Ripe Fruit

Okay, everyone knows I’ve been doing it: hiding my body in Facebook pictures, that is.

Ever since I was twelve, I’ve thought I was fat. But now, I realize it really is true. I’m curvy, and not in a friendly way like I used to be when my breasts sprung eagerly like fresh apples from my teacup bra and my bum, although a full moon, was smooth and firm. Now my breasts thunk from the harness my daughter refers to as “soup bowl”-sized. My curves have grown full in all the wrong places and rotted and sagged in all the others.

Whatever I consume seems to find a place inside to hang out. A mango—that’s my right breast. A coconut, my left. Watermelon—my stomach. My upper arms, papaya. My thighs, the dimpled skin of over-ripe passion fruit.

This is not fair. I eat much better than I used to when I was a 110 lb. / 50 kg sprite. I don’t eat a lot of junk food. I never touch soda. I love fruits and vegetables. I do enjoy drinking wine—sometimes too much. I don’t smoke. I exercise. I walk uphill to Tracy Lake as often as I can and just lugging this extra weight around should be exercise enough, shouldn’t it?

I’m not trying to glorify fat here. I don’t like being overweight at all (god, I can’t even use the other o-word). I wish I had a beautiful body like so many of my friends. And so I hide in my Facebook pictures—and I’ve fooled some of the people some of the time. But NO MORE! I can’t be the only person struggling with weight issues. And really, what the hell does it really matter? I’ve never been famous for my body; I’m not losing million dollar movie parts because of my banana chins. So, when you see my full body photo on Facebook, take a look. See if you can see the way I’ve learned about humility and regret. See if you can see how I’ve grown in understanding. See if you can see a sense of humor, insight, love. If you can see those things, good for you. It probably means you’ve grown, too, no matter if you are thin or curvy or over ripe.