Today, I am sitting on my couch in front of the open porch door. There is a fan blowing on me and I am in a spot of sunshine. I have an electric blanket on me, turned on very low, because since my weight loss surgery, I am always chilled. I’m listening to the Vienna Teng Pandora station and alternately dozing and thinking. I’ve been here since midnight and it’s now 10:30a and I’m not sure I have any intention of moving until my kids come home from school. Yesterday and the day before were emotionally hard days. Tuesday, however, I was strong, content with myself and life, and peaceful. So what happened? Well, let me tell you. I’m starting with a trigger warning here for talk about abuse by mothers and my body parts and possible TMI (too much information). So in the past several months, I have lost 136 pounds. I’m still losing weight. I personally would like to lose 50-70 more lbs. I can suddenly feel how much less space I take up in the world. When I sit in a chair in a waiting room, other people have no hesitation about sitting right next to me. I wish they would not. That is too close for me. People stand closer to my face when they talk to me because there is not so much of my body to keep them away. This causes me panic. My clothes are way smaller. I tend to show more skin, because it is more comfortable for me to have on less clothes (sensory issues), but that names me feel more vulnerable too. So there’s that. Then there is a glitch in how my body has changed. I’ve figured that in a couple of years, I will have to have excess skin removed from my belly and
arms and legs. Well guess what, there are other body parts that change with weight loss. Who freaking knew? I am really active now, walking, swimming, using the elliptical and treadmill, taking aqua yoga and aqua tabata, boxing. It all sounds good and was good until I noticed a problem with my crotch. This is trigger worthy material. Feel free to stop reading. At first, I thought my problem was too big swimsuits and underwear, so I got way smaller stuff. That did not fix my issue. So, I finally stopped being dissociative about that part of my body and really paid attention and checked things out. Turns out my outer labia have lost weight…there is almost nothing to them anymore. My inner labia, always quite large, did not lose weight. I’ve always adjusted things,when getting dressed in the morning, but now all the adjustment in the world does not keep those inner labia tucked in and they rub on my clothing and get pinched, and they hurt. It was getting in my way with exercising. Nothing like seeing a 50 year old woman with her hand down her pants adjusting things. I was starting to feel like a man. So, I went to see my gynecologist, who said, oh, yes, they are large inner labia and I can see just what the problem would be. She spread them out and looked and adjusted, and I had flashbacks of my mother pulling on them and pinching them and telling me how ugly I was down there. Ugh. The doctor suggested a labiaplasty for my quality of life, but went on to say she does not do that surgery because she does not like the idea of mutilating those parts for aesthetics. I don’t blame her, but now, I have to go see a doctor I don’t know. I don’t have that appointment for a couple of more weeks. But then I went to see MT (my therapist) yesterday, and I talked about that and the flashbacks and how vulnerable I’m starting to feel and I cried…ugly cried…for most of an hour. We did talk about how I’m actually stronger now and way more capable of protecting myself, and for some reason, that just made me cry more. I did not figure that out until the middle of last night. I was crying and feeling so broken and vulnerable and wounded because that’s what I was when I was a child and THOSE PEOPLE (I think that’s my new term for my parents) fucking took advantage of that and tried to break me. Around 1a, this morning, I was thrashing a little on the couch and crying and I felt like I could just have a temper tantrum, and then I realized it was the merged outrage of all my younger parts and the adult me at how THOSE PEOPLE took advantage of my vulnerability and hurt me and sold me out and tried to make it my fault. And then, of course, behind that outrage is anguish, hence, the tears. So, right now, I feel like I am allowing myself to be vulnerable by sitting on the couch like I’m ill, but I’m also being strong by allowing myself that vulnerability.