Supersized on the inside...

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and do a double take, but the creature still seems foreign. This girl has collarbones that can be felt and seen. She is comfortable with unwashed hair and clothes not covering her sagging skin. She is tan. She is smiling. To this I don't connect. Her arms move with mine. She sways with me. But it is just a mimicking game and I expect to turn away and somehow find myself. But she is the only one who is there. What I know of me is lost.

I am passing for thin. And by thin, I mean , not morbidly obese. I walk through stores and pass by children without stares or jokes. Men make eye contact. People do not understand that I'm supersized on the inside. My character is wrapped in fat. I am an imposter. I choose the handicapped bathroom stall because it is the only one in which I will fit. I move to the side to let people pass because I might be too slow or too large and blocking their path. I avoid chairs with arms because my fat will spill over, or it will break. My body has changed rapidly; but on the inside, I'm just not there. Insecurities that have sunk in over decades have rooted deeply. The difficulty for me lies in separating baggage from identity. My load is lighter. I feel empty. I scan the world for something to hold onto, for anything to fill me up, to give me weight.

I am uncomfortable with compliments; people tell me I look beautiful . The activist inside wants to assert that I have always been beautiful, but the child inside knows the real discomfort is the feeling that "beautiful" is a word that I have never been; could never be. People tell me that they hardly recognize me. This statement is uttered so lightly, but when I answer back, "I don't recognize myself either", an awkward silence follows.

What have I lost? Well, hundreds of pounds of squishy armor - a barrier to keep out the people who were not willing to delve deeper. I closed tight and made myself hard to love, because I was hard to find. I was submerged deep inside of me, but unearthing this self has been filled with surprises. So early on it is hard to judge good or bad. And besides, those would only be judgments. What it feels like is change, is chaos; a scam. I feel like a joey outside a pouch; a turtle without its shell. I am vulnerable and prey to growth or death and how do I protect myself now?

But the real question lies not in procuring protection, but in finding out how I walk in this world without the necessity for such shielding. I want to live confidently in the strength of the woman I am. I want to love her, treasure her, believe in her gifts. This I can fathom from afar, but I fear her body has no room for me; I will never find my niche; that she is better off alone, but will never have the chance to live without me on her back.