c, part three: cracks.

want to catch up? read part one and part two.

there’s something magic about the number thirty.

i’d lost about that many pounds before people started noticing. i don’t know what it is about that number, but every other time i’d lost before, it was thirty when the comments started.

you know this scenario. it happens when you get a new haircut that’s different but not dramatically different or when you change the color. people look at you, trying to put the pieces together. it’s a familiar feeling for all of us.

mystical number thirty was also, every other time, when i’d stop despite having more thirties to tackle.

when i kept going, the comments changed to silence or questions without a real middle ground. from those in my same boat, i’d get serious questions, usually in a whispered conversation in a random hallway, about what i was doing and how i was doing it. they were always asked in a sort of awe-filled tone, as if i was had the potential, in that moment, to become their personal oracle. while flattering, i still find it a bit disingenuous to wax philosophical on a topic that i am far from an expert on. i am uncomfortable by these questions but also kind of an attention slut about it. it’s a strange duality for me.

everyone else seemed to grow silent. i like the silence. i respect the silence. still do. quite a lot, actually.

because accompanying the silence came a lot of measurable changes that i didn’t think to notice at the time, really, but now looking back i see as all wrapped up in the process. one day i woke up and decided that i was going to make of my life what i wanted. i don’t know if i got increasingly tired of waiting for life to happen to me or if i got bit by some kind of spunky bug, but i was done with sitting around.

i showed up for stuff that i avoided before. i made plans with people. i hung out, i talked, i played, i adventured. i flirted with people i never would have before. i asked guys out.

i was a different me.

that began to be what people started to notice more than anything. i had, in pretty short order, gone from being a person people sort of knew of to a person that people knew well. i was everywhere.

i was good with that.

i’d like to think that i was always the person that i am now. i’d like to think that being a few sizes smaller and pounds lighter didn’t make me better. i think that’s true. i think i always was this person, somewhere down deep.

that’s what i’d like to focus on–that somewhere down deep.

lots of people talk about their size as something that wrapped them up tight, that kept them protected from the world. i don’t like that idea. i want to believe that you can be who you are regardless of what you look like. i do believe that.

i hesitate to use a deeply cheesy metaphor, but it’s the best one i can think of. that magical, mystical number thirty began the cracking of my cocoon. i wasn’t suffocated in my size; i was growing in it, no pun intended. i concentrated on a lot of things while i was there: my intelligence, my spirituality, my relationship with my family, my professional life, my goals, my sense of resilience, my heart.

but slowly, as i shed more of me, i felt other things starting to emerge.

my sassy sense of humor.

my crazy good flirting ability.

my innate ability to befriend others and really see them. perhaps that’s born of years of not really seeing myself. what a blessing if it is. i’d do it all again if it means i could see people the way i can.

my passion for adventure, especially the ones that i create on my own.

an oddly deceptive (but sometimes true) sense of breezy confidence.

my strength.

my commitment and endurance. i don’t think i ever knew that i could stick with something before. not something i really had the potential to suck at completely.

my fierceness. i say what i think when i think it now.

my loyalty.

my big giant heart and how it loves completely. how i fall hard and fast. how i’m learning to not apologize for that.

my beauty…and my belief and recognition of it. (still learning this one.)

i cracked open, which sounds creepy and bad horror movie-like, but it’s true. being smaller has made me a bigger person.

how weird is that?

One Response to “c, part three: cracks.”

  1. I didn’t really know you very well before you started making a lot of these big changes, but I can tell you that I’ve always seen you as someone capable of tackling anything. Someone that was brave and smart and an attention-grabber by personality alone. I’ve also always thought you were pretty. Everyone in our class did. That wasn’t just skin deep, it had to do with who you were, and I’m so glad that you’re continuing to branch out even more. Because otherwise? We never would have been friends, creeper. 🙂

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