Warning: rambly body image post to follow. Skip if not interested!

In 2009, my doctor read me the riot act.  I was 255 pounds, used a C-PAP device, had high blood pressure, limped around with plantar fasciitis, and could barely climb a flight of stairs without becoming winded.  She looked at me and asked me if I wanted to live to see my then-four year old daughter off to college.  My weight had gradually drifted upwards for 15 years, and I had tried multiple diets to address the problem, to no avail.  I walked into Weight Watchers with resolve and grit.  The idea of dropping dead while my daughter was in high school was a chilling, somber prospect, and it was no longer, at this point, about looking awesome in a bikini.  Apparently, looking awesome in a bikini wasn't much of a motivator, but staying around for the most important person in my life was. 

It took a year and a half, and I'm still nowhere near done, 4 years later, but I managed to knock the bulk of the excess weight from my body.  I have retired my C-PAP, exercise regularly, take no blood pressure medication, and feel great.  I drifted upwards from a size 10 to a size 12, but appear to have stabilized here for now.  Yes, my life as a smaller person is a much healthier, vital life.  But there are aspects of my life as a smaller person that have taken some adjustment; side effects that I could not have anticipated.

When the weight first fell off, I had not a clue how to dress.  For over 10 years, I had been the Queen of Lane Bryant, and suddenly, every store in the mall was available to me.  I will fully admit that my necklines dropped and my skirt length rose.  I bought age-inappropriate tight black minidresses at Express and invested in bras that lifted the girls to Eiffel Tower heights.  No doubt my wardrobe was frowned upon at work, but, heck, after wearing a size 20, I went a little overboard because I *could*.  I felt more like a female impersonator than an actual female.  I was playacting, as I had no idea how to BE a smaller woman.

My over the top fashion sense led to the second weird adjustment, which was male attention.  Yes, there are men who prefer women of size, but I hadn't personally encountered one.  I think my body language, posture, and avoidance of body conscious clothing probably discouraged any BBW-loving men from approaching me.  But, suddenly, I was finding myself an object of "the gaze", and I had no idea what to do about that.  As a larger woman, I had that big, bawdy personality we often affect because we can, I guess.  We can joke about sex as "one of the guys", and no one thinks the worst of us.  As a smaller woman, that big, bawdy personality translated to "on the prowl", and I was very ambivalent about the effect it had on men.  Certainly, I found the attention flattering.  Who wouldn't?  But it also made me feel uncomfortable, and threatened at times.  One of the reasons some women stay larger than the cultural norm is to enjoy a certain level of invisibility.  Sometimes, this desire stems from traumatic sexual experiences, other times we're trying to inoculate ourselves against straying.   The attention pinged every insecurity and fragility I had, and I was simultaneously titillated and terrified.  I knew I was probably subconsciously throwing out vibes that contributed to the problem, but I had no idea how to NOT do that.  After years of being invisible, it was heady and exciting to be found attractive, but I also was tweaked and freaked out by the experience. I also found myself resenting the attention on some level.  I was still the same person on the inside; I was no better at a size 10 or 12 than I was at a size 20.  I had an attitude.  I still find myself throwing up frequent selfies on Facebook, an act I tend to mock when other women do it, but I still don't believe the image in the mirror before me.  I think I take those pictures because I am trying to believe that the person I see in the mirror is really me.  But, I often find myself cringing after I post these pictures.  Who am I to seek attention?  Aren't women who post selfies insecure and a bit desperate-seeming?  And how do I, as a feminist, reconcile this subconscious need for approval with my general distaste for male objectification of women?

As time passes, I am becoming increasingly more comfortable in my own skin with this new body.  I know I still have a ways to go, but I have needed this time to adjust to the size I am. I am not quite prepared to go to the next level, where I know I'll get even more attention. I am still just big enough that I can easily tone myself down and enjoy some level of invisibility.  Though women are beautiful in all shapes and sizes, men are as influenced by the cultural norms of "the ideal body" as are we. Or, perhaps my plateau comes from the knowledge that, at 45, I have aged past that phase in my life when, even at my goal weight, I'll be hit on all the time.  I still haven't unpacked my complex reactions to "the gaze".  I am beginning to feel more competent in selecting clothes that are both attractive and modest, and I am letting go of the need to be "on" all the time. On most days, my necklines are higher, and my hemlines are lowering to an acceptable level, though I still reserve the right to glam it up for appropriate occasions. I can go out without feeling the need to be glam; there is no reason I need to be full-on at Target, or while hiking.  I am a real, flesh and blood woman of substance, not some cardboard pin-up girl.  I want to be taken seriously, not treated as a good-time girl.  I am by no means slutshaming, and there is nothing wrong with being perceived as sexually attractive, but, as a 45 year old mother and wife, I can mostly restrict the va-va-voom behavior to my own bedroom.