Who is that? I wonder as I stand in front of our bathroom mirror.
I mean, I know her but I don’t recognize her.
Well, I guess I recognize her but she just looks so
Different.
She looks kinda sad.
I’ve never seen dark circles under her eyes like that before.
That’s new.
She’s smiling, but something feels…
Off.
Where there’s usually a twinkle in her eye
I see…
Well, I don’t see anything, really.
It’s not bad.
But it’s not good.
It just is.
She just is.
She looks plump
(For her).
Her jawline isn’t as defined and she’s mere centimeters away from a dreaded
Double
Chin.
She used to have this youthful glow about her.
This uncanny air of enthusiasm.
I can still see it sometimes
I just have to look a lot harder.
Dig a lot deeper.
Twice in a row, her body betrayed her.
And with each loss
A piece of herself went with it.
A fleck of her spirit rode piggy back
On the chemical pieces of hope
She flushed down the drain.
The daily screenshots she used to share
Of long walks, hard lifts, and burned energy
Disappeared.
Once a cheerleader for protein,
She became a glutton for carbs.
Her body grew softer in all the wrong spots
Finding never-ending comfort in sweet treats
Greasy meals
and wine.
So much wine.
If her body was going to betray her,
What was stopping her from betraying it?
Pounds piled on while her smart watch
Reminded her
To stand.
Reminded her
That she was trending down.
And then came the hair.
“Something has to change,” she thought desperately one day.
The Aries ram in her bucked,
Chittered with impulsive excitement.
Bangs.
That was the answer.
Bangs, of course.
But then no. Short!
Short was the way forward.
A symbolic chop to cut away the grief.
But 6 inches, 5-10 pounds, and 1-2 pant sizes later,
She hated what she saw in the mirror even more.
What had she done?
Who had she become?
What had she let loss make of her?
Short hair.
Thick neck.
Sad eyes.
Her confidence had leaked out of her body
Into panty liners and pads with wings.
She lost herself
in her loss.
Treading the depths of her own mind
Had become exercise enough.
For months on end, her routine became
Wake up.
Work.
Worry.
Repeat.
Making time for doctor appointments
Replaced making time for the gym.
Feeding her soul
Replaced fueling her body.
And slowly but surely
She grew unrecognizably insecure.
Her spirit
Her body
Her confidence
All broken.
Her favorite activity (getting dressed) became
A nightmare.
Her curls that she had just begun to figure out
Became a trait she despised.
I’m past my prime, she thought to herself one day.
It’s all downhill from here.
But that last shimmer of herself
That is still there, just hiding
Knew better.
No, it said to her in the still of night
When she lay in bed ruminating.
One bad year
Doesn’t mark the end.
For life is an ever-changing season.
Your hair will grow
and so will you, but in a way you’ll welcome.
And she knew this was the truth
But first
She had to work on loosening the grip
in which insecurity held her.
Thank you for being a paying subscriber. You make my world go round, even when I’m feeling insecure AF.
xox,
EGM
Grief changes everything. I’m so sorry for the pain you’re going through. Any size, any shape you are still you.
This is beautiful, and what I needed to read today. I'm in a similar season- and not in a timeframe I expected. 2020 and 2021 were years full of so much trauma for my husband's health, our home, and our safety. I thought I'd moved past it since our day to day is so much more calm and normal now (false sense of control, anyone?), but it seems like 2023 is the year where it is all bubbling up and manifesting for me physically. It's hard, but you put into words what I've been feeling so perfectly, and I truly appreciate it.