I laughed out loud (and not in a good way) when I saw this add. It reminded me of the bit from the movie “Shallow Hal” when the horror of “cankles” was thouroughly discussed. (For those of you who never saw the movie, “cankles” are when your calf and your ankle are indistinguishable.)
In this day and age, there’s so much emphasis placed on a woman’s need to be “thin.” Often, this message is pegged as a sign of the times.
Apparently, the message is timeless.
Today women worry about the size of their breasts or their rear-ends. I wonder, if during the 1940′s, the size of one’s ankles was really an issue? Or did ads like this create a problem where there really wasn’t one?
One of my biggest pet-peeves is when I see a normal-sized woman complaining about how “fat” she thinks she is. It ticks me off. I realize that a lot of people have self-perceptions different than how the world sees them, but I think people need to make an honest hard look at themselves in determining whether or not their weight is truly a problem.
Maybe this is something that’s been easier for me to accept as I’ve gotten older. And maybe it’s because my entire perception has completely changed since gaining as much weight as I have. I can’t imagine ever again complaining about how “fat” I am when I’m a normal weight. I have friends who have never been overweight in their lives who complain about their “fat” and it just irritates me. Worse, I hear them making fun of people who ARE overweight, and it ticks me off even more.
One thing I’ve realized over the course of my weight gain is that people don’t set out with the intention of getting fat. I certainly didn’t. I was depressed and struggling with PTSD, and cookies, and chips and butter with sandwiches were my only real comfort. It happened in the blink of an eye it seems.
My “ah-ha” moment came when I ripped my last pair of jeans that fit (and when I say “fit” I mean that I could stuff myself into them and button them by laying on the bed and battling for a half an hour). I found myself in Lane Bryant buying “Big Girl Jeans.” Looking in the mirror, knowing that (as much as jeans that fit were more flattering than the sausage casings I had been wearing) I was going to drop $60 on a pair of pants that didn’t leave me looking good was so depressing. I finally had to face the fact that I had become fat. And it’s like something inside of me just shriveled up and died.
Suddenly I felt ashamed in my own skin. It became hard for me to go out with my girlfriends and watch guys flirt with them and ask for their numbers because I was invisible. One day I was in the library looking through the books when I saw a little kid pointing at me and asking his mom why “that lady’s butt is so big?” So I’ve put my life on hold. I’ve told myself that “Someday I’ll be ready to get fit again.” And, “Someday I’ll want to date and have a social life again.” But meanwhile “I’ll just stuff myself with Every Kind of Junkfood Known to Man and let that be my friends, my life.”
Frankly, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of feeling ashamed of my own skin. But I’m also tired of the messages we’re constantly bombarded with as women that we have to look a certain way, that we have to be a certain size to be worthwhile.
It’s time for me to start believing that I’m worthwhile no matter what shape or size I am, no matter if I have cankles or not. It’s time for me to start believing that the reason I need to loose weight is to be healthy, so I can move again (and let’s face it, so shopping isn’t a total nightmare). Unfortunately, saying all of this is much easier than actually believing it. But I have confidence that, as I take steps to better care for myself, those feelings of belief will accompany the sure knowledge of truth.
