Some of you might remember my post last month about how I pressed myself to do a singing gig with my husband in early July. I love to sing, I like the sound of my singing voice, and I have no problem doing it. I am definitely a singer.
What I am not, however, is an entertainer. I didn’t make that distinction in the last post. There’s a huge difference when all eyes are on you – the audience is expecting you to guide them, cheer them up, or deliver a mood of some kind. It can be intimidating. I have way more experience and confidence as a singer but not as an entertainer, not for a whole show. Just wanted to share that. That’s not what this post is about, though…
Nevertheless I did it. I remembered the lines of the songs, no problem, and although I didn’t hit the right pitch with every single note, it was a decent performance. We had a high turnout in our town square for the event and I saw several friendly faces in the audience. Several friends heard me sing for the first time and were genuinely surprised.
I thoughtfully chose my outfit for the night…an off shoulder jumper in blue, not too casual and not too dressy. It was a good hair night…the weather wasn’t too humid so I didn’t dissolve into a sweaty puddle like I am often prone to do. I looked alright, at least as good as I can look lately.
A local photographer came out and took photos of the event. She knows my husband well and likes us both, so she took over 300 photos of the event and posted them on Facebook.
It crushed me.
Several of my friends near and far liked the photos of course, and as that number grew, I grew too…more and more despondent. No hiding anymore that I’m 80 pounds overweight. It’s not like people don’t know….everybody knows I’m obese, but I am careful about the photos that are posted on Facebook. There was no getting around it this time.
And I just sobbed for days on end.
In contrast, my husband was flying high after the event, very happy about how it transpired. He complimented my work over and over, to the point of it feeling insincere. Don’t get me wrong: he doesn’t spew fake flattery toward anyone, but for whatever reason his compliments rang hollow with me. It felt like he was going overboard with the compliments so I would be sure to sing again…and yet this whole time, he was oblivous to how I was upset.
Funny how two people can view the same thing totally different ways, but that’s a truism about life, isn’t it?
I finally explained that I was very unhappy about being captured accurately in the pictures – which are lovely pictures and I should thank the photographer for taking her time to shoot and post so many photos – because I was portrayed exactly as the middle-aged, obese woman I am today, over and over again, from several different angles. The pictures do not lie. And yet I can’t be unhappy because the photographer was just capturing what was otherwise a lovely evening in her very talented way.
He and our kids pleaded with me that I looked fine – beautiful, even. I mean, sure…I was more dressed up than normal and it was “nice” relative to what they see from me daily.
But that’s not what I saw. All I saw were huge hips, a giant belly, short, lumpy arms, and a double chin. I mean, you may as well slap a couple of strings on me and pull me along the Macy’s parade…I’d fit right in!
And then for my husband to realize that I was upset that certain friends of mine had “liked” my photo…it just spiraled down from there. He became hurt that my feelings about what my friends thought was more important than what he thought about me. Then I got angry that he couldn’t just support me at one of the lowest points in my life, not that I haven’t been down in the dumps about my physical appearance before. I’ve been down in the dumps about it for 20 years. Ok, longer than that: how about always. But it got way worse in the second half of my life. Apparently I don’t handle stress all that well and it shows, in ways I cannot hide.
We slept apart for a few weeks. I was so angry at him and disappointed with myself I couldn’t even talk about it. I didn’t want anything to do with him. I figured I was on my own to figure it out, because ultimately I am, so I kept myself literally, physically on my own.
The bottom line is you either accept yourself as-is (which obviously isn’t happening here) or do something about it. I mean, there’s no point in praying about this because God doesn’t answer prayers to solve problems you can and must solve for yourself.
The fact is, when I look in the mirror, I don’t know who that woman is. And I could not hate who and what I see in the mirror more than I do right now. It’s a tough thing to admit but it’s the 100% truth.
Needless to say, July was a rough month.
So I am doing the thing I cannot do. I signed up for Crossfit and it starts tomorrow. I don’t usually announce stuff like this because truth be told, I try various things to get fit and none of them stick….walking, yoga, running, whatever…
You have no idea….I am not an athlete. Never was. I am not strong, not limber, not coordinated. I get winded so easily and I sweat profusely with very little effort or stress – I always have. The Crossfit facility has no air conditioning. I’m walking around with plantar fasciitis…I have no idea how this will work but I decided that I MUST do this. It was the most radical solution I could devise.
This isn’t even real Crossfit. I’ve enrolled in a six-week “baby” Crossfit program, three days a week. If I can demonstrate an ability to get through that, I can graduate to a real Crossfit program. This approach sounds about right for my fitness level.
I must do something about how I feel versus just sit and cry about it. Here’s to Michelle Obama arms, a perky tush, squares on my belly, and sculpted legs. Wish me luck. Wish me strength and perseverance.
What’s the thing you cannot do? Will you dare to give it a go?