where I fit the shoes and that is all... not that I would buy anything from there anyway) and there were these very hot young ladies shopping and working there. The reason I noticed was because, earlier that day, Petal had made a passing comment that may have made me key into what he idealized as "legitimately hot", and balancing on my own insecurity, maybe I was ready to notice any comparative action on his part. As soon as we walked in, Petal drops my hand. It wasn't as if he needed it for shopping purposes. It felt very pointed. But I felt "ok, maybe I'm reading into this." and tried to shake off this feeling that I was too large, to chubby... the girls working could eyeball me and know I wouldn't fit anything in the store. I just wished I felt like I belonged. I followed my husband to the back of the store, he poked around the men's clothing a little, and then turned to leave. I reached out and tried to take his hand again, sure he wouldn't need it for shopping or anything, since we were on our way out... but he kind of snakes it away from me. I'm instantly hurt, and we walk out without exchanging any words. We're several stores away when he reaches for my hand again and I go, "Oh, so now you want to hold my hand?" And he looks at me inquisitively and confused. "Now there aren't any hot girls around?" And he kind of chuckles and says, "Oh is that what I was doing? I didn't notice." In this very casual... act-dumb-to-get-out-of-trouble way.

At this point, I'm still in a semi-agreeable mood. It's mostly in my head. I have no reason to believe my husband would genuinely not want to hold my hand in front of hot girls... After all, we're married. I just NEEDED him to hold my hand because I was feeling so insecure. It wasn't his fault he didn't realize it. But, based on what he's just said... based on the comment earlier that day about his friend going on a date from a girl he met online that never would have worked out because she was "legitimately hot"... based on a hundred unsaid compliments and my own longing to feel beautiful, worthy, loved... The culmination of all these things has lead me to have these deep secret beliefs about him, and suddenly it feels like I have an opportunity to talk to him about it.

So. I say, through a clenched throat, that I feel deep down, in some inexpressible place inside him, he doesn't think I'm thin enough to be pretty.

And the confident side of me, the prideful side, the side that would never genuinely believe something so hurtful and detrimental to my self-worth, believes that this will be instantly swatted away. Even if he has to lie. Because who would ever admit that they wished their most beloved, the person who loves them most in all the world... isn't as sexy to them as they are to you?

But that is not what happened.

What happened was a conversation that was not fun. A conversation where he admitted he would think I was prettier if I were thin. Because that's the body type he's always been attracted to. The girls he liked in high school were athletic. The girls he likes in Hollywood weigh 100 pounds nothing. The media has told him what to find attractive and she looks a lot like half of me.

None of this is mean. None of it is meant to hurt, or to offend. He's talking to me honestly... even if it's a little brutal. He loves me, he reminds me over and over again. But there is a part of him that wishes I was a stick with giant boobs.

I am in tears because I understand. He's not a bad person. It's just this yucky thought... A thought that should never have been expressed.

He would never ever put pressure on me to lose weight. He would never ever be mean or rude or try to push me to exercise or diet. He would never say, "You look fat in that" or make me feel less than beautiful. Not on purpose. But it's under the surface. It's where my mind goes if I've put on a nice dress for him and he doesn't compliment me. Or flirt. Or engage in public as much as I wish he would. It's not in what he does, but what he doesn't do.

And on the one hand, it's wonderful that he can be so honest, open and frank about how he feels. But on the other... it's a super problematic mindset to have, and we have to address it if we want to have a close and loving relationship.

Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that I just have to deal with it and get over it. I can't change him. I don't really want to change him either. And if I physically change myself, throw myself into extreme diets and exercise it would be so detrimental to my mental health. I do want to change, but my mindset has to change first. For me... I have to fall in love with me just the way I am. I am healthy. I walk 1.7 miles almost every day. I keep a clean home and lots of delicious food in in the pantry and in the fridge. I take excellent care of our pets, and one day, I'm going to be an awesome mom. I am not huge. And I'm not small. I am me. And lovable as myself.

The hurt that I felt toward his thoughtless words has started to evaporate. He admitted to me later that it wasn't something he likes about himself. He's not proud of this dumb thought that he barely pays attention to. And while it is there, there are so many things that he loves about me. So I made him tell me 10 of them a day for a week. To buoy me up and fill me with good stuff. At first, I made it a point to tell him all the ways each of the things he loves about me would be different or nonexistent if I were thin, mostly to make myself feel better, but eventually I stopped that and it turned into me basking in the glow of his adoration. A friend asked me if I returned the favor and I giggled and said "No... I compliment him all the time. I'm very thoughtful. He's less so." Sometimes it's ok to ask for something without owing someone something back, especially when it comes to feeling loved. And especially after a big hurt.

But I've thrown myself into loving my chub. I don't care if he might actually treat me like a queen if I were thin, I can treat myself like a queen right now. And maybe if I lose my insecurity, if I commit myself to feeling good when I look in the mirror, maybe he'll love me better for it too.

A while ago I wrote a poem about feeling in love with someone who loves unconditionally, and for a few days I couldn't look at the poem because it felt like a lie... but yesterday, I illustrated it and reposted it to claim it as a promise to love myself unconditionally and remind my husband what that meant too. But I decided to change the words just a little... From "Me and My" to "I and him". He told me that one of the things he loves best about me is that I love him just the way he is. And that was so incredible to him, that he strives every day to do the same for me. And in a lot of ways, I was his love role model. Now... how awesome is that? Who could ask for anything more?

I love my love

I love my love fat and happy. 

I love my love curled on the couch, watching crappy television shows.

I love my love mouth filled with chips, laughing and spewing.

I love my love undressed, rolls of guilty pleasure pounds, late night snacks stacked on his hips.

I love my love angry, screaming, ranting, pissed.
I love my love sobbing, tears mixed with snot, face red with sorrow, blotched and unlike the perfect tears of Hollywood.
I love my love stupid, questions asked without thinking, misunderstandings and confusion.
I love my love quiet, nose tucked in a book or doodling.
I love my love loud, making too much noise and laughing like a snorting rhino.
I love my love silly, fingers poked in ribs and face pulled in unfortunate expressions.
I love my love serious, with no mischief on his mind.
I love my love's folds, his ins and his outs, his shorts and rounds.
I love my love imperfect, unreserved, unkempt.
How sad is the love that loves conditionally, with reigned passion and lists of expectations.
How sad is the love that ends with weight gain, with job loss, with change.
How sad is the love that destroys each other, that expects devotion, that takes without return.
I love my love with abandon.
With joy.
With grace and mercy.
I love my love the way movies forget to show love.
The way friends love.
The way God loves.
And with every moment of imperfect perfection he can feel the heart beat of my love repeating messages of steadfast loyalty.
I know that I love him forever.
Just as I know...
He loves me.