respect

It’s difficult to read, but this is what it says:

“I had a meeting with a casting director from LA.  Without a glance at my headshot or resume, and not even a decent introduction, this stranger looks at me, all 5 feet 2 inches, 125 pounds of me and says, ‘You need to lose twenty or gain thirty because where you are right now, I can’t do anything with you.’  A bit thrown, but not wanting to be rude, I ask, ‘Can you elaborate on that?’  To which she replied, ‘Your face says ingénue but it wouldn’t work, and I can’t put you as fact best friend because you’re not exactly fat.’”

This is just the crazy damn thing I would do.  I relate.  I understand.  That poor girl is all of 10 pounds heavier than I am and the same height.  I Respect her for this.  As in ‘Respect’ with a capital ‘R,’ like R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  And much to the dismay of my brother and father, had I seen her, shirt and bra would have been flying in my attempt to stand bare-chested next to her; shouting would ensue as I demand a poster board and marker that I can make my own statement. 

I get a different perception of myself looking at that lady, all the sudden I get a chin-rising, chest inflating feeling of “Hey, I’m not fat.  Not FAT!”  That’s not an everyday feeling, well, that’s a never feeling.  My poster board would say that.  Big, bold, capital letters of “NOT FAT.”  Maybe "NOT FAT girlfriend looking for acknowledgment."  My flyers would say something like “After years of living with my (now ex) boyfriend’s stigma of having a fat girlfriend, I have ripped off my shirt and bra to say, nope.  I’M NOT FAT, despite what his friends told him.” 

Now, her disparagement comes from a very different avenue than mine.  But still do this day, I apprehensive when dealing with a significant other’s male friends.  YEARS of seeing one of my significant other’s view of me gradual diminish because his friends thought was fat, which grew into him thinking I was fat.  His increased distaste for me, his girlfriend, his escalating berating arguments, his insistence that I go to the gym, not eat and lose weight.  His abusive critique of my hips butt thighs stomach, were my calves always that big?  I grew to hate that look in his eyes, eyes that didn’t even look at my face anymore, just my BODY.  A lump to be molded and stripped and toned, but somehow I wasn’t working fast enough.  I wasn’t his girlfriend anymore, I was the personification of his self-worth and it wasn’t worthy.  Years later I see his own lacking self esteem was projecting on me, but changing me didn’t change that fact that he didn’t think he was good enough.  It will still remain and old wound that will never heal. 

I am a different person now, but not that different.  I still hold a grudge, I’ve never forgiven, and never forgot.  I get anxious thinking about a boyfriend’s male friends, I get physically introspective.  I imagine those looks of judgment, even if it’s all in my mind.  More so than I would prior to meeting his folks.  I get a mental script: Smile, what have you eaten, did you work out, don’t eat that, sit up straight, suck it in, stand up, don’t eat anything, what are you drinking, don’t drink that, is your fat hanging out, are you jiggling?  I become hyper aware of the space I’m taking up, am I dainty, am I graceful?  I still have a lot of rage; I’ve morphed into a ticking time bomb with a ‘fat’ fuse.  Self esteem goes down, and directly proportionate, my attitude goes up.  I’m sure I make the best of impressions.  This is exactly the crazy thing I would do nowadays.  I’d be a nude explosion, dancing, playing the drums on my FAT stomach till it turned red.  Repeating “NOT FAT,” peppered with profanities. 

I respect her poise and grace under fire.  Because in that situation, I’d lack restraint.