There are days that I am accutely aware that I’m a big girl. Now, I’m not the biggest girl, I’m not a giant, I’m not morbidly obese, but I’m a big girl. I take up space , I’m tallish, I have big feet, I have broad shoulders, I have meat on my bones, (and who are we kidding a bit of fat as well). I am neither tiny, petite, sylphlike, slender, nor am I a delicate flower. I’m substantial, I’ve got presence, I’m zaftig, generously proportioned.
And there are days when I feel bad about it, like I don’t try hard enough not to be that way, like I should spend more time trying to be smaller and less time thinking about what to cook. I hate the days that I feel bad about who I am and what I look like, about the space I take up, about the bits of me that are soft and overflowing.
I lost a friend yesterday, I hadn’t seen him in a year or two, he was ravaged by drugs, and alcohol and eventually disease, he struggled with his demons and he lost the struggle.
He was my favorite mirror, I loved how I looked in his eyes, I was almost always FABULOUS!. One day we were all sitting around bullshitting, and the subject came up “what kind of animal would you be”, I volunteered that I would most likely be a house cat or a golden retriever..and my friend Craig said. Oh no, oh no you would be a gazelle. Ridiculous right? There is nothing gazelle-like about me, I have a short neck! But that was how my friend saw me, he saw me as graceful, and elegant. The me that I always hoped to be. And I saw him as a remarkable force of talent, and kindness, with impeccable manners, I had my first Cosmo with Craig (Pre- SATC!!), I learned about restaurant culture with Craig, I sang and danced with Craig. And now he’s gone.
On my big girls days, I’m going to try to see myself as Craig did, hoping that I accomplish he could not and banish my demons, my insecure, unhappy, scared demons the ones that tell me that I’m not good enough, not thin enough, not pretty enough for success.