Mirror, Mirror

by Barbara

It’s not a lot of fun to be big or overweight and female in our society. Especially when it isn’t your fault. I suffer from an endocrine problem called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). I have had this scourge since I was 9 years old but it’s only in the past 11 years I have developed a problem with my weight. And I hate it and it’s not fun. In fact, I can’t stand looking in the mirror – clothes on or off. Doctors need to coax the gown off to examine me. Nowhere but the shower does anyone see much more of me.

My friends tell me I am too hard on myself. My friend John made a great observation to me the other day, and I had to admit he was right. We met online in a health related chat about 14 years ago and have since met in person and become good friends. He told me,

“You are one of the most compassionate and deepest people I have ever met. But when it comes to your own appearance – you are so shallow!”

He went on to tell me that weight or not, I am still very attractive and have a personality that most men would find very appealing. I heard him, but I didn’t believe him. My own husband has told me a number of times he sees men look admiringly at me. I always joke that it’s only in shock and disgust they even bother to look. But I know I am not really joking at all.

I was always thin. But I doubt I was ever attractive. I developed a very quick tongue to deal with the constant verbal and eventual physical abuse I got. I was the tallest one in my class for many years. By age 7, the taunt was “four-eyes.” By age 8, “metal mouth” and about age 15 when PCOS-related acne struck the taunts were unrepeatable. I longed to be one of the in-crowd and have friends. And the friends I did have were based on shallow, surface connections. About age 11, my next door neighbor, Beth, told me she couldn’t talk to me anymore because I was too into myself. I heard this same comment again from a boyfriend at age 20. Neither of them realized it was an act, albeit an obviously effective one – judging from their reactions. I later realized that my 'into myself' behavior was 'acting IN' from a pathological parent. And both these cruel commentors were projection.

My mother didn’t like the way I looked. The taller I got and the bigger boned I was, the more she pushed diet after diet on me. As the shoe sizes grew and the arms got too long for store-bought shirts and the large breasts popped out in 5th grade, her repugnance grew as well. My grandmother, a professional seamstress, made almost all my clothing till the day she died and that did help cover up somewhat. Later in life, an old high school friend commented to me that I still had impeccable taste and an enviable wardrobe. What she didn’t know was that I lacked was any shred of self-esteem for myself and what was under that wardrobe. It was all show.

I got involved in theatre in high school. Even I knew I had to do something about my lack of personality and the crushing shyness I was developing. I had found that being even the least bit outgoing with a potential new friend always backfired into a pool of judgment. I had a great theatre teacher, who became my mentor, my friend and my counselor. He talked to me like no other adult did. People thought he was odd, but I was proud to know him and opened up to him. He helped me bring out my talents and tried, in vain, to warn me about people in my life. To this day, I am eternally grateful for his unwarranted kindness to me. He saw how lonely I was and didn’t try to stop it – just tried to teach me how to cope through performing.

Despite being underweight, my height and frame got me labeled as fat. Girls my size didn’t get dates, we got chums. My mother pushed me into going to my high school senior prom with a boy who had hurt me irreparably about a year earlier. I begged to not go but I finally capitulated. My mother didn’t know the meaning of the word “no.” Her daughter was going to have a date and was going to the prom. I have no fond memories of this earmark of adolescence. Only that I was so uncomfortable being there at yet another exercise in my mother’s futility to bring me into the fold of “girls who dated.” After that, my mother introduced me to a string of blind dates and every single one of them was handsome, charming, personable and (unbeknownst to her) thoroughly gay.

At undergraduate college I found myself surrounded by what seemed like the 'cream' of Upstate New York and Long Island. They all dressed well, spoke well and I felt like a freak. In my first dorm I was in a triple room with 2 other girls who were the total antithesis of me. I quickly moved across campus and in with another girl who spent most of her time pointing out my every fault. (No wonder she needed a new roommate!)

