So I’ve been doing a little room improvement, which has led to a lot of re-arrangement of bookshelves, which has in turn led to a lot of rediscovery of old journals / favorite postcards / art supplies. And photos. Lots and lots of photos. More specifically, I was surprised to remember that I went through a phase where I actually bothered to create photo albums and scrapbooks for trips in my life.
I spent a good hour sitting on the floor, surrounded by bookshelf detritus, flipping through old albums, laughing and remembering the good times: the roadtrip my friends and I took in high school, the dress-up my friend Mark played freshman year of college, the trip my best friend and I took to Australia… but what struck me the most was the difference in how I looked then and now. And then, and then, and then…
One album was made up of photos from my dad’s 50th birthday celebration in Italy. We were both pre-GB, and boy did it show. I had completely forgotten how huge I was, and more importantly how shapeless. In all the photos I look so uncomfortable. And what’s really weird is that, while everyone else looks pretty much the same, only younger, my dad and I look nothing like our current selves.
And another album, which is a sort of photo scrapbook of my exchange trip to Spain, was an eye-opener in a different way. I went to Spain 2 weeks after the GB surgery; I’d lost 30 pounds and was wearing all new clothes, and I remember thinking I looked pretty good. in fact, I was stunned when a friend’s host mother made a comment about how ‘gorda’ I was. But looking back now, I see little difference between that me and the one from the Italy trip. And that in itself is a wake-up call about how much or how little a few (or 30) pounds can mean to someone, depending on where she is in her journey.
It’s weird and uncomfortable and sad to see how heavy I was, but it also puts things into perspective so much. I’ve been feeling so fat and unhappy lately, like I’ll never lose the weight I want to lose and I must be so much bigger than everyone else; to see these photos reminds me how far I’ve come, and how much more normal I look. No, I’m not slender, but I’m not that big either, and I forget that sometimes.
I put the albums on my new bookshelf, and I’ve resolved to look at them more often. Not just for a reality check on weight, but for nostalgia’s sake, for the memories of all the good times I had. My weight, although it has always been a big deal to me, hasn’t really stopped me from having a good time in life, and I want to remember that. If I could have fun with my friends in Spain at 300 pounds, then why shouldn’t I enjoy myself in Miami at 200?
I spent a good hour sitting on the floor, surrounded by bookshelf detritus, flipping through old albums, laughing and remembering the good times: the roadtrip my friends and I took in high school, the dress-up my friend Mark played freshman year of college, the trip my best friend and I took to Australia… but what struck me the most was the difference in how I looked then and now. And then, and then, and then…
One album was made up of photos from my dad’s 50th birthday celebration in Italy. We were both pre-GB, and boy did it show. I had completely forgotten how huge I was, and more importantly how shapeless. In all the photos I look so uncomfortable. And what’s really weird is that, while everyone else looks pretty much the same, only younger, my dad and I look nothing like our current selves.
And another album, which is a sort of photo scrapbook of my exchange trip to Spain, was an eye-opener in a different way. I went to Spain 2 weeks after the GB surgery; I’d lost 30 pounds and was wearing all new clothes, and I remember thinking I looked pretty good. in fact, I was stunned when a friend’s host mother made a comment about how ‘gorda’ I was. But looking back now, I see little difference between that me and the one from the Italy trip. And that in itself is a wake-up call about how much or how little a few (or 30) pounds can mean to someone, depending on where she is in her journey.
It’s weird and uncomfortable and sad to see how heavy I was, but it also puts things into perspective so much. I’ve been feeling so fat and unhappy lately, like I’ll never lose the weight I want to lose and I must be so much bigger than everyone else; to see these photos reminds me how far I’ve come, and how much more normal I look. No, I’m not slender, but I’m not that big either, and I forget that sometimes.
I put the albums on my new bookshelf, and I’ve resolved to look at them more often. Not just for a reality check on weight, but for nostalgia’s sake, for the memories of all the good times I had. My weight, although it has always been a big deal to me, hasn’t really stopped me from having a good time in life, and I want to remember that. If I could have fun with my friends in Spain at 300 pounds, then why shouldn’t I enjoy myself in Miami at 200?
Comments
Additionally, you know you've come so far and you feel the need need to go further, but this is evidence that you can make it! And you know you'll have support along the way. Certainly mine, and I think I can speak for Sara, too.
You've also inspired me to look at my old photos more, too. I keep them all on my iPod, so I will be pulling them out now and again to just look back and smile.
See! Positivity wins, as always. Happy chairs unite!