Hugging the Curves

When I was a teenager, my uncle took me around the curvy mountain roads of North Carolina in his Dodge Viper. I loved it. I like roller coaster rides. This spring, I rode “California Screamin’” three times within a span of hours while I was at Disneyland with my college roommate. We graduated UNC-CH in 1994. When I was driving to my Meisner Method classes in Santa Monica several years ago, I’d intentionally take the canyon roads. I did this so I could create my own version of controlled roller coaster ride by hugging all the curves with my four-door Malibu on the roads in the region of the same name. Age does not diminish my appreciation for the centripetal forces required to safely and successfully take on the round parts of a road or a roller coaster.

Beginning years before my uncle took me touring in his Viper, I realized I had my own curves, but I didn’t like them, because it seemed no one else did either. It was in elementary school when I first remember being teased for being overweight; I was taunted by various male relatives for the same issue, and I found myself eating emotionally after my grandfather died when I was a preteen. Genetically, I take after the side of my family that isn’t known for being tall and skinny.

The truth was: it hurt my heart and sense of self to see this overweight person in the mirror with glasses and long red hair. (I liked the hair color; always have ☺). I didn’t like being different when lots of my friends were the budding cheerleader and pageant types. (“Been there, done that” to both involvements. Enjoyed them to a degree - but they weren’t really for me. I was more into the “mascot” and “actress” kinda opps.)

Let me clarify: I didn’t like just being seen as the overweight Wallyce with big body and an active mouth. Being different for other reasons became okay with me. So when I decided to diet between my sixth and seventh grade year, I went too far, and flirted with anorexia… I went from an “adult” size 12 to a size 6 in a period of months, and I didn’t tell my parents when I nearly fainted from not eating and hid on the floor beside my bed to recover. I also never mentioned how my lack of eating caused me to stumble onto a store window to brace myself when I’d been dropped off to shop on Madison Street in our hometown.

No, I actually found that though I couldn’t control what others thought of me, and I couldn’t control beloved family members suddenly dying, I could control the food I put in my mouth and I delighted in watching other people put more food in theirs than I had in mine. That, my friends, is unhealthy. See, an eating disorder is more about “control” then it is about food or weight or exercise, though those elements also come into play.

Fortunately for me, my parents didn’t allow me to stay starving myself for long, and I didn’t really deal with the “physical” components of anorexia for long. Unfortunately, the “psychological” components of my eating disorder stayed with me for more than 15 years. In fact, they have a habit of cropping up even today in all kinds of unwanted places.

Take for instance, Los Angeles. The City of Angels. The epi-center of self-image issues. Oh my sweet Jesus, WHY would God send me to this city for seminary and beyond when it’s the hell-bound sucking vortex for body image issues?!?

Why? Well, because He loves me and He’s even more tired than I am of how draining it is to be unsatisfied with my shape and size. In fact, He loves All of Us more than we love ourselves and I just think it has to grieve His heart how much we figuratively spit out our displeasure upon that which He created for joy and purpose.

Recently, the meniscus in my right knee tore in two places when I was at work. Now, my left knee is all aggravated because I’ve been favoring my right knee. With the exception of two years of church basketball (during which I guarded the opposing team member regardless of which team had the ball – ha!), I’m not the athletic type. But, ohmygoodness, I miss being able to walk for exercise, dance for fun, and generally move around, stand up or sit down without pain. Who cares what my body flippin’ looks like? I wanna feel better!

But actually, it goes even beyond physical shape, weight or fitness right now. I know plenty of slender people who deal with migraine headaches, irritable bowel syndrome, torn ligaments, marital health issues and more. I also know plenty of plus-sized people who are healthier overall than their smaller sized counterparts. Additionally, I’m well aware that obesity is a national health concern, and should be. Our country and the developed world do need to eat better and be healthier overall.

That said, image issues aren’t just about the size of one’s stomach or sex organs or the circumference of one’s thighs. If you saw all the Botox, breast implants and facial reconstructing whoozeewhats that I see in this city, you’d know how people “see themselves” is often unhealthy regardless of what they originally looked like, designed by their Creator. And I’m not just talking about females here.

So, I’ve decided “enough is enough.” I am going to remember how much I love curves, and I’m going to begin to better embrace the ones I have. I know me, so I know that my weight will likely always fluctuate, my face will forever be more or less round depending on how much chocolate cake I’ve eaten or how much exercise I’ve been able to do. However, please “pardon my French,” but I’m becoming damned determined to like what I see in the mirror, even as age and other issues do impact how it looks. If I lose weight, fine. If I stay the same, fine. Either way can be fabulous.

Today, I wore a fitted cotton maxi-dress to church. I wanted something long to cover up my mismatched knee wraps. The dress did that. It also hugged every curve I own, and in this season, there’s a plenty. I debated finding something else to wear; but then, I spritzed on some perfume, tied up the ends of my hem so I wouldn’t trip (the dress is designed to be worn with high heels - currently not a healthy option for me) and headed out to worship the One Who made me.

Somehow, when I was praising His Name, I didn’t feel any teasing or taunting. When I was lifting my hands, I didn’t hear any sighs or tsk tsk’s about the size of my hips. In fact, I don’t think one single solitary person cared what the scales said or what my dress label revealed about my size. Of course, I wasn’t auditioning for the lead in a rom-com, where your ability of sizzle in a swimsuit is a prerequisite to you being hired… but I’ll take being comfortable in my own skin any day over being willing to do anything and everything so others will approve. Been there, done that, too; the dividends are not worth the investments.

However, in all honesty, for myself and for others, it’s not just a matter of what other people think or say or suggest, it’s a matter of how we, as individuals, take on our overall health, including weight, exercise, emotional fitness, spiritual study, psychological well-being and more. Will we bemoan our lean-ness or criticize our curves… or will we embrace the way we’re designed, make the most of our lives as we can… and tell that condemning voice in our head to “shut up, go to hell and stay there”… and then get on with hugging the human we were always meant to be?