Come November 3rd, It’s going to be two years since I’ve had weight-loss surgery. I stopped losing weight close to a year ago now, and I’ve bounced around the same three to five pounds for about that time. For the longest, I waited for the scale to really register some kind of change–it had been changing so precipitously for so long, it felt like it would not ever stop. Like I’d be losing weight forever, fascinated with the numbers on the scale forever, always changing every week, and having a real, palpable, measure of that change in the numbers there between my toes.
The weight stopped coming off, and I thought I was left with the body I had, and I started to consider how I would come to terms with that. I’ve talked before about what’s happened to my body, after being fat for so many years, and then losing the weight so quickly–the boobs all gone, the folds of flesh, the creping of my skin, the flabbiness, the depressing sagginess. It’s all there. Some days, when I’ve drank enough water and have moisturized, I feel pretty good about my body. I am certainly not going to model swimsuits, show up anywhere in a belly shirt, win a bodybuilding contest, but it is not a terrible tragedy, the body I am left with, and I’ve been coming to terms with it.
The only problem is, it’s not the body I was left with a month ago, or
two months ago, or three or five or six months ago, when finally
everything stopped and I could catch my breath. It’s still changing.
Things are moving around, tightening up, quarter-inches are
disappearing here and reappearing there; my boobs have bounced back, my
hips have sort of flared, my butt’s sort of dropped, and it won’t stop.
But it’s nothing visible, no–it’s nothing that changes, drastically,
how my clothes fit (though how my clothes fit has changed). It’s these
tiny, incremental little changes that I can’t point out to anyone, that
sometimes I think I am imagining but I am not, that make me think I am
going a little crazy.
Some of it, of course, is hormonal, it’s what your body does as you
cycle through your, uh, cycle. And some of it is still the fact that I
am still adjusting, shifting, settling in. Two years later, and my
body’s still settling. It makes me think that if, physically, I am
still not entirely over this incredibly drastic weight loss, this rapid
blowing through the pounds, the switch, like lightning, from obese to
not–why do I think I am supposed to be mentally adjusted to it? Why am
I convinced that I am broken and stupid because I haven’t entirely
figured out how to be in this body, how to eat properly after a
lifetime of eating terribly? Why is it wrong that I’m still thinking
about it and worrying about it and wondering about it? It’s not wrong.
Two years is a long time, and it is also a blink of an eye.