untitled (with title)

I've never been good at taking compliments. Whenever someone tells me I look nice, I will either say thanks, or (more likely) I'll say something disparaging for myself. I am a weird dichotomy of wanting to look good (in one way or another) and not wanting to be noticed or applauded for it.

Part of this probably comes from being midwestern. We're just not flashy on the south side of Des Moines. We know that it's the tallest grass of blade that gets the mower's blade. (It's a Midwestern requirement to use agricultural analogies when talking about the Midwestern point of view. Grass: it's who we are.)

And part of this comes from my family, where I was always the darling of my teachers in a way that my brother and sister weren't. There was a constant tension about why I had been chosen for talented and gifted programs and my sister hadn't. And for my brother, a grade behind me, poor teachers would often expect him to be a lot like me. And as a result, I think I tried not to rub it in people's faces that I was good at school.

Reason I bring this up is because I'm losing weight. And while I'm happy and feel better (and probably look better too), it's kind of a problem. See, looking "sexy" (and I'm not saying I do, you know) is weird for me. I've always shied away from situations where I've felt the slightest bit proud of my body. It's much more of an issue than being "too smart" will ever be.

And it's probably because of similar reasons. And everyone in my family is battling (some harder than others, admittedly) weight issues. And something my therapist (who I should see again, cause clearly I'm alittle off) said about my father being manic after losing 100+ pounds sort of worries me. But really, I think these are smaller issues. And the one that really makes me feel uncomfortable is owning up to the fact that because I was molested, I feel a little ashamed of my body. And I feel like I should punish myself by being fat. Or maybe I think that if I'm fat, I don't have to worry about the bad things my body can make people want to do (?) (See, therapist is a good idea, no?) Now, I know the molesting wasn't my fault, but I've got years of thinking otherwise that it's hard to excorcise all of the different ways this impacts me.

But I digress.

The wedding will be interesting. I mean, there I'll be. On display. And people will probably tell me I look good (they better after all the time I've logged on a treadmill). But I guess after months of trying to look good, and years of telling myself I deserve to look good, maybe it'll feel okay. And maybe all the other family/personal junk won't matter as much. It seems like it matters less and less each year. But sometimes, it just pops up in places you haven't thought about or weren't prepared for.

(Does that ending sound too Doogie Houser? It does doesn't it? Fuck.)