I made sure I got involved with a sociopath who was obsessed with me and did nothing but reinforce how fat, ugly and undesirable I was. He abused me, lied about me to others, gossiped and destroyed my self-esteem further. During this time my weight dove down below normal for my frame. I did date a couple other people my freshman year and then ran from them as fast as could. No one else came along until I moved to New York City. I wouldn’t allow it.

During high school and college I learned that if I could beat someone to the punch – maybe the punch wouldn’t come at all. I was a master of self-deprecation. And I got rid of relationships as soon as possible so I wouldn’t have to face the inevitable. Today I have some wonderful, long-term friends but I know they are tired of telling me over and over how wonderful I am and how pretty I am. And they know it’s just bouncing off. After conversations I re-analyze every word and read the most negative intent into the most innocent and supportive of comments.

I did get married in 1985. At that time we related mentally very well and our lifestyles meshed perfectly. At our wedding reception, my own mother came over to us and thanked him for marrying me. “She was just a mess until you came along.” She should only know that my marriage solved nothing other than taking me off the market in her head. The only two times my mother told me she was proud of me was when I got married and when I had children. Then, for many years, I made part of my living as an actor where looks where everything. I got very used to hearing I was too tall, nose too long, voice too deep, shoulders too broad and moving on to the next thing without it bothering me in the least. But nowadays I wouldn’t be caught dead at an audition without a space suit.

The weight problem has really taken over my life. It’s like some awful, self-fulfilling prophecy that consumes my thoughts. Due to PCOS related Insulin-Resistance, since childbirth my body now converts every carb to fat. I have a pendulous belly that looks like I am expecting from organ swelling and internal damage sustained during 5 surgeries including a cesarean section. I work out 3 times a week, but PCOS related testosterone surges make me look hard and masculine. I already know the joke so I don’t bother telling people I have a gland problem, lest they think, “it’s the gland between my nose and chin.”

I have two children now. At one time they became crazy for Barbie and are enamored with any Disney movie involving a princess. What is it saying to them about body image? I was shocked to see how provocative even a Disney cartoon can be. That being wasp-waisted with an ample bosom, large eyes and luxurious hair is the way to be a real woman? That only by emulating the very fashionable, perennially young and sexless Barbie will they know true happiness? One of my daughters refused to wear anything but a dress and often insisted on the moniker “Princess” being inserted before her name - although thank goodness she's way past that now.

The worst of it is now being the fat mom at their schools. I have gotten past being the tallest and biggest boned. But I do see the other moms look at me and then my skinny kids, as if I am eating all their food. I know it’s none of their business that I eat like a bird and often skip meals. At classmates' birthday celebrations I see the glances from the other mothers to see what I am eating. I have lost weight this past year and I tell myself it’s to set a good example for my girls. Nonetheless, I know they have surmised Mommy doesn’t like herself much. My kids spontaneously tell me how much they love me, how I am the most wonderful mom, and how pretty I am. I am humbled.

I look in the mirror and see the weight has made me often look harsh. The piercing gold-green eyes often look sad and angry. My hair is getting curlier and making me look wild. I don’t know who that is. I try valiantly to teach my girls ladylike behavior, appropriate modesty and to celebrate their femininity. But to me, I look like someone tried to make the proverbial silk purse out of the sow’s ear. I know that my friend John was right. I am terribly shallow when it comes to how I look. Sometimes I happen to walk by old acquaintances and notice they don’t even know who I am because I look so different. I turn my eyes away from store displays of clothing I would love to wear but don’t dare because of my size. The feminine touches all appeal to the inner me. But the less of me anyone has to look at, the better.

Intellectually, I know the weight isn’t my fault. I know that I am doing the best I can and that I am losing weight. But the worst of it is I know I will never look in the mirror and see anything I like. There’s nothing worthy or desirable in a mirror for me. I fight the battle against PCOS and weight for my health. The battle with myself seems to have already been fought and lost. I will look and see something horrible and I will worry all day that others see the same. Yes, John, that is pretty shallow.

And the first thing I will do tomorrow morning is walk into my bathroom and look in the mirror again. Then I will be sure to tell my daughters how wonderful they are, how beautiful they are - as they are - and how unconditionally I love them.